That was a winter of great storms. They began in November, and the snow piled up higher and higher, so that when one went down to the shops, one walked between walls of snow. The oldest inhabitant remembered nothing like it.

“It seems like going up mountains,” Peggy said to Alice, one day when they came to a house where the sidewalk had not been shoveled out.

It was a wonderful winter for children, for such coasting and tobogganing had never been known. It was not such a good winter for creatures who wore fur and feathers. Lady Janet, who had never known any other winter and did not realize that the oldest inhabitant had not known one like it, would return from an encounter with the snowflakes in dazed wonder and take her seat on a chair in front of the kitchen stove, or she would patiently watch by a mouse-hole for hours together.

The inhabitants of Hotel Hennery took life placidly, although they were confined to the hotel. But, having nothing more interesting to do, they turned their attention to laying eggs; after January set in, they all began to lay, so that Mrs. Owen and the children each had a fresh egg for breakfast most of the time.

The snow-storms grew more and more frequent as the winter passed, and the snow was deeper and deeper. It was all great fun for Alice and Peggy. They never tired of the coasting and the walk to and from school. It was hard for Diana, however, for in stormy or very cold weather she had to stay in the house. She was so much better after the summer that, in the autumn, she began to go to school. Diana was in the same room with Peggy, in the class below her. She had to be out of school almost half the time.

“I wouldn’t mind being out of school,” said Alice. “Think of having no lessons to get and staying in that lovely room with a wood fire on the hearth, and everybody coming to see you.”

“You wouldn’t like it a bit if you didn’t feel well,” said Peggy. “Think of not being able to go coasting.”

The children went to see Diana almost every day, and there did not seem to be any room quite so pleasant as Diana’s room, with the fire on the hearth and the blooming flowers.

Diana was often well enough to be downstairs in the parlor, and this was a pleasant room, too. It seemed strange to the children to think it was their own old parlor, for it was so differently arranged. There was a large piano at which Diana practiced when she was well enough. It took up the side of the room where their mother’s writing-desk had been. Their piano was an upright one, and it had been on the opposite side of the room. Small as it was, it almost filled up one side of their tiny parlor now. It had been used very little since it had gone to its new surroundings, for there was no longer any money for music-lessons, and Mrs. Owen had been too busy to touch it; besides, she had never played a great deal, except the accompaniments for her husband’s singing. So the piano was resting. But Mrs. Owen had determined that, just as soon as she had got ahead a little, the children should have their music-lessons again.

Alice’s birthday came in February, and when her mother asked her what she would like best, in the way of a celebration, she did not hesitate a minute.

“I should like to have Diana come the night before and spend the whole day.”

“Don’t you want any one else?”

“No one else,” said Alice, “except you and Peggy, of course. I never have played dolls all I wanted to, because Peggy doesn’t like to play, and so, on my birthday, I’d like to have just a feast of dolls, from morning until night.”

“But there will be your school,” said her mother. “I couldn’t let you skip that.”

“Couldn’t you? I thought perhaps you could.”

“No, I couldn’t. I think it would be better if Diana came to dinner and for the afternoon.”

“No,” said Alice, “the night is the best part. Peggy can sleep in the spare room, and we can have our dolls sleep with us, and the next day, Diana can rest while I go to school.”

It seemed a pretty good plan—Alice’s plans were usually reasonable. The only doubt was, whether Diana would be well enough to make the little visit. But she was well enough, and her father drove her down in his sleigh, all bundled up in many wraps. Diana had on a brown cap made of beaver fur that almost matched her golden-brown hair. And over this, to make sure she did not take cold, was a thick, brown veil. Wrapped around her shoulders and pinned with a large gilt pin, in the shape of a feather, was a warm, green-and-blue plaid shawl. Under this was her own brown coat, and under that, a blue sweater. Peggy undid her wraps and pulled off her blue mittens.

They had a fire in the parlor because Diana was coming, and they gave Diana the small company chair that their grandmother used to sit in when she was a little girl.

While Peggy was busy getting Diana out of her wraps, Alice was taking off the wraps of her namesake Alice, and those of Peggy Owen Carter, for Diana had been asked to bring these two with her. The dolls were wrapped up in the same way their little mother was, only they wore hoods instead of fur caps, and they did not have sweaters under their coats. But they were carefully wrapped up in Turkish towels, instead of shawls.

