"Of course I do—South Wind blew in here one day and warned me that you were coming."
"Let's change the subject," said Fuzzy White nervously.
"Yes," said Billy eagerly, "you, you whistle very well, Mr. Boreas."
"I pride myself on my whistling," said Boreas, lifting up a block of ice with his tongs and throwing it over his shoulder. "But to return to yourself, Billy Bounce—you will have to go back home."
"I'd like to oblige you," said Billy sturdily, "but I can't."
"Oh! you can't, can't you—we'll see about that," and Boreas ran actively around Billy, cuffing him in the face and over the ears—it seemed a thousand places all at once, whistling dismally all the time.
"Look out for his teeth," shouted Fuzzy White. "If you once get in the teeth of the wind, he will bite your nose and ears and fingers and toes off."
"Now, do you think better of it?" said Boreas, coming to a sudden stop. "That was only half trying—next time I'll catch you in my ice tongs and carry you home."
"You can't frighten me," said Billy, patting Fuzzy White on the head. He didn't know quite why, but the feel of something that was friendly seemed to keep his courage up.