“Who ever heard the like?” returned Mrs. Kennedy. “What kind of a way is that to do, child? And where would they cart it to? There’s just as much snow in one place as there is in another.”
“Why, in New York,” explained the little girl, “there’s always an army of men at work after a snowstorm—poor men, you know. And lots and lots of wagons. My papa used to say the snow was a blessing to the poor who wanted to earn a little money.
“Of course, lots of the men that shovel snow don’t have warm coats—or mittens, even—or overshoes! They wrap their feet in potato sacks to keep them warm and dry.”
“Well, well,” murmured Aunty Rose. “So that’s what they do with snow in the city, is it? Live and learn.”
Uncle Joe had shovelled off the porch and steps, and Prince had beaten his own dooryard in the snow in front of his house. For he had a house of his own, now—a roomy, warm one—built by Mr. Parlow.
It must be confessed that, although Uncle Joe paid for the building of this dog-house, it never would have been built by Jedidiah Parlow had it not been for Carolyn May. At first the grouchy old carpenter refused to do the job.
“I ain’t got to work for Joe Stagg’s money—not yit, I guess,” growled the carpenter. “Tell him to git somebody else to build his house.”
“Oh, but Mr. Parlow,” gasped Carolyn May, quite amazed, “it isn’t for Uncle Joe, you know!”
“What ain’t for your Uncle Joe?” demanded Mr. Parlow.
“The dog-house.”