OUR BOYS & GIRLS.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 753, 6 August 1886, Page 5

OUR BOYS & GIRLS.

By Charles Barnard.

THE GREAT SNOWBALL FIGHT.

(Concluded).

While this was going on, there came a loud yell from the enemy, and they were seen advancing from the shbre in a long line over the ice. The fight was about to begin, and for a moment there was some confusion. Every one was making snowballs as rapidly as possible, and the Captain rushed about giving his orders. Suddenly, there were several shots fired by the enemy. Little ’Tilda Simpkins had her hat knocked off, and she began to cry loudly. There was some lively dodging among the young boys. Captain Carter stood up bravely, and received a ball flat on the nose. He never shed a tear, but squeezed a ball till it became quite icy. ’ _ , , * Stand steady, men ! Save your shots till you see the whites of their ’ A particularly icy ball whizzed past his ear and made it sing. ‘Form a line, fellows form a line. Steady in the ranks. Steady !’ They formed as strong a line as possible and advanced boldly, while all the girls ran away as fast as they could, to report the dreadful news in the village, and to carry ’Tilda Simpkins home to her mother. ‘Forward!’ cried Captain Carter. ‘Forward all together !’ The charge was magnificent, and the mill boys, who expected to take the skater? by surprise, where for a moment demoralized. There were skirmishers thrown out in front, and there was a good volley from the entire armv. It was too much for them and they broke and ran, followed by the villagers, shouting and firing as fast as possible. Reaching the banks of the pond, the enemy made a stand. They had lots of spare balls stored up, and with these they made a fierce fight. The balls flew thick and fast. Many a poor fellow had a sore nose and cold fingers. It was no use. The mill boys were two to one against the villagers. Captain Carter managed to keep his line well formed, but it was too short. The enemy began to flank him on both sides and the fellows at the ends were getting badly punished. Two had fallen out with a cut lip or sore hands. The fight waged hotter and hotter, llot shots were plentiful, which was remarkable considering the snow was so cold. The Tin Horn boys fought savagely. They were bound to avenge Teddy O’Brien and his lost butter and tea. Slowly they began to press their enemy across the pond. The shots flew faster and faster. There were shouts, and perhaps cries of pain, but no one minded how badly he was wounded, and all flung the snowballs as fast as possible. The Tin Horn line of battle was splendidly managed, and just as Captain Carter had retired to the boathouse to care for his wounds, Micky O Toole, the Tin Horn General, succeeded in breaking the villagers’ line in the centre. They were outnumbered, and greatly demoralized by the loss of their leader, and they were on the point of breaking up in confusion, when there came a terrible cry, half a scream, half a shout of alarm. ‘ Fire ! Fire !’ ‘Mercy onus! Can’t ye stop your play to hear me? My naphtha can fell over and •set the roof on fire. Can t ye run and call the men-folks before my best things all burn up V * What’s the matter, mum ?’ said Genefal Micky O'Toole. ‘ Mercy on us. Can’t ye see my house is all a-fire ! Can’t ye call the men-folks to bring the engine !’ Yes, the widow’s house was on fire. Already a little wreath of smoke 'was issuing through the roof. In an instant, the two armies were running, friend and foe together

towards the burning house. They had forgotten their battle in the presence of real danger and greater disaster. Captain Carter forgot his bruised chin, and started to follow the boys running to the fire. .‘Will nobody call the men-folks?’ cried the poor widow, Captain Carter ran past her. * T would be of no use, ma’am,’ he replied. ‘ There’s not a drop of water to be had anywhere.’ ‘ Call the men-folks ! Call the men-folks. I’m only a poor lone woman, and alt my best things are burning in the garret.’ Captain James Carter wished to go to the fire. The poor woman appealed to him to pet to the village for the engine. Here was ~d 'fight with himself, between duty and .ness. must run to town for the men,’ he i, and was off in a moment, le village boys and the mill boys reached burning house together, and stood plexed and alarmed. One corner of the of was smoking at every shingle. There were tiny tongues of fire along the eaves. What could they do ? The pond was frozen, the well-sweep stiff with ice. ‘ Let us bring out the furniture,’ cried the chairman of the committee on brooms. There was a rush towards the burning house, but just then General Micky O’Toole sprang on the top of the fence and cried out : ‘ Hold on, fellows !' Ye may get killed entirely if ye go inside. Let’s snowball the roof ! That'll put the fire oue.’ And he quickly made a soft snowball and sent it flying toward the house. It lodged on the roof and rolled down through the smoke into the eaves-trough, and upon a tiny flame which sputtered and went out. * Hurrah ! That’s the idea ! Snowball the fire !' In an instant a dozen snowballs went flying through the air. Each sent up a white puff of steam as it struck the roof. Every boy was a fighter again, and took good aim at the sparkling flames along the eaves.

snow was deep and soft just there—just right for making snowballs. -They rose by dozens and scores, and fell like,big white rain on the roof. The fighters stood on every aide and put in the shots from every direction... every man of them a hero in’ a good fight. At first, it did not seem to do much good. The smoke increased rapidly, and though every shot told, the fire seemed to increase. Faster and faster flew the balls. Hurrah ! The men were beginning to arrive from every direction. They saw the idea at once, and everyone went to work throwing snowballs at the blazing roof. Suddenly the engine arrived, but it stopped at the gate, and every man and and boy left the ropes and joined in the great snowball fight. Ah ! The smoke is going down. The snow cannonade is too much for the fire. It hissed and sputtered, and at last went out, while white clouds of steam took the place of the brown smoke. The wind blew the steam away and there was the roof, nearly burned through, but still standing. The house had been saved by snowballs. The Widow Lawson said ‘ she was tired out with shaking hands’ with everybody, and she thanked General Michael O’Toole again and again for suggesting such a cute idea, and President James Carter for calling the engine when it wasn’t wanted. ‘He meant, well, James did, but he was little too late,’ she said j but she thanked him, all the same. They called it a drawn battle, and ever afterward the Tm Horn boys and the village boys were good friends. It was soon known, of course, that it was the wind that blew the sand on the ice. Peace was better than war, and every one of the combatants hs4sLf&Q¥&d himself a hero in the great snowball fight.