Buddy and His Winter Fun or A Boy in A Snow Camp

Front matter

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Chapter I The Big Noise

OW, children,’’ said Miss Thatcher as she stood in front of her class in Clover School, ‘‘we have all had a fine Christmas vacation and I hope you have come back to your desks ready to study hard. Have you?”’ ““Oh, yes, Miss Thatcher!’’ exclaimed Buddy Martyne and he spoke louder than he intended. Some of the other boys and girls laughed a little, and even Miss Thatcher smiled. She really did not expect an answer to her question. But that Buddy boy was always very quick.

““Well,’’ went on Miss Thatcher, ‘‘I am glad to know that at least one of my pupils is going to study and I am sure you all are. As 1

I said, we have had a good vacation during the Christmas holidays. Now we must work and study.”’

“T had a lot of fun at Christmas!’ exclaimed fat Agnes Fleck. ‘‘I got a

There was more laughter when Agnes spoke and Miss Thatcher had to hold up her hand for silence.

‘“<T really did not mean to have all this talk,”’ went on the teacher with a smile, ‘‘though I don’t blame you, Buddy and Agnes, for speaking out as you did. But we must not waste any more time. We must take our books and begin to study. Later in the day we may have a period when I will listen to what you did over the Christmas holidays. But now we will go on with the reading lesson. I will call on Buddy Martyne to start and if he——”’

Suddenly there was a loud hissing noise in the class room. Everyone looked around.

‘*Who did that ?’’ asked the teacher quickly, getting up from her chair on the little raised

THE BIG NOISE 3 platform in the front of the room. ‘Who hissed like a goose?’’

**Maybe it was a snake,’’ said Buddy Martyne before he thought. Very often Buddy spoke before he thought.

“‘Oh—a snake!’’ exclaimed. Mary Norse and she moved over in her seat, closer to fat Agnes Fleck as if Agnes, being such a big girl, would be able to drive away a snake.

*‘Snakes don’t come out in winter time!”’ said Tom Gordon.

“Anyhow a snake wouldn’t come in school!’’ spoke Harry Clee.

‘‘Buddy’s dog came to school once and so did a little kitten!’’ exclaimed Mary. ‘‘Maybe a snake would, too!”’

“‘Children! Children!’’ called Miss Thatcher tapping on her desk with a pencil. ““T can’t have all this talking in class! Of course there are no snakes, or any other animals in our room, though once a kitten did get in my waste paper basket. But who hissed like a goose ?’’ she asked. Her voice was stern.

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No one answered for a moment. All the children had heard that hissing noise and many of them, who had been to the country for their summer vacations, knew that geese hissed. Then Buddy spoke again, even though the teacher had said she did not want so much talking.

‘‘Maybe it’s a frog instead of a snake,’’

said Buddy.

“There is no frog here!’’ went on Miss Thatcher. ‘‘I think it.was some boy who made the hissing noise, and if he did it was very silly of him. Geese are said to be silly and I must say that any boy who would hiss in school is as silly as any goose!”’

There was some laughter at this but it did not last long.

‘“Now we will go on with our reading,”’ said Miss Thatcher. ‘Turn to page sixty-three, Buddy and——”’

Once more, above the teacher’s voice, sounded that hissing noise. This time Miss Thatcher seemed to be quite angry.

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THE BIG NOISE 5 “This must stop!’ she said sharply, and again she tapped a pencil on the top of her desk. ‘‘Now I am going to put you all on your honor,’’ she added. ‘‘I am going to ask the boy who did that hissing to stand up. Remember you are on your honor, and if the boy who did it does not stand up it is almost the same as if he told an untruth.”’

The room was very still and quiet now. If any one had dropped a pin it could have been heard in the farthest corner. But no one dropped a pin. Nor was that hissing sound heard again.

‘‘Well, I am waiting,’’ said Miss Thatcher and there was a slight noise as if some boy had moved his feet along the floor. But no one stood up.

“‘T will not punish the boy who hissed, this time,’’ said Miss Thatcher. ‘‘But I want to know who it was. And I hope he will be manly enough to stand up and not keep silent, which is the same as telling an untruth.”’