“I hope my children have not taken cold,” said Diana. “Peggy is rather delicate.”

“I won’t have a delicate namesake,” said Peggy. “She can’t be delicate if she is named for me.”

No sooner had Peggy said it than she noticed a shadow on Diana’s bright face, and she remembered that Diana was delicate. One never thought of her as an invalid, for she was always so cheerful.

“I think it is nice for people to be delicate,” Peggy hastened to add, “but not for dolls. If a doll is delicate, she might get broken.”

“Our dolls are people,” Alice said, “aren’t they, Diana?”

“Certainly,” said Diana. “They are just as much people as the Rhode Island Reds are.”

“Indeed, they are not,” said Peggy. “My darling Rhode Island Reds are alive.”

“Your Rhode Island Reds could be killed and eaten,” said Alice. “Nobody would eat a doll any more than they would a person. And they look like people, and the Rhode Island Reds don’t.”

It was hard for Peggy to have Alice and Diana sleep together without wanting her. It was the first time in her life that she had not slept with Alice the night before her birthday. In fact, the only times she could remember their being separated at night was when Alice had the measles, and one other time, when she herself had gone for a short visit to her grandmother with her father. And the worst of it was, there was plenty of room for three in the wide bed, if it were not for the room those ridiculous dolls took up. Diana was her intimate friend just as much as she was Alice’s. Indeed, even more, because they liked to read the same books and to write stories. Diana was nearer her age than Alice’s; and yet, Alice liked to have these stupid dolls sleep with her better than her own flesh-and-blood sister!

Mrs. Owen noticed that Peggy looked very sober at supper time, and, while she was helping with the dishes, she said, “What is my little girl looking unhappy about?”

“Do I look unhappy, mother?”

“Yes, what is the trouble?”

Then Peggy told her the whole story.

“Now, Peggy, let’s sit right down and see what we can do about it,” said Mrs. Owen. “You are jealous because Alice wants Diana all to herself. It is very natural, but it is not a nice feeling.”

“I am not jealous of Diana,” said Peggy; “but I just can’t stand having Alice like to play with dolls better than to play with me. I could tell them fairy-stories, and see things on the wall.”

“But that is no treat for Alice. You can do that any night. What she wants is somebody who likes to play dolls just as much as she does. It is Alice’s birthday we are celebrating, not yours. When your birthday comes, you can have Diana all to yourself, if you like, for the night.”

“But I’d always rather have Alice, too—always, always,” said Peggy.

“But if you were fond of dolls, and Alice had been saying impolite things about them, you might find it pleasanter to have Diana all to yourself. I suspect you have been saying some not very kind things about Alice’s family.”

“I said Belle looked as if she had smallpox,” Peggy owned, “and so she does. I said Sally Waters’s feet were so small she could put them in her mouth.”

“Do you think those remarks were very kind?”

Peggy looked thoughtful. “Perhaps not exactly kind,” she said.

“Now, Peggy, I am going to let you sleep with me to-night,” said Mrs. Owen.

“Truly mother,” said Peggy, with a radiant face.

“And now we will think out just how we can make Alice and Diana have a good time to-morrow,” Mrs. Owen went on. “Suppose, while I am making cookies and biscuit for the flesh-and-blood members of the family, you make small ones for the dolls? I am sure that will delight the little mothers. To tell the truth, Peggy, I didn’t like dolls a bit better than you do when I was a little girl. I liked playing around with my brother William and your father a great deal better.”

Peggy felt a little happier when Diana said, in a disappointed tone, “Isn’t Peggy going to sleep with us?”

“No,” said Alice; “the dolls are going to sleep with us. Peggy doesn’t care about dolls. I am going to have a real feast of dolls, for once in my life.”

“And I am going to sleep with mother,” said Peggy proudly.

“You are not!” said Alice, thinking Peggy was joking.

Peggy could hear the children’s voices going on and on in the other room, as she lay in bed. It made her feel lonely. Her mother always sat up late, so she would not come to bed for a long time. She tried to amuse herself by seeing things on the wall, but this was no fun without Alice. The voices in the other room went on and on until Peggy grew drowsy, and at last, fell asleep.

