"All right," her brother agreed again. "I'll throw at his nose and high hat—after I make it—and I won't touch his legs."
This seemed to satisfy Sue, and for some time the children played in the yard, where the big snow man was being made. He was as large as Sue and Bunny could build him. First they had rolled a snowball around the yard, and, as the snow was soft and packed well, the ball grew larger and larger.
Then, when it was about the size Bunny thought was right, it was left at the place where the man was to stand.
"Now we have to roll another ball," Bunny had said.
"What for?" asked Sue, who, though she had often seen snow men, had perhaps forgotten just how they were made.
"This second ball is for his stomach," Bunny said.
"What good is a stomach?" asked Sue. "He can't eat."
"He could maybe eat icicles if he wanted to," Bunny had answered. "Anyhow, the second snowball has to go on top of the bottom one and make the body. Then you cut legs out of the bottom snowball. You can cut the legs, 'cause I'm taller 'n you and I can reach up and make the face."
Sue was digging away with her little shovel at the bottom snowball to make the man's legs, and Bunny was just finishing the big nose when, suddenly, a snowball came sailing into the Brown yard and fell with a thud between Bunny and his sister.
They both started, and Bunny cried: