boy, just about the size of his sister, and with her same kind of light hair and blue eyes. "There go Bert, Nan and Tommy Todd 'way ahead of us. We'll never catch up to 'em if you sit here. Come on!"
"I can't help sitting here, Freddie Bobbsey! How am I going to skate on only one skate?" asked the little girl.
"Put on the other, and come along."
"I have put it on, lots of times, but it comes off every time I skate a little bit. That's why I want some paste. Maybe I could paste the strap fast around my shoe."
"I don't believe you could, Flossie," and this time the small, plump boy stopped skating around in a ring—"grinding the bar," as it is called—and glided toward his sister seated on the log. "Anyhow, I haven't any paste. What made you think I had?"
"Oh, you carry so much stuff in your pockets I thought maybe you'd have paste."
"I might if it was summer, Flossie, and I was making kites with Bert. But I haven't any paste now."
"Then have you got a postage stamp?"
