"Mercy, no," answered Mother Blossom. "To-morrow's Saturday, and you'll have plenty of time to play in the snow. Hurry now, and get ready for supper. I shouldn't want Daddy to come home and find his family looking like wild Indians."
It was too much to expect that the children could think or talk anything but sleds and snow that evening, and many were the anxious peeps taken through the living-room windows after supper to see how deep the feathery stuff was.
"Still snowing," reported Sam, as he brought in a great armful of wood for the fireplace. "Looks like real winter at last."
Mother Blossom was mending the twins' mittens, for their thumbs had a way of coming through, no matter how often she knitted them new pairs or darned the old.
"I'm going upstairs to hunt my muffler," said Meg. "I think I left it in the bureau drawer, but I'd better look."
Father Blossom laughed.
"You all evidently plan to start out right after breakfast, don't you?" he teased them. "Where is the best coasting, Bobby?"
"On Wayne Place hill," replied Bobby. "My, I'm anxious to let Fred
Baldwin see the new sled."
Aunt Polly folded up her embroidery.
"I'll go upstairs with you, Meg," she said. "I've something I want to show you. Come into my room after you find your scarf."