"Well, I guess that would be the most proper sort of tree to drive," said Grandpa Ford, who came in just then with Daddy Bunker.
"And I'll take my dogwood tree along to run under the wagon that your horse chestnut is pulling," said Grandma Ford.
"What makes some dogs—the kind with black spots on—trot under wagons?" asked Vi. "Is it so they won't get rained on?"
"I guess that's as good a reason as any," said her father.
So the six little Bunkers ate their supper—rather a late one, for the storm had delayed them—and then they sat about and talked for a while. Grandma Ford asked the children all about themselves, where they had been visiting and so on, and they told her about having been to Grandma Bell's, to Aunt Jo's, and to Cousin Tom's.
"It was warm while we were at all those places," said Rose. "And now it is winter."
"I guess you'd say so if you looked outdoors!" exclaimed Russ, who came back from having peered from a window. "It's snowing terrible hard."
"Then we can make lots of snow men!" exclaimed Laddie. "That will be heaps of fun."
"You'll have to be well wrapped up when you go out," remarked Grandma Ford. "It is colder here than it is during the winter at your home, so put on your coats every time you go out."
"The place for them to go now is to bed!" said Mrs. Bunker. "Mun Bun and Margy are asleep in their chairs this very minute, and Vi is almost asleep. Come, children, off to bed with you!"