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“Fine,” judged Jim Sargent, looking out of the window toward the adjoining rectory. “That first snow was wet and it froze. Now there’s a good inch on top of it, and, at this rate, there should be three by morning. A little thaw, and another freeze, and a little more snow to-morrow, and I’ll be tempted to make a bob-sled.”

“I’ll help you,” offered the Reverend Smith Boyd, with a glow of pleasure in his particularly fine eyes. “I used to have a twelve seated bob-sled, which never started down the hill with less than fifteen.”

“I never rode on one,” complained Arly. “I think I’m due for a bob-sled party.”

“You’re invited,” Lucile promptly told her. “Uncle Jim, you and Dr. Boyd will have to hunt up your hammer and saw.”

“I’ll start right to work,” offered the young rector, with the alacrity which had made him a favourite.

“If the snow holds, we’ll go over into the Jersey hills, and slide,” promised Sargent with enthusiasm. “I’ll give the party.”

“I seem to anticipate a pleasant evening,” considered Ted Teasdale, whose athletics were confined entirely to dancing. “We’ll ride down hill on the sleds, and up hill in the machines.”