"She just fell herself," he said, half scared.

"She didn't, either," Jehosophat yelled, "he pushed her in." And he
started to rush for the fat boy when the Toyman called,--

"Hold on there, let _me_ settle it."

He came over, and squinted his eyes thoughtfully like a judge, while
Fatty twisted and squirmed and squirmed and twisted.

"I wouldn't hit him," said the Toyman, "Fatty's so fat it wouldn't do
any good anyway. Your fists would only sink into him like dough. So I
guess you'd better wash his face in the snow--_hard_ now."

So they did--very _hard_, as the Toyman had told them.

"Why, he's actually blubbering, the great big booby," said Jehosophat,
"shame!"

Now there's no word in the language in which boys and girls join more
readily than this same word "Shame." So they all took up the chorus,
everybody on that hill. You know that chorus, and your parents know
it, and your grandparents, and great grandparents, too, sang it, long,
long before you were born.

"Shame, shame, puddin' an' tame.
Everybody knows your name."

What pudding has to do with it probably none in the whole world knows.
But it is a very effective song, and they one and all shouted it,