He danced around the room, half dressed.
“Are you sure?” asked careful Nan.
“Sure!” answered Bert. “There it goes again!”
There was no doubt of it this time. Fifteen strokes rang out, five strokes at a time. It was the signal Mr. Tarton had told the children to listen for in case of a storm. And this surely was a storm! The wind blew harder and the swirling, white flakes came down more thickly.
“No school! No school!” sang Freddie as he began to dress.
“No school! No school!” echoed Flossie, as she followed Nan to the kitchen.
“Hush, my dears, not so much racket!” begged Nan in a low voice. “Mrs. Pry is sick, and she may not like noise.”
“Oh, I’m not fussy that way,” said the old lady who, in spite of her deafness, seemed to have heard what Nan said. “Don’t keep the children quiet on my account. And you’ll have to hurry, Nan, or they’ll be late for school.”
“There isn’t any school,” Nan said.
“What’s that—some one fell over a stool?” cried Mrs. Pry. “Oh, dear! And me flat on my back with lumbago! Who fell over the stool, Nan?”