blood on wood-work than
anything else. Scrubbing doesn't do the least bit of good; it has to be
planed off, or else painted.

Let me see, now. Have I missed anything? I'll count 'em off on my
fingers. There's skating, and sleigh-riding, and sliding down hill, and
Oh, yes. Snowballing and making snow-men. Nobody makes a snow-man but
once, and nobody makes a snow-house after it has caved in on him once
and like to killed him. And as for snowballing--Look here. Do you know
what's the nicest thing about winter? Get your feet on a hot stove,
and have the lamp over your left shoulder, and a pan of apples, and
something exciting to read, like "Frank Among the Indians." Eh, how
about it? In other words, the best thing about winter is when you can
forget that it is winter.

The excitement that prompts "It snows!" and "Hurrah!" mighty soon peters
out, and along about the latter part of February, when you go to the
window and see that it is snowing again--again? Consarn the luck!--you
and the poor widow with the large family and the small woodpile are
absolutely at one.

You do get so sick and tired of winter. School lets out at four o'clock,
and it's almost dark then. There's no time for play, for there's all
that wood and kindling to get in, and Pap's awful cranky when he hops
out of bed these frosty mornings to light the fire, and finds you've
been skimpy with the kindling. And the pump freezes up, and you've got
to shovel snow off the walks and out in the back-yard so Tilly can hang
up the clothes when she comes to do the washing. And your mother is just
as particular about your neck being clean as she is in summer when
the water doesn't make you feel so shivery. And there's the bottle
of goose-grease always handy, and the red flannel to pin around your
throat, and your feet in the bucket of hot water before you go to
bed--Aw, put 'em right in. Yes, I know it's hot. That's what going to
make you well. In with 'em. Aw, child, it isn't going to scald you. Go
on now. The water'll be stone-cold in a minute. "Oh, I don't like winter
for a cent. Kitchoo! There, I've gone and caught fresh cold.

"I wish it would hurry up and come spring.

"When the days begin to lengthen,
The cold begins to strengthen."

Now, you know that doesn't stand to reason. Every day the sun inches a
little higher in the heavens. His rays strike us more directly and for a
longer time each day. But it's the cantankerous fact, and it simply ha