Once upon a time when all the ground was white with snow and all the roofs were trimmed with icicles, a little boy went out into the world to make snowballs.
His mother wrapped him up so nice and warm from head to toe that you could scarcely see anything of him but the tip of his nose; and when the snowbirds that lived in his own front yard saw him, they did not know him.
They flew away to the top of the fence, and cocked their heads first on one side, and then on the other, as if they were thinking, "Who can this be?" but by and by they found out.
"Chirp, chirp," they said to each other. "It is only the little boy who throws us crumbs from the window;" and they flew down into the yard again to watch him make snowballs.
The little boy knew just how to make snowballs, and how to throw them, too, for he had seen his big cousin do it. First he took a handful of snow, and then he packed it in his hands like this; and then hurrah! he threw it as far as he could send it.
One of his snowballs went into the corner of the yard and one against a tree, and one all the way over the fence into the street. It was great fun to play in the snow, and the little boy was sorry when the maid called from the house to tell him it was time to come in.
"As soon as I make one more," he answered; and he took a great handful of snow, and made such a big snowball that he thought he must take it into the house to show to his mother.
Now the little boy's mother had gone to market while he was playing in the snow; but he took the snowball into her room, and put it on the hearth so that she might see it when she came home.
