The real sport of this excursion came the next day when Frank Morton hitched an extra team on in front of the livery horses and drove the party back to town himself, to make sure they did not come to grief again in the piled-up drifts. But Chicken Little and Sherm were not along. They watched them drive off with never a pang of envy.
“I have had enough bobsled riding to do me for this winter,” said Jane wearily. Her evening at Fatinitza seemed a thousand years away.
“Ditto, yours truly!” And Sherm yawned luxuriously.
AN APRIL FOOL FROLIC
Mrs. Morton and Marian were sitting by the great open fire at the cottage sewing for Jilly. Jilly herself had constructed a wonderful vehicle of two chairs hitched to the center table, and she was vainly trying to persuade Huz and Buz to occupy seats in this luxurious equipage. Lazy Buz, having once been dragged up into a chair, stayed put, though he looked aggrieved, but Huz had his eye on the braided rag rug in front of the fireplace. The moment Jilly’s gaze was attracted elsewhere, he would jump softly down and curl up on the rug.
Marian had risen three times to restore him to Jilly because she mourned so loudly, but she finally began to sympathize with the pup.
“Let him be, Honey, you’ve got Buz for company. Huz doesn’t want to play.”