“Oh-ee! How I’d love to help shovel,” Sylvia exclaimed. “Couldn’t you and I help, Carol?”
“Of course we could, and maybe it would be kind of fun! We haven’t been out of the house for ’most four days. I’ll ask Dixie.”
The older girl thought the plan a splendid one, and she bundled up Jimmy-Boy, that he might accompany them. With the three children away from the cabin, Mr. Edrington might get the undisturbed sleep that he so needed to restore his strength.
The younger girls climbed to the loft and put on their leggings, rubbers, and heavy coats and hoods; then, getting small shovels, they joined the boy who was already working with a will, his cheeks the color of the muffler that was tied about his neck.
When they were far enough away from the cabin to shout, without being heard by the injured man, they paused now and then in their path-making to have a snowball battle, and, at last, when they had cleared the trail to the highway, the four children stood looking admiringly at the road that had been so recently smoothed by the snow-plow.
Suddenly Ken sang out, “Hark, what do I hear?”
“Sleigh-bells, I do believe,” Carol cried.
“Jingle! Jingle! Somebody’s coming. Let’s guess who.” Sylvia, her cheeks flushed, her eyes sparkling, watched the bend in the road expectantly. “I’ll guess it’s Mr. Piggins,” she concluded.
“I’ll guess it’s—” Ken began, but before he could mention a name, a trim little cutter, drawn by a spry white horse, appeared.
There was a cry of joy from one of the children.