“I’m goin’ to have a coast,” he said to Bud.  A smooth board which he found near the woodpile furnished him with a fine toboggan.  By the help of an overturned chicken-coop, which he dragged across the yard, he managed to climb to the top of the shed.  Squatting down on the board, he gave himself a starting push with one hand.  The downward progress was not so smooth or so rapid as he desired.

“Needs greasin’,” he said, looking at the plank with a knowing frown.  A rummage through the old corner cupboard where the provisions were kept provided him with a wide strip of bacon rind, such as Uncle Billy used to rub on his saw.  John Jay carried it out of doors and carefully rubbed the plank from one end to the other.  Then he greased the underside of the little board on which he intended to sit.  The result was all he could wish.  He slid down the plank at a speed that took his breath.  Up he climbed from the coop to the shed, carrying his board with him, and down he slid to the ground, time and again, yelling and laughing as he went, until Bud began to be anxious for his turn.  When the little fellow was boosted to the shed, he did not make a noise as John Jay had done; he slid in solemn silence and unspoken delight.

Over an hour of such sport had gone by when Bud remarked, “Ivy’s a-missin’ all the fun.”

“She’s too little to go down by herself,” answered John Jay; “but if I had another little board I’d take her down in front of me.”

He began looking around the wood-pile for one.  Then he caught sight of the big dish-pan, which had been set outside on the logs to sun.

“That’s the ve’y thing!” he exclaimed.  “It’ll jus’ hole her.”  The bacon rind was nearly rubbed dry by this time, but the pan, heated by sitting so long in the sun, drew out all the grease that remained.  It took the united strength of both boys to get Ivy to the top of the shed, but at last she was seated, with John Jay just behind her on his little board, his legs thrown protectingly around the pan.  They shot down so fast that Ivy was terrified.  No sooner was she dumped out of the pan on to the ground than she retired to a safe distance, and stuck her thumb in her mouth.  Nothing could induce her to get in again.

“I’m goin’ down in the dish-pan by myself,” announced Bud from the shed roof.  “It jus’ fits me.”

John Jay grinned, and stood a little to one side to watch the performance.  “Go it, Brer Tarrypin!” he shouted.

Maybe Bud leaned a little too much to one side.  Maybe the pan missed the guiding legs that had held it steady before.  At any rate something was amiss, for half-way down the plank it spun dizzily around to one side, and spilled the luckless Bud out on the chicken-coop.  Usually he made very little fuss when he was hurt, but this time he set up such a roar that John Jay was frightened.  When he saw blood trickling out of the child’s mouth, he began to cry himself.  He was just about to run for Aunt Susan, when Bud suddenly stopped crying, and turned toward him with a look of terror.