Some of the girls could be heard to breathe heavily now. It was a terrible thing, they thought, to have such a boy inthe room. And suppose, after all, it should turn out to have been a girl who hissed like a goose? That would be more terrible!

‘‘Well,’”? said Miss Thatcher and her voice was rather sad, ‘‘I am sorry to know that I have such a boy inmy class. I would not have believed it. I wonder ”

Suddenly the hissing was louder than before and it seemed to come from the side of the room where there were heating pipes. Buddy Martyne looked that way and saw a little cloud of steam. Again, almost before he thought what he was doing, he exclaimed:

‘‘Oh, Miss Thatcher, it wasn’t a boy that hissed! And it wasn’t a goose! It was the steam pipes! Look!’’

He pointed to where the little cloud of vapor was floating above the radiator near a window, and Miss Thatcher turned her head in that direction. What she saw caused her quickly to get up from her platform chair.

j o THE BIG NOISE T }

“The steam pipes helped to make the noise,’’ said the teacher, ‘‘but not altogether. It was these icicles that melted and the water from them, dripping down on the pipes, hissed as it turned to steam. But who put these icicles on the window sill?’’

She held up a hand full of what had been long, slender slivers of glittering ice, but which now, in the warm room, had partly melted and had become short and stumpy.

‘‘Who brought these icicles in school?” asked the teacher and again her voice was sharp. She looked from one boy to another. She did not look on the girls’ side of the room. Perhaps she thought that no girl in her class would do such a thing.

‘“‘Dear me! This is dreadful!’’ exclaimed Miss Thatcher. ‘‘Isn’t the boy who played this trick going to be man enough to stand up and say so?’’

It was a trick that had been played. Everyone in the class knew that. For the icicles had been laid on the window sill just above the largest radiator in the room and whoever had done it must have known that when the icicles began to melt they would drip down and make a hissing sound on the hot pipes.

Then Jake Turner, one of the oldest boys in the room, slowly rose to his feet. His face was quite red.

‘“‘Well, Jake,’’ said Miss Thatcher, softly, for she saw that he needed a little help to get over what he was going to say. ‘‘Have you anything to tell us?”’

‘“Yes’m—Miss Thatcher—I—er—now—L —I brought those icicles in school,’’ stammered Jake.

‘*Oh, did you?’”’ and Miss Thatcher’s voice was almost as cool as the lumps of frozen water which she now threw out of the window into the snow that was piled all about Clover School. ‘‘And why did you do that ?2”’

‘‘I—er—now—I—I thought maybe you would tell us how icicles are made, after we— now—got through the reading lesson,’’ went on Jake. ‘‘I broke ’em off the coal shed roof

THE BIG NOISE 9 and I brought ’em in and laid ’em on the window sill and I—er—now—I——_”’

“Didn’t you know the heat of the steam would melt your icicles and make a hissing sound when the water dripped down on the hot pipes?’’ asked the teacher, and she was smiling now, for she was glad Jake had been manly enough to tell the truth.

*‘Didn’t you, Jake?’’ she asked as he remained silent.

Jake hung his head and his face was redder than before.

‘¢7—_I—er—now—I guess I didn’t think,’’ mumbled the boy and all the other boys and girls felt sorry for him. Jake was not one of the bright pupils and often he did things that were very mischievous and tricky. But he was a good boy for all that.

“Well, Jake,’’ said Miss Thatcher as he sat down, ‘‘I am glad you owned up to the truth. There was no great harm in what you did, as long as you did not intend to make trouble. And after the reading lesson I shall be glad to tell you, and all the class, something about icicles. ”’

Often Miss Thatcher gave little talks on the wonders of nature to her pupils. In summer she told about fruits and flowers and in winter about frost and ice, and how snow flakes were beautiful crystals. Once she brought a magnifying glass to school and, catching some snow flakes on a piece of black velvet, let her boys and girls see, through the microscope, what wonderful shapes the flakes took on as they were turned from drops of rain, high in the air, into forms like stars as they reached the earth.

Jake Turner knew this, and, as he was not fond of regular study he thought it would be a fine thing if the teacher took an hour to talk to the class about icicles, telling how they were slowly formed by water, one drop after another freezing in the cold air.

