“Coasting?” Ada Nansen had sniffed when the subject was mentioned to her.  “Why, that’s for children!  Girls of our ages don’t go coasting.  Now at home, my brother has an ice-boat—­that’s real sport.”

“Well, Ada, I suppose you think I’m old enough to be your grandmother,” said Miss Anderson, laughing.  “I wonder what you’ll say when I tell you that I still enjoy a good coast?  If you girls who think you are too old to play in the snow would only get outdoors more you wouldn’t complain of so many headaches.”

But Ada refused to be mollified, and she remained indifferent to the shrieks of delight that greeted the first powdering of snow.  Thanksgiving morning saw the first flakes.

The holiday was happily celebrated at Shadyside, very few of the girls going home.  Mrs. Eustice preferred to add the time to the Christmas vacation, and the girls had found that this plan added to their enjoyment.  Aunt Nancy and her assistants fairly outdid themselves on the dinner, and that alone would have made the day memorable for those with good appetites, and where is the school girl who does not like to eat?

The Dramatic Club gave another play to which the Salsette boys were invited as a special treat, and a little dance followed the play.

“You’re a great little actress, Betty,” Bob told her when he came to claim the first dance.  “I’m almost willing to let you steer the new bobsled the first time it snows.”

The bobsled, built by Bob and his chums, was an object of admiration to half of Salsette Academy.  It was large and roomy and promised plenty of speed.  The boys, of course, were wild to try it, and Betty and Bobby, who had been promised one of the first rides, joined them in earnestly wishing for snow.  Betty had a sled of her own, too, a graceful, light affair her uncle had sent her.

The desired snow did not come for several days.  Instead the weather grew still and cold and the girls were glad to stay indoors and work on their lessons or on things they were making for Christmas gifts.

“You may not have much money to spend, Norma,” remarked Bobby one afternoon, “but then you don’t need it.  Just look at the things you can do with a crochet hook and a knitting needle.”

Norma, bent over a pretty lace pattern, flushed a little.

“I’d like to be able to give grandma the things she needs far more than a lace collar,” she said quietly.

Betty knew that Mrs. Macklin was still in the Philadelphia hospital.  Every letter from Glenside now meant “a spell of the blues” for Norma, who was beginning to have dark circles under her eyes.  She looked as though she might lie awake at night and plan.

When the girls put away their books and their sewing to go down to dinner, a few uncertain feathery flakes were softly sifting down and late that night it began to snow in earnest, promising perfect coasting.

CHAPTER XXIV