She was waked up by the slamming of a blind. The wind had risen, and she felt the cold air blowing in at her window. She looked at the face of the illuminated clock, which stood at the side of her mother’s bed, on a small table. The hands pointed to ten minutes past ten. Her mother would soon come upstairs. The wind was so cold she got up to shut the window, and her bare feet walked into a snowdrift. Yes, there was really quite a little mound of snow on the floor, for it had begun snowing fast just before supper. She stopped to brush it up, and then took the electric candle and went into the other room to see if there was any snow coming in there. But there was not, for the windows were not on the same side of the house. She could see by the light of her candle that the bed was, indeed, too full to have left any place for her. On the outer side of the white pillow lay Belle, her staring brown eyes wide open; and next her was Sally Waters, peacefully sleeping; and beyond her, the doll that was Diana’s namesake. Then came Alice herself, fast asleep, her long, dark lashes against her cheek, and a happy look on her face. Beyond her lay Peggy Owen Carter, also asleep; and next to Alice’s namesake, and on the inner side of the bed and beyond her, lay Diana herself, fast asleep, with slightly parted lips.

“Well,” said Peggy, “I never saw anything like that before. She has dolls on both sides of her. I guess she has a feast of dolls, for once in her life.”

Peggy hurried back to bed, for her feet were icy cold. She was still awake when her mother came upstairs.

“Mother, what do you think? I walked into a snowdrift,” said Peggy.

“What do you mean?” said her mother.

So Peggy told her all about it.

“You ought to have called me,” said Mrs. Owen.

“But it was such fun sweeping it up and throwing it out of the window. We can’t throw dust out of the window.”

When Peggy waked in the morning, the air was thick with snowflakes, and everything was heaped and piled high with snow. It seemed as if it would be impossible to get out to feed the hens, for not only was it very deep, but it was drifting with the wind.

“It is a real blizzard,” said Mrs. Owen. “It is the worst storm we have had yet.”

“Oh, there is no going to school to-day, mother,” Alice said, dancing about the room in glee.

It was not often that Alice danced. She was a quiet child. Peggy caught Alice by the waist, and they both danced together, and then they each took one of Diana’s hands and they all three danced in a strange dance that they made up as they went along. It was full of bobbing curtsies and racing and scampering about the room. They ended by coming up to Mrs. Owen and making more curtsies, just the number that Alice was years old.

“Madam, it is your daughter’s birthday,” said Peggy. “Madam, the Frost King has decided to celebrate it by his best blizzard. He has planned it so we can’t go to school, and so Diana can make us a longer visit. All hail to the Frost King!”

“I wish the Frost King had planned it so we could get our milk this morning,” said Mrs. Owen; “he didn’t tell me he was planning the blizzard, and now I haven’t a bit of milk in the house.”

“The Frost King says the water is all right for drinking,” said Peggy. “He says it is so cold it doesn’t have to be put on ice.”

The children had a merry time eating their breakfast, although even Peggy’s fertile imagination could think of no way by which the Frost King could make oatmeal taste well without milk.

Suddenly Mrs. Owen had a bright idea. “We can have maple syrup on our oatmeal,” she said.

This was, indeed, a treat, and so were the eggs the Rhode Island family had laid, and there was delicious toast and butter, and oranges, as an especial birthday treat.

“I am afraid old Michael won’t be able to come and shovel us out, on account of his rheumatism,” said Mrs. Owen.

Peggy and Alice put on their raincoats and rubber boots and stocking caps, and they took their snow-shovels and tried to make a path to the hen-house. Diana watched them, with her face close to the kitchen window. Peggy stopped to wave to Diana, and lost her footing, tumbling down into the snow. She got up, shaking herself and laughing heartily. Diana watched the children as their eyes grew brighter and their cheeks redder and redder with their exercise. The snow powdered them over with flakes from head to foot. It was impossible to make a good path, for the wind kept blowing the snow back, but they made enough headway so they could get out to Hotel Hennery. They came back to the house for food for its hungry inhabitants. There were others to be fed—blue jays, chickadees, sparrows, and crows; and then a flock of pheasants. And there was Lady Janet. She could not understand why there was no milk in her saucer and looked at them with beseeching eyes.

