"That's what I thought it was," Flossie went on. "Some one must have been playing out here on the meadows, and made this little house. It's awful small, but maybe if we curl up and stick our legs under us, we can get inside out of the storm."
"Maybe we can!" cried Freddie. "Let's try."
The children walked around the pile of snow, looking for the hole, such as they always left when they built snow houses.
"The front door is closed," said Freddie. "I guess they shut it after them when they went away."
"Maybe they're inside now," remarked Flossie. "If we knocked maybe they would let us in. Only it will be awful crowded," and she sighed. She was very cold and tired, and was worried about being lost. It was no fun, and she would have been glad to go inside the little snow house, even though some one else were in it also.
"There's no place to knock," Freddie said, as he looked about on every side of the round pile of snow. "And there's no door-bell. The next time I make a snow house, Flossie, I'm going to put a front door-bell on it."
"That'll be nice," his sister said. "But, Freddie, never mind about the door-bell now. Let's get inside. I'm awful cold!"
"So'm I. And another snowflake just went into my ear. It makes me wiggle when it melts and runs down inside."
"I like to wiggle," Flossie said. "I'm going to open my ears real wide and maybe a snowflake will get in mine. Does it feel funny?"
"Terribly funny. But you can't open your ears any wider than they are now, Flossie. They're wide open all the while—not like your eyes that you can open and shut part way."