“I’d think it was ha—hard work,” panted Fred, who was almost out of breath.
“And wouldn’t you like to do it some Saturday afternoon, when there was a football match on, or fine skating?”
“My gracious! don’t mention it, Harry. It would make a fellow’s heart drop to his shoes.”
“No laying off there!” sang out Joe. “This gang has got to keep at work until the job’s finished and I blow the whistle.”
“Better ring the dinner bell,” put in Bart. “I’m almost hungry enough to chew—oh!”
Bart broke off with an exclamation, for just then a soft snowball hit him directly in the back of the neck. He turned swiftly, to catch sight of Fred working away, with an extra innocent look on his chubby face.
“Oh, you needn’t play off on me!” he cried. “I know you did it, Fred.”
“Did what?” asked Fred, continuing his work. “I’m cutting tree branches. What are you doing?”
“This,” continued Bart, and let drive with a snowball that took Fred on the shoulder.
“Hi! hi! stop that!” was the cry, and then Fred aimed another snowball. But it flew past Bart and hit Link in the left ear.