“Wha—what did you do that for?” Roger demanded of Nat, as the latter set him firmly on his feet. “Just for instance, kid,” growled Nat. “We ought to have let you both go.” “And I guess we would if it hadn’t been for Dorothy,” added Ned, rising from where he had fallen with Joe on top of him. “Cracky!” gasped Joe. “We’d have gone straight over that bank that time, wouldn’t we? Gee, Roger! we’d have broken our necks!” Even Roger was impressed by this stated fact. “Oh, Dorothy!” he cried, “isn’t it lucky you happened along, so’s to tell Ned and Nat what to do? I wouldn’t care to have a broken neck.” “You are very right, kid,” growled Nat. “It’s Dorothy ‘as does it’—always. She is the observant little lady who puts us wise to every danger. ‘Who ran to catch me when I fell?’ My cousin!” “Hold your horses, son,” advised his brother, with seriousness. “It was Dorothy who smelled out the danger all right.” “I do delight in the metaphors you boys use,” broke in Dorothy. “I might be a beagle-hound, according to Ned. ‘Smelled out,’ indeed!” “Aren’t you horrid?” sighed Jennie, for they were all toiling up the hill again. Ned put the cup of his hand under Jennie’s elbow and helped her over a particularly glary spot. “Boys are very good folk,” he said, smiling down into her pretty face, “if you take them just right. But they are explosive, of course.” Nat, likewise helping to drag the big sled, was walking beside Tavia. Dorothy looked from one couple to the other, smiled, and then found that her eyes were misty. “Why!” she gasped under her breath, “I believe I am getting to be a sour old maid. I am jealous!” She turned her attention to the smaller boys and they all went gaily up the hill. Nobody was going to discover that Dorothy Dale felt blue—not if she could possibly help it! Over on the other side of the hill where the smooth road lay the party had a wonderfully invigorating coasting time. They all piled upon the double-ripper—Joe and Roger, too—and after the first two or three slides, the runners became freed of rust and the heavy sled fairly flew. “Oh! this is great—great!” cried Tavia. “It’s just like flying. I always did want to fly up into the blue empyrean——” They were then resting at the top of the hill. Nat turned over on his back upon the sled, struggled with all four limbs, and uttered a soul-searching: “Woof! woof! Ow-row-row! Woof!” “Get up, silly!” ordered Tavia. “Whenever I have any flight of fancy _you_ always make it fall flat.” “And if you tried a literal flight into the empyrean—ugh!—you’d fall flat without any help,” declared Nat. “But we don’t want you to fly away from us, Tavia. We couldn’t get along without you.” “‘Thank you, kindly, sir, she said,’” responded his gay little friend.