It took them so
long, using hot water and sand soap, that Mother Blossom declared they
could not toast marshmallows that afternoon, and then Twaddles was
sorry he had not waited.
"Such a lot of fuss about a little glue," he complained to himself, for
Father Blossom scolded when he came home and found half of his glue
wasted and he said that Twaddles should have no dessert for his supper;
and Norah was very cross because she had to give her pantry an extra
scrubbing, Twaddles having managed to track the floor with glue. "I
have bad luck all the time," sighed poor Twaddles, blaming every one
but the one small boy who was responsible for the bad luck.
"Daddy," said Bobby that evening, "I'd like to earn some money."
"Yes, Son?" answered Father Blossom encouragingly. "What do you want
money for?"
"I heard Miss Mason saying to Miss Wright to-day at noon that Mrs.
Jordan and her son are having an awful hard winter," explained Bobby.
"Folks want to send Paul to a home, but Mrs. Jordan won't let 'em. She
wants to go out doing day's work. But she's too old. Miss Mason says
old people are so heady."
Father Blossom smiled.
"I think almost any mother, old or young, would fight to keep her son
from being placed in a home," he said gently. "Do you want to earn
money for the Jordans, Bobby?"
"Yes, sir," replied Bobby sturdily. "If you'd lend me the snow shovel,
Daddy, Palmer Davis and I figured out we could earn a lot shoveling
walks.
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