“Why, Molly Richards!” exclaimed Mrs. Evans.

“Why, Helen Adamson!” gasped Mrs. Brewster.  The Winnebagos looked on, mystified.

“You can’t introduce me to your mother,” said Mrs. Evans to Sahwah, laughing at her look of surprise.  “We were good friends when we were younger than you.  Do you remember the time,” she said, turning back to Mrs. Brewster, “when you drew a picture of Miss Scully in your history and she found it and made you stand up in front of the room and hold it up so the whole class could see it?”

“Do you remember the time,” returned Mrs. Brewster, “when we ran away from school to see the Lilliputian bazaar and your mother was there and walked you out by the ear?” Thus the flow of reminiscences went on.

“How little I thought,” said Mrs. Evans, “when I first saw Sarah Ann going around with Gladys, that she was your daughter!”

“How little I thought,” said Mrs. Brewster, “when Gladys began coming here, that she was your daughter!”

“How many more of these girls’ mothers are our old schoolmates, I wonder?” said Mrs. Evans.

“Let’s meet them and find out,” said Mrs. Brewster.  “Here, you girls,” she said, “every one of you go home and get your mother.”  Delightedly the girls obeyed, and the mothers came, a little backward, some of them, a little shy, pathetically eager, and decidedly breathless.  Migwan’s mother, Mrs. Gardiner, had known Mrs. Brewster in her girlhood, and Nakwisi’s mother had known Mrs. Evans, and Chapa’s and Medmangi’s mothers had known each other.  What a happy reunion that was, and what a chorus of “Don’t you remembers” rose on every side!  Tears mingled with the laughter when they spoke of the death of Mrs. Bradford, whom most of them had known in their school days.

“Do you remember,” said one of the mothers, “how we used to go coasting down the reservoir hill?  You girls have never seen the old reservoir.  It was levelled off years ago.”

“I’d enjoy going coasting yet,” said Mrs. Brewster.

“Let’s!” said Mrs. Evans.  “The snow is just right.”

Girls and mothers hurried into their coats and out into the frosty air.  The street sloped down sharply, and the middle of the road was filled with flying bobsleds, as the young people of the neighborhood took advantage of the snowy crust.  Sahwah brought out her brother’s bob, which he was not using this evening, and piled the whole company on behind her.  She could steer as well as a boy.  Down the long street they shot, from one patch of light into another as they passed the lamp posts.  The mothers shrieked with excitement and held on for dear life.  “Oh,” panted Mrs. Brewster when they came to a standstill at the bottom of the slope, “is there anything in the world half so exciting and delightful as coasting?” Down they went, again and again, laughing all the way, and causing many another bobload to look around and wonder who the jolly ladies were.  Most of