storm is jolly. Somehow, when it snows I always feel like whistling and singing."
"And I feel like making up verses," murmured the poet of the school, and went on:
"Oh, the snow, the beautiful snow,
Coming down when the wind does blow.
Coming down both day and night,
Leaving the earth a wonderful sight!
Oh, the snow, the heavenly snow!"
"Wetting our feet wherever we go!"
continued Tom, and added:
"Oh, the snow.
When the wind doth blow,
It sets a pace
And hits our face
And we are froze
Down to the toes
And in the slush,
That's just like mush,
We cannot stop,
But go ker-flop!"
"Tom, the first thing you know, you'll be taking Songbird's laurels away from him," observed Larry.
"Perish the thought!" answered the fun-loving Rover, tragically.
"I don't hope you call that poetry," came from Songbird, in deep disgust. "Why, Hans can do better than that; can't you, Dutchy?"
