THE SNOWBALL.
There was a bright fire burning in the grate, and it sounded just as if it were laughing, with its cricklety cracklety, cricklety cracklety, when the little boy put the snowball down in front of it.
"Oh! what a nice big fire," he said; and he climbed up into the rocking chair close beside it to wait for his mother.
"Rockity rock, rockity rock," said the rocking chair.
"Cricklety, cracklety," laughed the fire; and the little boy was so comfortable and so warm that he went fast asleep on the cushions.
When he waked up his mother was still away at the market; and the fire was still laughing, louder than ever.
"Cricklety cracklety, cricklety cracklety;" but when he looked on the hearth for his snowball it was gone! There was nothing there at all but a little pool of water.
The little boy looked under the chair and under the bed and under the dresser, behind the door and in all the corners; upstairs and downstairs, high and low; but he could not find the snowball anywhere.
And what do you think had become of it? The little boy's mother guessed as soon as she came home; and if you will ask your mother I am sure she will tell you.