Sure enough, they had forgotten to make him any arms. This omission was quickly remedied. Mother Blossom called to them, as they were putting the finishing touches on the right hand.
"Here's an old hat of Daddy's," she said, stepping out on the porch.
"Will it do? Here, Meg, catch."
She tossed the hat over to Meg.
"Wait and see how it looks, Mother," begged Dot. "Want a chair, Bobby?
I'll get it."
The snow man was so tall that Bobby could not reach the top of his head, and when Dot came back, dragging a chair for him to stand on, even then he had to get up on his tiptoes to place the hat.
"He's a beauty, isn't he?" said Mother Blossom enthusiastically.
"We'll keep him there to guard our yard as long as the snow lasts.
You haven't built him where he will bother Norah when she wants to hang
out clothes, have you?"
The four little Blossoms were sure they had not; and Norah herself, when she came to the door presently to have a peep at the wonderful snow man, declared that he wouldn't be in her way at all.
"'Tis fresh cookies I've been baking," she announced smilingly. "I don't suppose any one will be after wanting to sample 'em? Ye do? Well, then, wipe your feet on the mat and come in. And, for the love of goodness, leave the kitchen door open. I'm near perishing for a breath of cool air."
The kitchen was very warm, for Norah had been ironing. She was a thrifty soul, and when she had a big fire to heat her irons she liked to bake good things to eat in the oven at the same time. A basket full of beautifully ironed and starched clothes sat on the table, ready to be carried upstairs, and a bowl of crisp sugar cookies sat beside it.
"Leave the door open," ordered Bobby, his eyes on the cookies. "My, they look good, Norah. How many may we have?"