He could not find his Snowball.

You will laugh when I tell you who Snowball was.

She was not hard and cold.

She was soft and warm.

Snowball was a pretty, white hen.

She was Boy Blue's very own, and she would follow him all over the
yard.

She would eat grain from his hand, and let him smooth her white
feathers.

But now Boy Blue could not find her.

He had looked in the hen-house and all over the yard.

"Have you looked in the barn?" asked his mother.

"Oh, no!" said Boy Blue, "and I saw her coming out of the barn
yesterday."

"So did I," said his mother. "I think you will find her in the hay."

Boy Blue climbed up on the hay.

There in a corner he found his Snowball.