“Get all the snow you can and plaster it against this ball,” directed Fred. “We’ll have a fat snowman while we’re about it.”
River Bend was a happy town in which to live, if you happened to be fond of playing in the snow. There was no limit to the quantities you could collect, if you were willing to work and the storm had been a heavy one. Jess and Ward got out the wheel-barrow and trundled loads of the white stuff from their own lawn. As Ward said, it was a pity to “let it waste.”
“Wait a minute,” said Fred, suddenly. “We’re forgetting his legs. If we build him sitting down, he won’t be nearly tall enough. We must start two columns, and use them for legs, and then put the ball of snow on top of them.”
So they set to work and soon had two large, squatty columns of snow that looked like the piling in Ward’s father’s wharf.
“The snow packs fine, doesn’t it?” said Polly to Margy.
The girls were as busy as the boys, hauling snow and packing it down firmly, and never a word did Margy say about cold feet. She was far too interested to pay attention to her feet.
“Now we’ll have to lift that ball somehow,” said Fred, when the legs were pronounced finished. “You and Polly get on one side, Margy, and Ward and Artie get over here. Jess and I’ll take this side.”
The snow was not very heavy to lift, but it was hard to handle, and so cold that they felt it through their gloves. With some difficulty, they finally had it in place, and the statue already looked like a snowman, Artie declared, stepping back to view their handiwork.
“Well, we’ve come to the place where we’ll have to have a stepladder,” said Fred.
“Why don’t we use the loft ladder?” asked Jess. “That’s light and easy to carry.”