"He had snow in his toes," insisted Spencer. "He didn't cry because he had to drag the sled." "Yes, he did. It was a very heavy sled." Some one stopped at the end of the bench, and Catherine glanced up. "Why, Bill!" She moved along, but Marian danced up. "Oh, Mr. Bill! Come take a belly-bump with us, Mr. Bill. _Can_ you go belly-bump?" "I think so." Bill smiled across her head at Catherine. "Don't let her bully you, if you don't want to." But they were off, Bill flat on the sled, Spencer clinging to his shoulders, and Marian sprawled on top of Spencer. Letty poked herself erect and opened her mouth for a shriek. "Here, Letty!" Catherine pulled her, stiff and unbending, onto her knee. "If you don't yell, perhaps Bill will take you down. Don't scare him." Ridiculous and amusing, those flying legs. Like a scooting centipede. "You come try it, Catherine." They had climbed up the slope to her again. "Take Letty first." And then Catherine tried it, while the children stood in a row, shrieking with delight. "Go belly-bump, Muvver!" How Marian loved that word! But Catherine insisted on sitting up, while Bill knelt behind her to steer. A swift, flying moment, the air shrill in her ears, and laughing, they grated to a standstill on bare ground at the foot of the hill. "If we had a real hill, now." Bill dragged the sled up, one hand firm under Catherine's arm. "I remember a hill we used to coast down when I was little. It seemed miles long, on the way up, at least." Lucky he came along, thought Catherine, contentedly. Or he might have hated to see me, after Friday night. "Who is that with the children?" she asked. A figure at the crest of the slope, coppery brown fur gleaming in the dull light. Miss Partridge! "Mr. Bill!" called Marian, as the two plodded nearer. "Take Miss Partridge down just once." Catherine felt, indignantly, the flush deepen in her cheeks. Why should she mind---- "Good morning," she called. "Won't you try it?" "So sorry," came the neat, clipped accents. "I must run along to dinner. It looks like great sport." Her cold brown eyes moved from Catherine to Bill. A flash of small teeth. "Great sport. Good-by." A wave of a small, gloved hand, and she was off, swinging smartly along. "What time is it?" Catherine avoided Bill's smile. "One! My gracious! Come along, you children." Bill drew Letty up to the street. "Have to walk here. Snow's all gone," and when Letty sat obdurately on the sled, crying "Gid-ap!" he swung her up to his shoulder. She rode home in state, while Spencer and Marian argued about snow in the handball court, about what the carts did with the snow that was shoveled away; and Catherine walked rather silently at Bill's side. Bill deposited Letty on the steps at the apartment entrance, where she amused herself by bouncing' her stomach against the low railing and gug-gugging at Spencer and Marian, who clattered down the area stairs with their sleds.