pened. The sled went into a big
drift, which was deeper than Grandpa Ford thought. A moment later there
was an upset, and the six little Bunkers were spilled out into the
snow.

CHAPTER XXIII

IN THE CABIN

"Whoa! Whoa there, ponies!" cried Grandpa Ford, as he jumped off the
seat and held tightly to the reins. "Whoa!"

Grandpa's horses were kind and gentle and well-trained. They did not try
to run away, but stood still after the sled was upset in the snow bank.

Russ was one of the first to get to his feet. He rolled out of the
drift, shook himself as a dog does coming out of the water, and then
looked about him.

"See if the others are all right!" called his grandfather to him. "I'll
hold the horses. Get out Margy and Mun Bun and the others."

Russ, though not very big, was a sturdy young chap, and, seeing Mun
Bun's legs sticking out from under a pile of blankets, he pulled on
them. And, as Mun Bun was still fast to his legs, when Russ pulled on
them he pulled his little brother out into view.

"Hi! Quit that! What you doin'?" Mun Bun wanted to know.

"I had to get you out," said Russ. "Where's Margy?"

Margy did not answer in words, but she did by crawling out from where
she had been sitting next to Mun Bun.

Then out came Laddie, Vi and Rose, and all the six little Bunkers were
accounted for.

"That drift was deeper than I thought it was," said Grandpa Ford. "The
sled went up one side of it and just toppled over. It spilled you all
out nice and easy."

And that is just what had happened. The sled had gone over on one side
so slowly and gently that no one was caught under it. The six little
Bunkers had been toppled out, still wrapped in the blankets in which
they had ridden from Great Hedge.

"What are we going to do?" asked Russ. "How are we going to get home,
Grandpa?"

"Well, I'll see about that in just a minute," answered Grandpa Ford. "I
don't believe anything is broken. But I'll have to get help to lift the
sled right side up again. Whoa, now, ponies!"

The horses, which Grandpa Ford called "ponies," just for fun, were
turning to look at the overturned sled. The six little Bunkers stood in
a row, also looking at what had happened.

"It wasn't the ponies' fault, was it, Grandpa?" asked Violet.

"No, dear. It was mine. I shouldn't have driven them into the bank of
snow. But I thought it was soft so the sled runners would sink down in
it. However, it was hard, and upset us. But we'll