“Ned—oh, Ned! It’s snowing!” called Mr. Miller, up the stairs.

“Bully!” called back Ned, bouncing out of that bed which only a moment before he had been loth to leave.

He jumped to the window, and gazed out. The big flakes swirled against the pane at the end of his nose. Air and earth were white.

“Bully!” again exclaimed Ned, hustling on his clothes.

The affair of the campaign parade was now only an irritating memory; a president and vice-president had been elected; processions were a thing of the past, with the Republican county central committee short two torches, two caps, and two capes; winter had arrived with a swoop, sending the wild fowl scurrying for the gulf; Thanksgiving—a snapping cold Thanksgiving of skating and appetites—was over; and still upon the frozen ground no snow had fallen.

But here it was, at last, with a vengeance.

“Walks to clean, Neddie,” teased his mother.

“I don’t care,” retorted Ned, from his room.

“There! Don’t forget that you’ve said it,” laughed his mother.

Now at the beginning of the winter it seemed to Ned that he would as soon as not shovel walks. Anything that had to do with snow was fun.

All day the snow fell. At first it was in the shape of big, feathery flakes which clung to everything that they touched. Then, when a good thick coating had been given the world, down came the gritty, small flakes, sifting upon their larger predecessors, and piling up for two feet.

Thus, at the bottom was the layer of damp “packing” snow, and at the top was the colder, freezing layer. Conditions for coasting could not have been better had the Beaufort young people planned and carried out to suit themselves.

Moreover, to-day was Thursday. By Saturday Breede’s Hill would be in prime condition.

With the approach of night the downfall slackened. Through all the town sounded the scrape, scrape of the snow-shovel. Ned added his note to the harmony, for he had a front walk, and a walk around the house, and a path to the barn, and one to the wood-shed to clean, besides a few trimmings such as the horse-block, and the steps and porches.

Bob welcomed the snow with great zest. He frolicked and barked, and scooped up mouthfuls in defiance of the theory that eating snow gives one the sore throat. No doubt he barked so much that his throat did not have time to get sore.

Dogs have their own rules of hygiene, anyway.

Ned’s sled had been brought out from summer quarters in the attic, and had been waiting on the back porch for quite a month. Although, on account of his extra chores, he could not use it at once, during his labors between school and supper he could not resist giving it a moment of exercise—just to limber it up. It left a red trail of rust; but he knew that the rust would soon wear off.

This sled of Ned’s was a novelty, and the joy of his heart. It was of clipper pattern, but very low—not more than four inches from the ground. It had sharp points, longer than its body; when Ned flopped upon it the points stuck far out before, and his legs stuck far out behind. The runners were round steel, and well sprung. How that sled did go! It was no good for ruts, or for deep snow, but given a smooth track it could beat any sled in Beaufort. No matter how icy the hill, when other sleds had a tendency to veer and drift sideways this little sled darted straight as an arrow beyond the mark of all.

Sighing because now was night instead of morning Ned restored the sled, with a fond pat of promise, to its corner, and went in to supper, whither he had been drawn for some time by the delicious sizzling of fried mush.

Friday broke bright as a new dollar, with sunshine that proved just warm enough to soften the snow and settle it. Around school passed the word among Ned and Hal and Tom and kindred spirits to “come to Breede’s Hill and help break it.”

Breede’s Hill—ah, but that was a hill for you! Two blocks of slope and two blocks more of slide, and all, in the height of the season, as smooth as oil! Here were four blocks of street practically given over to the coasters. For a driver to try the slippery incline, either on wheels or on runners, was foolhardy; while to cross at the base was to invite a sudden attack from catapult bob or sled.

A bob had been known to scoot right between the wheels of a wagon, and not hurt a thing, so swift was it going; and Ned himself, horrified, unable to stop, had taken the legs from under a stupid cow; but when she had reached the snow with a thump he had been far away.

Breede’s Hill had been so dubbed by some history enthusiast; on the next street south was Bunker Hill, in like manner named. It was not a proper hill for coasting, being rocky, and having a sharp curve.

On this Friday afternoon after school Ned, accompanied by Bob, gaily dragged his snake-like sled to Breede’s Hill. Here he and a dozen others toiled lustily for an hour and a half, breaking a track. One or two sleighs had been along the road, but the snow lay deep and white, with its possibilities still undeveloped.

It was necessary to tramp the snow down, and drag sleds through it, sideways, and even to roll in it, in order to clear a path which, under the friction of the runners, should become hard and “slick.”

To the tramping and scraping, and frolicsome rolling Bob lent nothing but his noisy good-will and applause. One would have thought, noting his hilarity, that the snow and the boys had come together simply for his entertainment!

Finally a track deemed worthy of being tested had been leveled, and the first coast of the season was made, with a whoop of joy, by the other bob in the party—the bob-sled.

