“A slide!” exclaimed Jessie, who dearly loved sliding. “Oh, I’m so glad. I’ll go with you just to look at it. I can’t stay, you know, because I must come back and sew until twelve o’clock.”
Dropping her sewing, Jessie ran to a closet, equipped herself in cloak and hood and, taking Carrie’s hand, trotted out to see this first slide of the season.
A short distance from Glen Morris Cottage a broad, shallow brook crossed the public highway. A bridge led over the brook. Along the sides of the buttresses of this bridge, the water had flowed back for several yards over the bottom of a ditch or hollow, and being only an inch or two in depth, the sharp frosts of the early days of November had frozen it solid, though the brook itself was still babbling as if in proud defiance of the frost-king.
To this ditch Carrie led Jessie. Emily and Charlie were already there enjoying themselves finely.
“Isn’t it nice?” said Carrie when they had fairly reached the spot.
“You shan’t come on to my slide,” growled selfish Charlie.
“Nor on to mine,” cried his sister.
“You will let us slide after you, won’t you, Emily?” asked Jessie.
“No, I want this slide all to myself,” replied Emily.
“You can go down the brook and find slides for yourselves. You shan’t use ours,” cried Charlie, as shaking his fist at the two girls, he added, “I’ll lick you both if you don’t keep off.”