t them in their proper places when he had
done with them.

When school was out he ran home, put his spelling-book on the shelf in
his little room, took out his shovel from the box where he kept his
playthings, and went into the yard.

He began to work immediately, digging out a hole in the bottom of the
pile of snow, which was to be his house. His shovel was small, and it
took a long while to make a place large enough to creep into. But he
enjoyed the sport, tossing each shovelful of snow as high as he could,
and across the yard.

For a short time he had a companion, Eva Roslyn, a little girl who lived
next door, who peeped through a crack in the fence, and could just see
him at work.

"Didn't I throw that shovelful high, Eva?" he called out.

"Oh, I can hardly see you," said Eva. "I wish you would cut this hole
larger, Ned."

"I will some day," replied Ned. "But run and ask your mother to let you
come in here and help me dig out my house."

"Well," said Eva, and went in-doors, and up stairs to her mamma, whom
she found in the parlor talking with a lady who had brought her little
girl to play with Eva.

Eva and her friend were soon busy with their dolls and baby-house, and
poor Ned was entirely forgotten. He had by this time made his house just
large enough to allow him to get inside. He said to himself, "I will try
it myself before Eva comes," and bending his head quite low, crept into
the hole.

The stooping position was very uncomfortable, and he thought, "I must
make my house higher inside," and moved slightly backward, intending to
get out. Suddenly he found himself unable to stir, and entirely
surrounded with darkness: his house had caved in, and the poor boy was
deeply buried in the snow.

The brave little fellow, although terribly frightened, began at once to
consider what was best for him to do. He thought there were three ways
in which he might get released from his imprisonment. He had seen the
clothes hanging on the lines; Jane would come out to take them down, and
when she did, he would call to her for help. If she didn't hear him,
then--oh, how well he remembered the hour!--mamma would be home at six
o'clock. He knew she always closed her blinds before lighting the gas;
he would call to her as loud as he could, and she might hear him. But he
began to wonder a little how long should he have to wait. If neither
Jane nor mamma heard him, he must then wait for papa, who would surely
not sit down