Dorothy laughed at her openly. “Why not, Tavia?” she demanded. “Are you afraid to trust the boys unless I’m along? I know they are awful cut-ups.”
“I feel that Jennie and I should be more carefully chaperoned,” Tavia declared with serious lips but twinkling eyes.
“Oh! Oh! OH!” in crescendo from Nat, returning in time to hear this. “Who needs a ‘bag o’ bones’——Excuse me! ‘Chaperon,’ I mean? What’s afoot?”
Just then he slipped on the glare ice at the foot of the porch steps and went down with a crash.
“You’re not, old man,” cried Ned as the girls squealed. “I hope you have your shock-absorbers on. That was a jim-dandy!”
“Did—did it hurt you, Nat?” begged Tavia, with clasped hands.
“Oh-ugh!” grunted Nat, gingerly arising and examining the handful of goggles he carried to see if they were all right. “Every bone in my body is broken. Gee! that was some smash.”
“Do it again, dear,” Ned teased. “Your mother didn’t happen to see you and she’s at the window now.”
“Aw, you go fish!” retorted the younger brother, for his dignity was hurt if nothing else. “Wish it had been you.”
“So do I,” sighed Ned. “I’d have done it so much more gracefully. You see, practice in the tango and foxtrot, not to mention other and more intricate dance steps, does help one. And you never would give proper attention to your dancing, Sonny.”