t of a door on the other side. You couldn't
expect a fire engine to come out under those wooden steps and turn
around to go to the fire.

Meg and Bobby carried the sled up the stairs and Twaddles carried the
glove. Dot wished she had something to carry, but she found a way to
be useful without that; she had to hold the door open for a stout old
gentleman who came up directly behind them and who almost was knocked
down the steps by the sled runners as Meg and Bobby tried to get it
inside the doorway.

"Thank you," said the stout old gentleman to Dot as she clung to the
heavy door. "You're a thoughtful little girl."

Once inside the post-office, the children found that it wasn't exactly
like the office at Oak Hill. It was larger and the windows were so far
from the floor that the twins couldn't see inside at all and Bobby had
to stand on tiptoe to speak to the clerk.

"We found some things in the road," said Bobby, holding on to the
little window shelf with both hands when the clerk who had heard them
come in asked him what he wanted.

"We thought we could put them on the lost and found board," Meg added.

"What sort of things are they?" asked the clerk kindly.

"This sled," Bobby answered, while the stout old gentleman who was
writing at the desk against the wall, looked up.

"And a glove," chimed in Twaddles and Dot importantly.

"Good gracious!" the stout old gentleman exclaimed and the clerk leaned
closer to the window and shouted.

"Did you hear that, Mr. Mendam?" he called. "They found a glove--maybe
it is the one you lost."

"It is, of course it is," Mr. Mendam replied, taking the glove from
Twaddles and looking at it closely. "Where did you find it? Good
gracious, I never was so pleased--never!"

They explained to him where they had found the glove and the stout old
gentleman said it was one of a pair his daughter had just given him for
his birthday. He was so evidently delighted to have recovered his
glove that the four little Blossoms forgot the sled for a moment. Dot
was the first to remember.

"Did you lose a sled, too?" she asked him eagerly.

"Or an automobile?" Twaddles suggested, quite as though people were in
the habit of losing their automobiles.

"There's one stuck on the road," said Bobby.

The post-office clerk laughed and said that wasn't a lost car.

"It belongs to Mayor Pace, of Fernwood," he explained. "He couldn't
get through last night and he left the car there. H