“Mother, they say the skating on Blake’s pond is wonderful,” said Meg at breakfast the morning after the party. “Better than ever. The ice is eight feet thick!”
“Now Meg,” protested Father Blossom, his eyes twinkling at her over the top of his paper, “are you sure it isn’t eight inches you mean?”
“Well, maybe it is eight inches,” admitted Meg. “But that is thick, isn’t it, Daddy? And Bobby and I want to go this morning, because they say the high school crowd is going to skate all the afternoon and we couldn’t have much fun then.”
Mother Blossom moved the sugar bowl away from Twaddles who seemed to want to pour sugar on his oatmeal, and said she had a question to ask Meg.
“I’ve often wondered, Daughter,” said Mother Blossom, “who ‘they’ are; you’re always quoting what ‘they’ say, Meg, and yet you seldom use any names.”
“They are—they are—well, I guess I mean everybody,” explained Meg. “Everybody says the skating is wonderful, Mother. You don’t care if Bobby and I go this morning do you?”
“Let Twaddles and me go?” said Dot eagerly. “Mother, can’t we go skating, too?”
Father Blossom looked across the table at Mother, and laughed.
“Now the argument begins,” he remarked whimsically. “A little more coffee, please, Norah, to fortify me.”
“Oh, Mother, don’t let the twins go!” said Bobby hastily. “We can’t have a bit of fun with them around. They get in the way, and Twaddles won’t stay off the pond, and they always want to come home before we do.”