Looking round quickly, he saw Sam Ashmead standing at the corner of the house, engaged in making a fresh snowball.
"Don't fire any more snowballs, Sam Ashmead," said Frank.
"I shall, if I please," said Sam.
"I haven't time to fire back now," said Frank. "Wait till I get through, and we'll have a match if you like."
"But I don't like," said Sam scornfully. "Do you think I would have a match with a beggar like you?"
"I am no beggar, Sam Ashmead," said Frank, "and if I were I don't think I would beg of you."
"Oh, you're mighty proud," sneered Sam, "considering that you live in an old hut not half as good as our stable."
"Yes, I am poor, and I live in a poor house," said Frank calmly, "but that isn't a crime that I know of. Some time I shall live in a better house, I hope."
So saying, he went back to work, and began shoveling the snow vigorously. He did not anticipate any further attack from Sam, but in this he soon found himself mistaken.
In the course of a minute he felt a pretty hard blow in the center of his back, and looking round saw Sam Ashmead laughing insolently.