It was the morning of the second Saturday in December and the weather man had sprung a surprise on the cadets. When they had gone to bed on the previous night it had been cold and clear, but during the night the weather had magically changed. Terry, lightest sleeper of the three friends, had awakened early, to find the world wrapped in a whirling, blowing snowstorm, the soft white flakes banked in little piles against their windows.
For a single moment Terry had lain there contemplating the beauty of the early morning scene and then the light of mischief had dawned in his gray eyes. Consulting his watch he perceived that it was almost time for the bugle to blow, so he had no compunctions about what he intended to do. With the grace of a stalking cat the red-head crept to the window and scooped in a handful of snow. Keeping a wary eye on the two sleepers he made himself about five small sized snowballs and placed them on his bed. Then he dipped his hands once more into the wet snow and gathered a large quantity.
Making his way with extreme caution he reached Jim’s bed and gently pulled the covers off that young man’s feet. Against the warm feet of the boy he placed the snow, and then, bounding over to Don, he placed a small pile on his forehead. From there it was but a single bound into bed, where he pulled up the covers over his chin, and carefully hiding the snowballs, pretended to sleep.
It was not a moment too soon. Jim sat up suddenly, drawing his feet in a convulsive movement toward him. A running trickle of cold water woke Don at the same time.
“Hey, who piled snow against my feet?” demanded Jim, knocking the cold stuff onto the floor with a single sweep.
“Probably the same one who put a mound of it on my head,” retorted Don, and the two brothers looked suspiciously at Terry.
But this aspect baffled them for a moment. Apparently, the red-head was fast asleep. Only a very little part of him showed above his cover, and a gentle sound, indicating deep breathing, came from the bed. But the more the brothers looked, the more suspicious they became.
“That looks too innocent to suit me,” Jim announced, and began to get out of bed.
“Yes, I doubt that peaceful, dreamy look on his homely face,” chimed in Don, throwing off his covers.
The boy in bed stirred and apparently woke up, flashing them a happy smile. “Good morning, Don; good morning, Jim,” he greeted, quietly. Then he sat up and looked with wondering astonishment out of the window. “Why bless my soul, it has snowed, hasn’t it?”