Farther and farther, each time, went the bob, with the single sleds—all but that of Ned—in the party, bringing up behind. Ned rode on the bob, until the moment when the track should be hard and fit for his low clipper.

This was the only drawback to that pride of his heart: it was useless in loose snow, or in ruts.

At dark, by dint of much play which seemed like work, Breede’s Hill was fit for the final polishing, by a hundred and more runners, on the morrow. Ned went home, and Bob went home, and the other boys went home, hungry and well satisfied; and none was more hungry or more satisfied than Bob, who had done the least and fussed the most.

“Say—but the hill is getting dandy!” exclaimed Ned, at dinner, Saturday, to which he had come panting and damp and perfectly empty.

“So you’re tired of that gun, already, are you, Neddie?” remarked his mother, quietly.

“My, no!” denied Ned, in alarm. “But the hill’s splendid, anyway. It’s almost slick as glass.”

“The whole town will be there, this afternoon,” he added, poising a generous mouthful of apple pie.

“I won’t be there,” said his mother.

“Nor I,” said his father.

“Well, all the kids and girls will,” explained Ned; and the chunk of pie disappeared, to fill some mysterious crevice inside. “Shoveling in fuel,” his father termed Ned’s eating during the cold weather; but whether the statement was true or a joke, the reader must judge according to his own experience.

That afternoon it really did seem that Ned had not exaggerated. Breede’s Hill was in its glory, and “the whole town” was on hand, with sleds of all descriptions.

The track had been packed solid, and glistened in the glancing rays of the sun. Downward sped, with shrill shrieks from the girls and wild halloos of warning from the boys, a torrent of figures showing black against the white background; and upward toiled, along either side of the torrent, a swarm of other black figures, to halt, and gather, and turn at the crest.

Bob was there, a privileged character. Not a dog in Beaufort was so widely or favorably known. What fun he found here at a place where he was almost the only one whose legs had to take him down hill as well as up, is a problem. Like a flash Ned on his clipper shot from top to bottom—and skirting the track, with tongue out and with excited yelps, falling farther and farther behind, after him raced Bob, not to catch him until the sled had stopped. Up trudged Ned, hauling his sled, with Bob at last by his heels; and the performance was repeated.

At the hill all now was gaiety and glee. The only thing to mar, ever so slightly, the sport, was the presence of a party from South Beaufort. Eight strong they had arrived, with their bob; and discoloring the snow with tobacco, and swearing freely, they had proceeded to impress the others with their importance.

However, beyond elbowing their way about freely, and profaning snow and air, and acting just as they pleased, they had made no especial trouble, and Ned and the other boys tried to pay no attention to them.

By this time two grooves had been worn in the track, and along them rushed, with no steering needed, the sleds great and small. The street crossings were hair-raising bumps, which caused each sled to leap like a frightened colt. Highest of all bounced Ned on his light clipper, and farthest of all he went, setting a mark which none could touch. Still firm in his faith that some time he would catch him was Bob, racing madly down, and panting sedately up.

At last merely sliding down hill ceased to prove of much interest to the South Beauforters. Trouble was what they wanted; trouble they would have; and the meaner the brand the better it would suit them.

They began to bully the smaller boys, and to blockade, as though by accident, but really with sly malice, the steps of the larger. They sent girls’ sleds careening down the slope, and in a hundred ways made themselves a dread and an annoyance.

“Come on, Ned, let’s go home,” pleaded little Tennie Loders, who lived near Ned, plucking him by the sleeve. “I’m cold.”

“He’s afraid,” scoffed Sam Higgs. “That’s what’s the matter with him.”

“You run along, Tennie,” said Ned. “But I’m not going to leave till I get good and ready. Nobody’s going to drive me off, you bet.”

“Who’s tryin’ to drive you off? Say, kid, who’s tryin’ to drive you off?” sneered Big Mike Farr, who overheard.

“I didn’t say anybody was, did I?” returned Ned, stoutly.

“Well, don’t go shootin’ off your lip ’round here, then,” grumbled Big Mike, in an ugly tone. He waited to see if Ned wouldn’t answer back and give him a better chance to force a fight; but Ned never spoke a word, and the South Beauforter slouched back among his fellows, while they laughed loudly.

For a brief space the coasting continued without especial incident. However, this was only a lull, during which the South Beauforters were but biding their chance. Presently it came.

As they artfully lingered around their bob-sled, at the end of the track, they saw Ned, head on, sweeping toward them upon his clipper. Just as he reached them they neatly jerked their heavy bob square across his path. There was no time for him to swerve. With a thud he struck broadside the rearmost of the two sleds. The clipper stopped short, as though killed; but Ned himself went plunging on, clear over the bob, to plough the snow and slush with face and hands and stomach.

