Gordon, stared
amazedly at him.
"Who do you think it is?" asked Uncle Dick finally.
"Well, it ain't Bill," grumbled Jaroth.
The sobbing continued. So engaged was the person weeping in the sorrow
that convulsed him, or her, that the jingling of the bells as the horses
shook their heads or the voices of those in the pung did not attract
attention.
Jaroth stood in the snow and neither advanced nor retreated. It really did
seem as though he was afraid to approach nearer to the hut on the
mountain-side!
"That is a girl or a woman in there," Bob declared.
"Huh!" exclaimed Bobby sharply. "It might be a boy. Boys cry sometimes."
"Really?" said Timothy. "But you never read of crying boys except in
humorous verses. They are not supposed to cry."
"Well," said Betty, suddenly hopping out of the sleigh, "we'll never find
out whether it is a girl or a boy if we wait for Mr. Jaroth, it seems."
She started for the door of the hut. Bob hopped out after her in a hurry.
And he took with him the snow-shovel Jaroth had brought along to use in
clearing the drifts away if they chanced to get stuck.
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