“WELL, we’re goin’ to have a change in the weather,” announced Grandpa,
as he peered out the tiny sitting room window at the sky.
“What makes you think so?” asked the Turk, who was playing checkers with
the Cook.
“That toe of mine is hurting,” answered the old man, “and that’s a sure
sign there’s going to be a change,” and with this prophecy Grandpa
shuffled upstairs to bed.
Grandpa was quite right about the change in the weather, for it grew
cold in the night, and the Lady of Fashion, who had to get up about
midnight to give several of the children their cough syrup, noticed that
the snow was falling.
In the morning the ground was covered with almost an inch of soft white
snow and the little people shivered as they slipped on their tiny
clothes.
After breakfast, several of the Teenie Weenies went out to play in the
snow, but most of the little people were contented to sit before the
warm fire.
“This snow storm reminds me of an experience of mine in forty-nine,”
said Grandpa, who pulled his chair so near the fire he almost scorched
his shins. “I was cuttin’ up an old ruler for fire wood one afternoon,
when—”
“HELP! HELP!” screamed a voice from the outside.
“What’s that?” cried the General, jumping to his feet.
Suddenly the front door burst open, and a frightened Teenie Weenie boy
sprang into the room.
“Quick—help,” panted the small boy. “The Clown has broken through the
ice, and—and he—he can’t get out! Quick—help!”
“Land sakes,” cried the General, “where’s the Clown!”
“He’s over in the chicken yard, in a pan of wa-water,” gasped the small
boy.
With all speed the Teenie Weenies made their way to the chicken yard. As
they hurried up to the pan they could hear the Clown faintly crying for
help. The Turk and the Cook boosted the Sailor up to the top of the pan,
where he caught on, and pulled himself over the edge. The poor Clown’s
head was only just out of the water, and he was holding fast to the edge
of the ice.
“Throw me a board or a match, or something strong,” shouted the Sailor
to the others, waiting below. At once the little people began to dig
about in the snow for the desired board.
“Oh dear,” cried the Dunce, “if we only had a straw! I’ve always heard
that a drowning man catches at a straw!”
“Here,” shouted the Old Soldier. “Here’s a burnt match, but it’s frozen
to the ground!”
The Turk grabbed the match and with a mighty heave he pulled it free and
threw it up to the waiting Sailor. The Sailor carefully pushed the match
out across the hole, and with its help he soon pulled the half frozen
Clown from the water.
[‡Illustration: Frozen bowl]
The poor fellow was carried quickly to the shoe house, where he was
given a hot bath, wrapped up in a warm comforter and set before the
fireplace. The Cook made cocoa for the Clown and brought it to him
steaming hot.
“J-J-J-Jimminie f-f-f-fishhooks,” stuttered the Dunce, as he watched the
Clown sip the delicious cocoa, “I-I-I-I wish I’d have fallen into the
pan so I could get some of that good cocoa.”
“You don’t need to fall into a pan to get some,” laughed the kind
hearted little Cook, “I’ll bring you some,” and in a few seconds he
handed the Dunce a steaming cup.
“Crickety, but this is good,” cried the Dunce, as he sat down beside the
Clown. “J-J-J-Jimminie, I’m glad you fell into that pan.”
“So am I,” answered the Clown, as he drained his cup.
“Now I want you to tell me how this happened,” said the General when the
Clown had finished his cocoa.
“Why, a couple of us were skating,” said the Clown, “and all at once the
ice cracked, and—and I fell in!”
“Now then, I don’t want to hear of any more skating in pans,” said the
General, shaking his finger at the open-mouthed Teenie Weenies, standing
about.
“Yes, sir,” several meekly answered.
“That is,” continued the General, “unless they are shallow pie pans, out
of which you could wade. Remember!”
“We will,” promised the little people.
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