He scrambled up wet, furious, yet willing, if allowed, to accept the mishap as a bit of rude joking. He felt that discretion was here the better part of valor.

However, he was not given any choice in the matter.

“Say,” accosted Big Mike, again, as Ned walked forward, while brushing himself off, to get his sled, “what do you mean by runnin’ into us? Ain’t you got eyes?”

“I couldn’t help it,” said Ned. “I didn’t have time to turn out.”

“You did, too,” snarled a Conner, giving Ned’s innocent clipper a vicious kick into the ditch.

“I didn’t. You pulled your bob across the track on purpose—you know you did,” accused Ned, goaded beyond bearing.

The words were attracting a little knot of spectators and listeners, and as Ned started to rescue his beloved sled from the ditch Bob nosed into the circle, seeking him. Whereupon a South Beauforter planted his toe in Bob’s astonished ribs.

“Ki yi! yi, yi, yi!” yelped Bob, and the sound was to Ned a bugle call to action.

“Here—you’d better not do that again!” he warned, returning with a spring.

“Do what again?” demanded Big Mike, threateningly.

“Hurt that dog. He’s never done anything to you,” asserted Ned, his blood up in defense of his faithful partner.

“Aw, who’s hurtin’ yer dog?” scoffed Big Mike—at the same instant aiming another blow at Bob, shivering close against his master’s legs.

Ned responded with a violent shove that nearly took the South Beauforter off his feet.

“Hit him, Mike!”

“Smash him one in the jaw!”

“Aw, I wouldn’t stan’ that from nobody!”

“Paste it to him!”

“He’s the cully what struck Patsy!”

Amid this clamor from his backers Big Mike doubled his fists and stuck his face close up to Ned’s.

“Who you shovin’, anyway?” he snarled, treading on Ned’s toes, at the same time shouldering him violently backward.

“You!” answered Ned, boldly, recovering his balance.

“Don’t take any of his lip!”

“Punch him in the nose!”

“Aw, Mike! ’Feared of a kid like that!”

Thus urged, and with his gang pressing closer and closer about them, Big Mike swung his clenched hands back and forth, menacingly, and growled:

“Tryin’ to pick a fight, ain’t ye? I’ve a notion to lam the tar out o’ you!”

“You can’t do it, alone,” challenged Ned. “You know your gang will pitch in and help, if you’re getting licked.”

“Naw, we won’t. Of course we won’t,” cried the South Beauforters, in a chorus. “It’ll be fair play; sure it will!”

Ned knew that this was a lie. The South Beauforters never fought fair. They were wolves, attacking from both front and rear, and five to one. Besides, they bit and kicked and gouged, and had no mercy. Fair? Not much!

Ned gazed hastily around the circle, seeking some one who might second him, and protect his back. But of Hal or Tom or others of his chums he saw not a sign. They must be at the top of the hill, or climbing, and ignorant of his fix.

His heart sank a little.

However, he was not afraid of Big Mike, in a fair fight. “Big Mike” had been thus nicknamed because he had been overgrown; but now, stunted as he was by tobacco and by evil habits, flat-footed and with hulking shoulders, no longer was he large for his age. Ned, on his own part, had been leaping ahead by inches, until now he equaled Mike in height, although considerably outweighed. But whatever advantage came to the one from weight was more than balanced by the other’s wiriness and strength of limb gained on river and in wood and field.

Ned was not given much time in which to look about or debate over his situation. Shoved by a member of the gang, after the fashion of the kind, Big Mike came jamming into him, and swinging at the same time cuffed him a blow on the ear. At this Ned poked stiffly upward with his right fist, and his knuckles met Big Mike’s teeth.

Big Mike backed away a step, and dabbled at his mouth with his fingers.

“Say—did you go to do that?” he roared.

“You hit me first,” replied Ned, angrily.

With a volley of oaths, and a kick and a blow delivered together, Big Mike charged at him—a regular wildcat.

A little murmur of “Oh’s” and “Ah’s” went up from Ned’s sympathizers.

“Give it to him, Mike! Give it to him!” cheered the South Beauforters, crazy with delight.

The blow took Ned on the top of the head; but the kick fell short. Ned grabbed the leg and heaved up on it, until Big Mike tottered and took a heavy fall.

He was on his feet in an instant, and with head down butted for Ned’s stomach. Hindered by the crafty gang Ned could do nothing but accept the attack, and bump his opponent’s nose with his lifted knee; and now Big Mike, head into his stomach, had him tightly about the waist and was striving to bend him backward. Ned doubled forward and while trying to keep his balance reached under and punched Big Mike’s face.

It was a deadlock, Big Mike straining, and Ned poking, and neither much the worse off.

