idea what a really good snow fight was.

"We were making forts," he explained. "Tim's is down by the gate and
mine is under the chestnut tree. We've got a lot of ammunition made,
too."

School was out at three o'clock, and a good many of the teachers came
upstairs to Miss Mason's room to watch the fight from her windows.
Only first and second grade pupils were supposed to take part, but the
third and fourth grade children seemed naturally to drift in the
direction of the piled up snowballs.

"We'll help you make 'em," they offered.

"That's fair enough," said Mr. Carter, who was to be referee. "You
fourth graders help the first, and the third grade can be a reserve
force for the second."

When enough snowballs were ready to begin with, the general of the
Blacks retired behind the white walls of his fort and the forces of the
Orange did the same. Mr. Carter blew shrilly on his whistle, and the
battle raged.

Whenever a head popped up over the wall of either fort, whiz! a
snowball would be flung toward it. Sometimes the head ducked,
sometimes it was caught fairly.

"Gee, don't they sting!" Palmer Davis danced about, holding one hand
to his ear. "Just you let me have a whack at 'em!"