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Ermintrude would have liked to have spoken to the Maynards the next day, to warn them what her three eldest brothers thought of them, and besides, she was quite sure that Len, her own particular favourite, would know what to do, but she couldn't, because the next day, the snows came.

She had woken up that morning to find sparkling drops of white starting to drift past her window. She would have gone out despite them but, as the day went on, the flakes danced faster and faster and even Ermintrude, whose prissy-prim nature hid a steely constitution, was forced to admit that staying at home appeared to be the only option.

All seven of them watched, entranced, as the snow began its dance, faster and faster, wilder and wilder, like poor old Karen and her cursd red shoes, until the MacDonalds felt quite dizzy watching it.

They had never had snow like this in New Zealand, and, very proper though they were, they could not help their minds filling with happy thoughts of tobogganning and skiing, sledging and skating. Perhaps the Maynards would teach them.

"I want to apologise." said Peter suddenly. "I have thought over my words and realised that what I said about the Maynards was, in fact, quite misguided."

Ermintrude did a little mental jig of joy. It was five and two now, but boy, those two were going down fighting!

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