But the South Beauforters could not hold back any longer. Weaving in and out so as always to be back of Ned as the fighters shifted and struggled in a circle, they aimed treacherous blows at him; and at this crisis little Patsy, keen to aid his brother, darting in seized Ned by the ankles and enabled Big Mike to bring him to the ground.

“Shame! No fair!” cried indignant boys and girls.

Even at this juncture Ned was by no means defeated. His blood was roused, and he felt that he was battling for his life. Big Mike tried to sit astride of him, but he might as well have tried to sit on an eel. Ned wriggled and twisted, and out of the rough-and-tumble behold the picture of Ned on the top; with Big Mike’s hands clenched in his hair, it is true; but nevertheless, Ned on top!

To off-set the hair-grip, his thumb was against the side of Big Mike’s nose, pressing that individual’s head sidewise until his cheek was in the slush.

It was not a picture of beauty. Big Mike’s lips were bleeding, and Ned’s left eye was inflamed where Big Mike had brutally stuck a thumb, to gouge. The faces of both were red, and Ned’s necktie was streaming over his shoulder.

Nor was the picture pleasing to Big Mike’s cronies. Their champion was in the worse position of the two. So the Conners, with a curt command: “Aw, get off of him, will you!” jumped in and obligingly turned the pair over.

This was the South Beaufort way of winning fights.

In the meantime little Zu-zu Pearce, leaving the other girls, who, with awe-stricken faces and throbbing hearts, unable to tear themselves away, lingered on the outskirts, ran with all her might for the hill. Up the slope she labored, slipping and puffing, until near the top she overtook her brother, and Hal and a half dozen others, trudging with their bob for the crest and a coast.

“Tom!” screamed Zu-zu, frantically. “Oh, Tom—the South Beaufort fellows have got Ned Miller at the bottom of the hill, and are beating him awful! They won’t let him fight Big Mike fair.”

“Gee! Come on, fellows!” exclaimed Tom; and in a jiffy the bob was jerked about, and with the boys recklessly piling on was speeding down the track, for the fight.

Close in their wake sped also a following of single sleds—for the news had spread like lightning.

“Goody! Here they come!” cried the anxious girls, dancing in joy. “Oh, hurry, hurry!”

Slim Conner heard, and glimpsed the reinforcements dashing down the slope for the scene. He heard the shouts, and his mind acted quickly:

“Cheese it, lads! Here’s the hull crowd!” he warned, hoarsely.

“Come away, Mike!” warned Patsy, tugging at his brother.

Mike wrenched himself loose from the grip of the prostrate Ned, and with a final kick at his victim’s head ducked through the circle; and off, up the road, ran the South Beauforters, dragging their bob.

Hal and Tom and the rest of the rescuers arrived too late, although they had ditched their bob, without waiting for it to stop, and had rolled into the midst of the ring.

A few of the boys chased the South Beauforters a block or two, just as a threat; but Hal and Tom stayed to attend to Ned.

“Shucks, he didn’t hurt me a bit,” vowed Ned, scorning assistance as he scrambled to his feet.

“You’re going to have a black eye, all right enough, though,” assured Tom.

“Am I?” asked Ned, cautiously feeling of his injured face.

“Well, just the same he was licking Big Mike, if they hadn’t all pitched on to him!” declared Tennie Loders, stanchly.

“Look at my knuckles, where I hit him in the mouth, will you!” said Ned, proudly.

“Here’s your necktie, Ned,” proffered Harriett Taylor, holding it out to the hero of the hour.

Ned tied it on in a crooked knot, while the crowd watched him admiringly.

“Where were you fellows? Who told you about it?” he queried.

“Why, we were going ahead coasting,” explained Hal. “Zu-zu was the one who told us, and then we came lickity-split.”

“Bully for Zu-zu!” exclaimed Ned. “She’s a dandy!”

“I had to run all the way up hill,” said Zu-zu, modestly, just arriving.

“Well, I’ll remember you, all right, for it,” promised Ned. “I’ll give you ducks’ wings till you can’t rest.”

“Oh, I didn’t do it for that!” cried Zu-zu, skipping off.

“Do you want to go home, Ned?” inquired Hal, tenderly.

“No, of course not,” declared Ned. “I’m going to slide some more. It’ll take more than a black eye to get me off this hill!”

And during this recent fracas, what of Bob—Bob, who brought on the fray? The rule of romance demands that he should have launched himself to Ned’s aid, and put the enemy to flight with his teeth. But no; this history must take a different course. Twice kicked by heavy boots, to which he had done no wrong; trampled upon by many feet, and thrust aside by many legs, quite regardless of the plight into which he had forced his master, he had turned tail and had trotted for home.

In his own mind, he had been sorely abused; and with the spirits taken out of him by the ill-treatment, he made straight for shelter.

When his master appeared, with eye now surrounded by a blue-black mat, Bob, never considering it, seemed to think that himself, and not Ned, had been the sufferer.