They parted at the Silveys'. John continued on a dogtrot towards home, and a moment later was pestering Mrs. Fletcher at her work in the kitchen.
"Where's some rope, Mother?"
She looked from the pile of napkins on the ironing board. "What do you want it for, son?"
"My sled."
She walked over to a box behind the kitchen gas range and drew out a three-foot length. "Will this do?"
"No. Got to be lots longer than that."
"You're not going hitching, are you?"
He shook his head dubiously.
"Now, John! There have been little boys killed because wagons ran over them when their ropes broke and they couldn't get out of the way!"
He evaded his mother's eye and sneaked from the house. Silvey was waiting for him impatiently on the front walk.