"Oh, that's so! I forgot what fun we can have when it snows!" cried Noodle. "I was thinking that it would spoil the skating, but there isn't any to spoil now. Let's wish real hard that it would snow."
So the beaver boys wished as hard as they could, and looked up at the sky, hoping to see some of the white flakes sifting down. But they saw none.
"We'd better hurry," called Noodle. "There goes the first bell and we've got quite a long way to go yet!"
So the two little beaver boys hurried on and, just as they got to the bridge over the tiny little brook that sang a merry song in the summer, but which did not sing so merrily in winter, Toodle and Noodle heard some one saying:
"Oh, who will buy? Oh, who will buy,
My last balloon before I cry?"
"Hark! What's that?" whispered Noodle.
"I don't know," answered Toodle. "It sounded like—like—somebody!"
"Of course it was somebody," spoke Noodle. "But who? That's the question."
They stood on the little bridge over the small brook and once more they heard the voice saying, louder than before, this time: