It ended by all taking turns, and by that time it was half-past four and they must start back to school.

“I’m coming to-morrow,” declared Betty.  “I think winter is the nicest time of the whole year.”

“You say that of every season,” criticised Bobby.  “Besides, I think it will rain to-morrow; it is much warmer than when we came out.”

Bobby proved a good weather prophet for the next day was warmer and cloudy, and when lessons for the day were over at half-past two, a fine drizzle had begun to fall.

“Just the same I’m going,” persisted Betty, pulling on her rubbers and struggling into a heavier sweater.  “The snow hasn’t all melted, and there will be enough for a good coast.  I think you’re a lazy bunch to want to stay cooped up in here and knit.  A little fresh air would be good for you, Norma.”

“I’ve a cold,” said Norma, in explanation of her red eyes.  “Anyway, I don’t feel like playing around outdoors.  And Alice has gone to bed with a headache and I’d rather not leave her.”

Some had studying to do and others refused to be moved from their fancy work, so Betty and her sled finally set off alone.  She knew, of course, that Norma’s red eyes were the result of crying, as was Alice’s headache.  They had definitely decided the night before that they would not return to Shadyside after the Christmas holidays.

“I think this is a funny world,” scolded Betty to herself, as she reached her favorite hill and put her sled in position.  “Here are Norma and Alice, the kind of girls Mrs. Eustice is proud to have represent the school, and they can’t afford to take a full course and graduate.  And Ada Nansen, who is everything the ideals of Shadyside try to combat, has oceans of money and every prospect of staying.  She’ll probably take a P.G. course!”

A wild ride through the slushy snow made Betty feel better, and when, as she dragged the sled up again, Bob’s whistle sounded, the last trace of her resentment vanished.

“Something told me you’d be out hunting a sore throat to-day,” declared Bob, in mock-disapproval.  “The fellows all said there wouldn’t be enough snow to hold up a sparrow.”

“Silly things!” dimpled Betty.  “There’s plenty of snow for a good coast.  Take me, Bob?”

“Well, if you’ll come on over where there’s a decent hill,” Bob assented.  “With only two on the bob, we want to get some grade.  Here, I’ll stick your sled in between these two trees and you can get it when we come back.”

Together they pulled the heavy bobsled up the hill and crossed over the hollow, taking a wagon trail that led up over another hill.

“It’s a long walk,” admitted Bob, panting.  “But wait till you see the ride we’re going to get.”

They reached the top of Pudding Hill presently, and Betty looked down over a rolling expanse of white country covered closely by a lowering gray sky that looked, she said to herself, like the lid of a soup kettle.