They'd brought out more sleds, and there was a nice mix of old-fashioned wooden toboggans and plastic discs, plus steerable sleds and crazy carpets. Beth and Rothko piled onto a crazy carpet and barely made it twenty feet before wiping out.

[T]he most striking object was the long array of shoes and boots of all lengths, breadths, and thicknesses; high-lows, low-highs, lace-ups, mud-boots, waders, and snow-boots. If they were not waterproof, as they professed to be, the only question was, as it appeared to me, how they ever got dry and lissome again, when they were once wet.

… Celia was no longer the eternal cherub, but a thorn in her spirit, a pink-and-white nullifidian, worse than any discouraging presence in the 'Pilgrim's Progress.'

There is my Quaker Aunt, A Paper-Flower, — with a formal border / No breeze could e'er disorder, — Pouting at that old beau—the Winter Cherry, / A pucker'd berry; / And Box, like a tough-liv'd annuitant