Down went the snowball! Down went little Rita! roly-poly, rumble-tumble, ruffle-puffle, flop!
When Papa drove into the yard, two minutes later, he saw a great mound of soft snow, with two little black legs sticking out of it.
“Never mind!” said Rita, shortly, when Papa had pulled her out, and she stood shaking the snow from her wet, rosy face, “the old thing didn’t hurt me a bit, and it broke its old self all—to pieces!”
A GREAT FIGHT.
The first I heard of it was when Fred came rushing into the house after breakfast.
“The enemy!” he cried. “The enemy is upon us!”
“Where?” cried the rest of us, jumping up.
“In the battle-field, of course!” he said; and he seized his flag and rushed out again.