Bobby measured the distance to the hall door.
"A rubberstep!" he shouted triumphantly. "Sam wore his rubbers! Yah!"
"You think you're smart!" said Meg, half laughing and half frowning.
"Just you wait, Bobby Blossom!"
She darted for him, but Bobby was too quick. He dashed out into the hall, Meg following, and Dot and Twaddles trailing after them. Shrieking and shouting, the four raced into the dining-room, tore twice around the table, then into the long living-room, where Meg managed to corner Bobby under the old-fashioned square piano.
They had forgotten to be angry by this time, and after she had tickled him till he begged for mercy—Bobby was extremely ticklish—they crawled out again, disheveled and panting, and were ready for something new.
"I'm going to get some snow," declared Dot, beginning to raise one of the windows.
"Don't! You'll freeze Mother's plants," warned Meg. "Dot Blossom, don't you dare open that window!"
For answer Dot gave a final push and the sash shot up and locked half way.
"Oh, it's love-ly!" cried Dot, leaning out and scooping up a handful of the beautiful, soft, white stuff. "Just like feathers, Meg."
"You'll be a feather if you don't come in," growled Bobby sternly.
"Look out!"