Bert first put the box out on the porch roof in the snow. Then he crawled out himself. As he did so the wind swayed the branch and it nearly hit him, but he managed to scramble out of the way.
Then, standing on the box, he began to chop at the shreds of the swaying branch. It was hard work, but the boy kept at it. The sharp hatchet shaved through the thin wood.
“One more shot, and down you’ll come!” exclaimed Bert.
He aimed a hard blow at what was left of the shreds. The hatchet cut through them and the branch fell to the porch roof. No longer would it bang against the house.
But in making his last stroke, Bert reached over too far. He felt himself slipping. The box on which he stood slipped on the snow of the roof.
The next moment Bert toppled over, fell on his side, and went rolling toward the edge of the slanting roof.
“Here I go!” he cried, trying to hold himself back.
But there was nothing which he could grasp, and an instant later he slid over the edge of the roof.