ocking it completely off, I could see it go rolling the rest of
the way down the hill with its cornsilk hair getting covered with
snow--also I could see Mr. Black in his brown riding jacket and
boots, on his great big saddle horse, riding up right about the same
minute.

What if we didn't get there first? I thought. What if we didn't? It
would be awful! Absolutely _terrible_! And Poetry must have been
thinking the same thing, 'cause for once in his life, in spite of his
being barrel-shaped and very heavy, and never could run very fast, I
had a hard time keeping up with him....

5

All the time while Poetry and I were running through the snowy woods,
squishety-sizzle, zip-zip-zip, crunch, crunch, crunch, I could see in
my mind's eye our new teacher's big beautiful brown saddle horse,
prancing along in the snow toward Bumblebee hill, carrying his heavy
load just as easy as if it wasn't anything. Right that very minute,
maybe, the horse would be standing and pawing the ground and in a
hurry to get started somewhere, while maybe its rider was standing
with _The Hoosier Schoolmaster_ in his hand, looking at the picture of
the schoolhouse, and then maybe looking at the ridiculous-looking snow
man we'd made of him....

In a few minutes Poetry and I were so out of wind that we had to stop
and walk awhile, especially because I had a pain in my right side
which I sometimes got when I ran too fast too long. "My side hurts," I
said to Poetry, and he said, "Better stop and stoop down and unbuckle
your boot, and buckle it again, and it'll quit hurting."

"It'll WHAT?" I said, thinking his idea was crazy.

"It'll quit hurting, if you stop and stoop down and unbuckle your boot
and then buckle it again."

Well, I couldn't run anymore with the sharp pain in my side, so even
though I thought Poetry's idea was crazy, I stopped and stooped over,
biting off my mittens with my teeth, and laying them down on the snow
for a jiffy and unbuckling one of my boots and buckling it again while
I was still stooped over; then I straightened up, and would you
believe it? That crazy ache in my side was actually gone! There wasn't
even a sign of it.

I panted a minute longer to get my wind, then we started on the run
again. "It's crazy," I said, "but it worked. How come?"

"Poetry Thompson's father told me," he said, puffing along ahead of
me, "only it won't work in the summer-time. In the summer-time you
have to stop running, and stop