“And you want to take the nuts back,” said Old Uncle. “What for? Because you took what wasn’t yours, or because you pity the squirrel?” “Oh, both, Uncle! both! And we haven’t eaten one!” “Well, I’m glad you’ve found your consciences. Almost all the nuts on the trees and lying on the ground are yours, if you choose to take them. But the nuts that the squirrels have laid away—why, that’s another story! Let’s see. It’s a rather tough storm. Aunt Susan will be sure you’ll be made sick—I tell you what we’ll do. We won’t tell her!” said Old Uncle. “Where’s the bag and the baskets? In the garret? Run up and put the nuts in, and then get on your cloaks and leggings and overshoes, and your hooded waterproofs, and come down here, both of you. Quietly now, quietly.” Ally danced back to Essie. And presently the twins, and Old Uncle—loaded down with bag and baskets—stole out of the side-door, like conspirators. They found the hickory-wood without any difficulty, and the old pine-tree on its farther edge, with two scolding squirrels far aloft in it. The children put back the nuts, and joyously pulled and piled over them the wet leaves and moss, scattering about a few particularly fat ones, while Old Uncle pictured to them the bewilderment of Mr. Squirrel when he should find his nuts there after all. He said Mrs. Squirrel would declare they must have been dreaming, or else had a bad nightmare. Never did rosier and happier little women come dripping out of a storm than Essie and Ally that day. “Oh!” cried Aunt Susan, meeting them in the hall “where have you three been? I’m afraid you’ve caught”— “Give them hot baths at once, and let Maria and Aunt Rose rub them down hard, and put them to bed till dinner-time,” said Old Uncle. “They went off without asking you, and must be punished!” But how his eyes twinkled! “Oh! I just love Old Uncle, don’t you?” asked Essie, as they slipped into the warm bed. “And I guess he loves us now,” said Ally. And they chattered until they fell asleep, and woke only in time for dinner and dumplings. VI. AFTER DARK ON THE ICE. THE nuts had not been spread a great while, and the crew of loggers had gone up into the woods, when one day, well-clad for cold weather—the girls in their red cloaks and hoods and mittens, the boys in reefers and high boots and ear-laps—Charlie and Will swinging a parcel of glittering steel things led all the little southerners down to the lake. “Oh!” cried Essie, “your Jack Frost has been here too, and has turned our blue lake into silver!” “It’s like Achilles’ shield,” said Janet, who was tumbling round by herself, trying to slide. “What do you know about Achilles?’ laughed Will. “I’ve heard you reading to Uncle Billy. Perhaps I know as much as you do,” said Janet slyly. “Well, then you don’t know much,” retorted Will, buckling his last strap.