“We can’t lean it against the snowman—he’d topple over,” replied Fred. “We have a stepladder, but I noticed it up in our hall. The cleaning woman was probably using it.”
“I’ll get ours,” offered Polly. “I know where it is—on the back porch. I can bring it.”
Fred and Artie went with her and brought the ladder back. Then it had to be set up with care, for every one knows that a stepladder takes delight in falling over just as you reach the top step. Fred opened it and fastened the bars and ran lightly up to the top to test it.
“That’s all right,” he said. “Say, this is fun. We can pretend we’re brick-layers and bring up hods filled with snow.”
“We haven’t any hods,” Ward reminded him.
“That flat board will do,” said Fred. “Here, give it to me; I’ll show you.”
He took a flat light board that happened to be on the ground and scooped two handfuls of snow on it. Then he mounted the ladder, carrying the board and the snow, and deposited them on the square little shelf that was under the top step.
“Here you are, Riddle Chap,” he addressed the snowman’s body. “We are going to make you the best looking chap for miles around.”
“Riddle Chap!” cried Artie. “That’s fine, Fred. We’ll call him that. His initials stand for Riddle Chap, don’t they?”
“Well, of course, he has to have a name,” Fred chuckled. “If we’re going to make him as large as life, he’ll need a name so we can introduce him to our friends.”