"It won't snow, Mother," she said positively. "It doesn't feel that way a bit, really it doesn't. And we do need eggs."

Mother Blossom laughed.

"Very well, then," she agreed. "But you must carry my m.u.f.f and Bobby shall have the little hand-warmer stove."

CHAPTER XIV

LOST IN THE STORM

Of course the twins were wild to go, too; but even if Dot had not had a cold, the walk would have been much too long for them. Aunt Polly promised to help them make mola.s.ses candy that afternoon, and that cheered them up somewhat.

"Now if it snows between now and the time school is out, come home without going to Mrs. Anson's," said Mother Blossom, following Meg and Bobby to the door. "It gets dark early you know, and you mustn't be out alone in that deserted section in a storm or after dark. Remember, won't you, Bobby?"

"Yes'm," answered Bobby, squinting knowingly at the sky as he had seen Sam do. "It isn't going to snow, Mother. Make Dot and Twaddles save us some candy, will you?"

"Course we will," called the twins, who had followed Mother Blossom.

"A whole plateful, Bobby."

"I hope it doesn't snow," said Meg, trotting along beside Bobby, her hands deep in Mother's soft, furry m.u.f.f. "Got the hand-stove, Bobby?"

"Yes. But it isn't lit," her brother said. "I'm not going to burn it for this little walk. Hurry, or we'll be late."

They reached the school house just as the first bell rang, and all that afternoon first Meg, then Bobby, would glance at the windows, fearful lest they see the whirling white flakes that would mean they could not go after the eggs. But three o'clock came and still no snow.

"I said it wouldn't!" announced Bobby triumphantly, meeting Meg at the door, for he had had to go down to the cellar and borrow a match from the janitor to light the little charcoal stove Mother Blossom had given him to carry in his pocket.

"Feel how warm." Bobby held out the stove for Meg to hold in her hand.

"John had to light it for me, 'cause he was afraid I'd set myself on fire. Silly! I guess I've lit matches before!"

As a matter of fact, Bobby had had very little to do with matches unless an older person was about, but he did not like the janitor to think he never had matches in his pocket.

Bobby had their skates over his arm, and the two children hurried down to the pond. Already a number of skaters were out, and the ice was in perfect condition. Bobby helped Meg buckle on her skates and then in a few minutes he had adjusted his own, and they set off.

"Next year, maybe, we can have real hockey skates," said Meg. "The twins are going to have double runners. But we've had fun on these, haven't we?"

Bobby looked at his sister. She wore a bright red tam-o'-shanter cap on her yellow hair, and her blue eyes sparkled like sapphires. Her cheeks were rosy above the dark fur collar of her coat, and even if she was his sister, Bobby had to admit that she was very pretty.

"Sure we've had fun on these skates," he agreed heartily. "You skate fine now, Meg, honest you do."

Meg was pleased, as what little sister would not be?

"Well I'm glad I learned," she answered. "What's that over there, Bobby?"

She pointed to something fluttering from a bush on the other side of the pond.

"Let's go and look," said Bobby. And then, as they came up to it, he said: "Oh, it's an old skating cap. Guess some one lost it and they've hung it there so he'll see it."

At the head of the pond they came to the creek. This, too, was frozen over solidly, and, joining hands, Meg and Bobby began to follow its winding way.

"'Member how it looks in the summer time?" asked Meg. "These bushes meet across it then."

Great high banks of snow rose on either side of the creek, and when they reached the twin oaks, so called because the two trees had grown together to form one trunk, where they must turn off to reach Mrs.

Anson's house, Meg and Bobby had trouble finding a foothold.

They took off their skates and managed to scramble up the bank, however, and then found themselves in a field of snow, unbroken save for a few little dots and dashes that they recognized as rabbit tracks.

"They don't clean off their walks, do they?" giggled Meg. "How do you tell where Mrs. Anson's house is?"

"See the chicken wire sticking up?" replied Bobby. "And there's smoke coming out of her chimney."

Sure enough, at a distance across the field the children could see rough posts sticking up which they knew were part of the chicken-yard fence. Soft, black smoke was coming out of a chimney, too, and drifting against the sky.

Walking single file, and glad of their rubber boots, the two children tramped over the field and came presently to the shabby, lonesome little house where Mrs. Anson lived.

"My land!" she cried when she saw them. "I was just thinking about your Ma this morning. My man's been away all week cutting wood, or I'd have sent him down with some eggs. I suppose you want two dozen and a half, Bobby?"

While Mrs. Anson bustled about packing the eggs in a neat box, the children warmed their hands and drank the hot cocoa she had ready for them.

"Made it for my man, but he sent word he won't be back till to-morrow morning," she explained. "There's your eggs, now, and you'd better hurry. We're going to have more snow to-night."

Mrs. Anson spent half her time alone in the lonesome little house, with three big tabby cats for company and her hundreds of chickens to keep her busy. She liked to be alone, and she always seemed contented and happy.

"I don't see why she says it's going to snow," said Bobby to Meg, as they took the eggs and went out of the narrow gate which creaked dismally.

Mrs. Anson had gone directly to her chicken yard, and they could see her feeding her hens and shutting them up for the night, evidently in great haste.

"Well, I guess she knows," returned Meg doubtfully. "I heard Daddy say she and Mr. Anson knew more about the weather than most folks, 'cause they've lived 'way out here so long and watched it. Let's hurry."

As they hurried on suddenly snow flakes began to fall. Gently at first, then faster and faster, till the children could not see a foot before them. Meg nearly walked into a tree.

"We won't go home the creek way," said Bobby decidedly. "Come on over here, Meg, and we'll get down on to the road. It'll be easier walking, and perhaps some one will give us a ride."

Both Meg and Bobby knew where the road was. They had driven over it with Sam in the car, and they had walked it many a time in the summer.

Then why it should perversely disappear just at the time when they needed it most was something neither one was ever able to explain. But disappear it did--that ill-natured country road completely ran away from them.

"We've walked awful far," sighed Meg, breathless from fighting against the wind which blew the snow into their faces so sharply that each flake stung. "Where do you suppose that road is, Bobby?"

Bobby was carefully carrying the eggs. He had no intention of losing those.

"I guess we'll find it," he a.s.sured his sister cheerfully. "Are your hands cold, Meg? Here, hold this heater a minute."

Meg's hands in her m.u.f.f were quite comfortable, and she opened her mouth to say so to Bobby. But without warning she slipped down out of sight before she had time to say a word.

"Meg!" shouted Bobby. "Meg! Are you hurt?"