"I'm afraid to go home, through them," answered Tommy. "It seems as if I made another mistake. They weren't for the horse's supper at all. I wish I was a little smarter. Father will knock the life out of me when he catches me."
"Let him sleep over it," said Charley, "that's what I do when pop's mad with me. Sleep out all night, and let him go to business before you show up."
"Where can I stay?"
"In our house. You can go up in the carpenter's shop and sleep in one of the coffins. I'd give you half my bed, but father's so funny-tempered he might lick us both, if he found that I'd kept you out."
"That's so; and for want of a better roost, I'll do as you say."
"Come at once, for I hear pop upstairs, going on at mamma as he always does when he's in a bad temper."
Charley went into the yard, followed by his friend Tommy, on whom he thought he was conferring a great favor in allowing him to sleep in a coffin.
The snow was lying about in heaps, and the idea that it would be great fun to snowball somebody at once struck Charley.
"Say!" he exclaimed, "let's go down street and snowball Darky John."
"All right," replied Tommy.