As the long morning passed, and Peggy and Mrs. Owen were busy in the kitchen, making the large biscuits and cookies, and the small ones, even Alice had begun to get tired of playing with dolls.

“Can’t we come out in the kitchen and help you?” she asked.

“No, I don’t need your help.”

“Can’t Peggy come in and play games with us?”

“No, Peggy is helping me.”

“I am very busy,” said Peggy. “You can play games by yourselves.”

Then Alice realized how flat every game seemed without Peggy. It was all right so long as they were playing dolls, but one could not play dolls all day. The geography game would be a pleasant change. Alice proposed having an afternoon tea for the dolls, and Diana agreed, although it did not seem quite a suitable hour for it in the middle of the morning.

“I wish mother would let us go out into the kitchen and help her,” Alice said.

They had had too much play, and this was the truth. A little real work would have been interesting.

“I guess they are making some kind of a surprise for your birthday dinner,” said Diana.

And when dinner came, and they saw the big biscuits and the little ones, and large cookies with caraway seeds in them, and the small ones, they were perfectly delighted.

The dolls were all allowed to come to the table with them, and, as there were four people and five dolls, each doll was well looked after. Alice had two on one side of her and one on the other. It was a merry meal; Peggy, having made up her mind to play dolls, did it thoroughly. She answered for the dolls in a different voice for each. Her namesake, Peggy Owen Carter, who sat beside her, ate so much her little mother had to reprove her.

“My dear child, you mustn’t be so greedy,” said Diana. “I should think you had never tasted lamb stew before.”

“I haven’t,” said Peggy Owen Carter, in a shrill, high-pitched voice that made the children laugh. “We only have such things as legs of lamb and roast beef and turkey and broiled chickens at our house.”

“Oh, please, can’t we help to do the dishes?” Diana asked, when the lively meal was over.

“Yes, you and Alice can do the dishes inside while Peggy helps me in the kitchen with the pots and pans.”

“Can’t Peggy help us?” Alice asked.

She had learned the value of Peggy. Everything was so much more exciting when she was around.

“You can begin by yourselves, and I’ll be through with her pretty soon,” said Mrs. Owen.

It kept on snowing fast all day, and, toward the end of the afternoon, Diana began to wonder how she was to get home. Mrs. Owen went to the telephone to call up the Carters, but could not make it work. She tried again and again. The line was out of order. This had happened once before that winter in another snowstorm. Diana began to look a little sober. She was not exactly homesick, but the thought of home with her father and mother and her two brothers seemed very pleasant. It seemed forlorn not to be able to reach them by telephone. They knew where she was, however, and it was pleasant to have Peggy and Alice so overjoyed at the great storm.

“They never can come for Diana to-day,” Peggy said. “The roads aren’t broken out.”

When night came, both Diana and Alice begged Peggy to sleep with them, and this was a triumph. They asked her to sleep in the middle, as each wanted Peggy next to her; and they kept her telling stories of what she saw on the wall until Mrs. Owen came up and said, “Children, you must stop talking, or I shall take Peggy into my room again.”

Peggy saw wonderful things. They were all snow scenes, in deep forests where every twig was coated with diamonds or powdered with snow. She saw the Frost King there, having his revels, and finally, just before Mrs. Owen came up to stop their talking, she saw the roads being broken out, and Tom and Christopher coming for Diana with the big sled. Diana went to sleep with this pleasant picture in her mind, and, toward the end of the next day, it really happened. It stopped snowing early the next morning, but the snow-plough did not get around in time for the children to go to school. It was just after dinner when Tom and Christopher appeared.

“We’ve come to make a path to your front door, Mrs. Owen,” Tom said. “And we’ll make one to the hen-house, too.”

They had brought their snow-shovels along with them, and they began to dig with a will. Peggy got her shovel and went out to help them, and Alice and Diana watched the merry trio from the window.

“I can’t bear to have Diana go,” said Peggy. “I wish she could live here always.”

“I’ve had a lovely time,” said Diana.

But, like Lady Jane Grey, she was glad to get back to the other house.