backward. Then arose from the whole
hill the derisive cry of "whip behind!"

At the top Bobby found a large crowd awaiting its turn. Some he knew,
others were strangers to him. All classes were represented, rich and
poor, rough and gentle. To one side the girls and smallest boys were
sliding decorously a hundred feet or so down the deeper snow of the
gutter. They sat facing forward on high framework sleds with flat
runners, one foot on either side. Whenever the sled showed indications
of speed, the feet were used as brakes. The little girls were dressed
very warmly in leggings, arctics, flannel petticoats and heavy dresses,
and wore tied close about their heads knit or fuzzy gray hoods that
framed their red cheeks bewitchingly. Bobby had always coasted in this
manner, but now he looked on them with a sort of pitying contempt.

The main group stood waiting. New-comers fell in behind so that some
rough semblance of rotation was maintained. The bobs' crews settled
themselves with the deftness of long practice. Then bending to his task
the pusher at the rear dug his toes in, while the others hunched. With a
creak the runners gave way their hold on the frozen snow; the bobs
began slowly to move. As momentum and the downward curve of the hill
exerted their influence, the pusher found his task easier and easier.
His then the nice decision as to just how long to continue to push. To
jump on too soon was a disgrace; to delay too long was a certainty of
rolling over and over in the snow while your bobs went on without you.
The artistic pusher came aboard gracefully, with a flying, forward leap,
at the precise moment when the equilibrium of forces permitted him to
alight as softly as a thistledown. The bobs shot away in a whirl of
snow-dust.

Immediately stepped forth a tall, gawky youth clad in dull brown, faded
garments, without mittens, without overshoes, his hands purple, but with
a long, low, narrow sled as tall as himself. His left hand clasped the
front, his right hand the back. The sled slanted across his body. A
dozen swift steps he ran forward flung the sled headlong with a smack
against the road and followed lightly to the little deck. There he
crouched, reclining on his left forearm, his left thigh doubled under
him, his head thrust forward, his right leg extended. A magnificent
start! So perfect was his balance that the merest touch of his right
toe to one side or the other sufficed for steering. In an instant he
s