‘‘Now, Buddy, we will go on with the reading,’’ said Miss Thatcher with a smile, and Buddy stood up at his desk. But before he

THE BIG NOISE if could begin there came another noise—a much bigger noise than the hissing of the melting icicles.

It was a noise that sounded in the cellar of the school, and seemed to shake the whole building. At the same time, outside the windows of Miss Thatcher’s class, could be seen clouds of white smoke.

**Oh, the school’s on fire!’’ cried fat Agnes Fleck. ‘‘I guess the boiler blew up! The school’s on fire!’’

In another moment there would have been a wild rush for the door, but as the echoes of the big noise died away Miss Thatcher hur~ ried to the piano and began to play. At once the boys and girls quieted.

Chapter II Lang!”’

C That was the musical chord Miss Thatcher always played when she wanted the boys and girls to sit quietly in their seats before they stood up to march out.

That was another musical chord the teacher always played as a signal for her pupils to stand in the aisles, beside their desks, ready to march out.

And the playing of this music, which the children had so often heard, made them quiet down and act as they always did just before class was to be let out. Though every one knew that this was not the usual dismissing of school.

Something had happened. But what was it?

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Nervously, though not a boy or girl moved from the aisles, they all looked out of the windows and saw those white clouds, like smoke, floating around.

“Steady now, girls and boys!’’ came the quiet voice of Miss Thatcher, and, in the silence that followed, Buddy and his playmates could hear pianos being played as marching signals in other rooms up and down the hall. ‘We are going to have a fire drill!’’ went on the teacher.

“‘Oh, if it’s only fire drill it’s all right,’’ whispered Mary Norse to fat Agnes Fleck.

‘It looks like a real fire,’’ said Agnes, nodding toward the windows. ‘‘ All that smoke!’’

“That isn’t smoke—it’s steam, just like the steam from the melted icicles!’’ exclaimed Buddy who knew the difference between steam and smoke.

‘‘Quiet, please!’’ ordered Miss Thatcher. She was waiting for the fire drill signal bells to ring out in the hall, which signal would mean that it was time to send her pupils marching down the corridor. And not only Miss Thatcher, but many other teachers in Clover School, knew that this was something more than just a practice fire drill such as was often held.

Something had happened down in the basement, where the heating boilers were, to cause all that steam. And that big, shaking noise. Yes, something had happened.

Suddenly there was a jingle and jangle of ringing bells in the different halls. Then the bell in Miss Thatcher’s room tinkled and at once the teacher called:

‘‘Ready! March! But keep in line! Keep in step! And don’t hurry! I want to see my pupils march out the most orderly class in the school! Buddy, you will lead the boys and Mary Norse will lead the girls! March!”’

Miss Thatcher began playing a lively tune. Other teachers were doing the same in their rooms and soon the different classes began to mingle in the wide corridors and march toward the closets where their hats and winter garments hung. After getting these, they marched into the yard.

Buddy Martyne held his head up proudly and walked with firm steps at the head of the boys in his class. In the line next to him Mary marched, leading the girls. The two young leaders looked neither to left nor right, for such were the orders.

But as he got out into the hall, Buddy began to sniff sharply with his nose. He was trying to smell smoke from burning wood and he was glad when he could not. He knew what a sharp, sneezing smell burning wood has, for he often helped boil maple syrup over an open fire at his grandfather’s farm in the country.

“‘T guess it isn’t a fire after all,’’ said Tom Gordon when he and Buddy, behind whom he marched, were near the outer door.

‘‘Well, where did all that smoke come from then?’’ asked Harry Clee. ‘‘Look at it now, coming out of the basement windows!”’

He pointed to white clouds of vapor floating from the low openings of the school cellar.

‘olisn’ smoke, I tell you!’’ said Buddy. “‘Tt’s only steam!’’

‘Well, when there’s a fire and the engines pump water on it that makes steam,’’ exclaimed Jake Turner.

‘There aren’t any engines here!’’ said Buddy.

‘“‘And I don’t hear any coming,’’ added Tom. ‘‘I don’t believe it’s a fire.”’

‘‘Maybe they just wanted to make us think there was one, so Mr. Austin let some steam out of his boiler to pretend it was smoke se we’d do better in the fire drill,’ suggested Harry.

‘*T don’t believe our janitor would do that,’’ spoke Buddy. ‘‘But a lot of steam came from some place just the same.”’

By this time all the boys and girls of Clover School were out in the yard. Their teachers followed and then, last, like the captain of a ship, came Mr. Pardin, the principal.

‘‘Boys and girls!’’ called Mr. Pardin when there was silence enough in the yard so that he could be heard, ‘‘every one is now safely out of the school and no one has been hurt, though there has been an accident.’’

‘‘An accident!’’ gasped fat Agnes Fleck. Agnes was very excitable for such a jolly, fat girl. ‘‘Oh—an accident!’’

‘‘Quiet, please!’’ ordered Miss Thatcher, who stood near her pupils.

‘‘One of the steam boilers in the basement has cracked and exploded,’’ went on the principal, ‘‘though the explosion was only a small one and no one was in the least hurt.’’

‘“See, I told you it was steam!’’ whispered Buddy to his chums Harry and Tom.

‘“‘Quiet!’’ ordered Miss Thatcher again, and she shook her finger at Buddy and then smiled.

‘‘There has been no fire,’’ said the principal, ‘‘but we thought it best to have a fire drill to get you all out in order. And you did it very nicely. I am proud of you!”’

This made even the big boys and girls in the High School classes feel pleased with themselves.

Buddy and his chums were waiting for Mr. Pardin’s next words. Always, on other days when there had been fire drills, without any fire, or boiler explosion accident, the pupils had marched back to their classes after a short stay in the yard about the school. But this was going to be different.

‘‘Attention, boys and girls!’’ suddenly called the principal again.

Buddy and all the others stood quietly listening.

‘Go back to your rooms,’’ went on Mr. Pardin, ‘‘gather up your books, papers and anything else you have in your desks and then —go home!’’

‘“Go home!’’ exclaimed Buddy in surprise and several others murmured the same words.

‘Yes, go home,’’ said the principal again. ‘*There will be no more school for a long time —several weeks, perhaps.’’

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“No more lessons! Hurray! Hurray!’

“‘No more books to study!”’

Boys and girls standing around Buddy and his friends were saying those words over and over again.

What did it mean?

And while they are wondering about it there will be a moment in which something can be said about Buddy Martyne and his adventures. For Buddy had many adventures, as

_those of you know who have read the other books about him. The first volume is called “‘Buddy on the Farm; or, A Boy and His Prize Pumpkin.”’ In that story you may read how Buddy earned money enough to buy a wonderful pair of roller skates.

The second book is ‘‘Buddy in School; or, A Boy and His Dog,”’ and it tells how the little lad found a dog, which he named Brick, and which he taught to do several tricks. Brick was taken away by a Gypsy but Buddy got his pet back in time to do his act in the Red

Cross show. It was very jolly and exciting.

Buddy Martyne was a blue eyed and red haired boy who lived with his father and mother in the half-city half-country town of Mountchester. He was very fond of fun, was Buddy, ‘‘and mischief, too,’? as Lola Wagg, the hired girl, used to say.

Among Buddy’s chums were Tom Gordon, Harry Clee and Charlie Taylor, to say nothing of Brick, the dog. These boys and Brick had many good times together. After the Red Cross show, in which Brick took such a fine part, there had been jolly good times at Thanksgiving and Christmas.

There had been no sessions during the Christmas and New Year holiday season, of course, but now, on the first day of coming back to their classes, after this early winter vacation, something had happened which meant no more school for the boys and girls.

Wasn’t it exciting?

At least Buddy and his friends thought so.

‘I wonder why there isn’t going to be any more school for a long while?’’ asked Agnes.

all NO MORE SCHOOL 21

As if he had heard her question Mr. Pardin answered, saying:

“‘One of the boilers that heat our school has broken. That is why you saw so much steam. We cannot hold classes in a cold school, so you may all go home and do what studying you can by yourselves, until we get a new boiler. It may take a month. When the school can be warmed again, your parents will get notice by mail that classes are to begin. So, now, go home!’’

With whoops of delight the smaller boys and girls hurried back into their rooms for their books. Some of the older boys and girls in the High School were really sorry they could not keep on with their lessons.

‘But I’m not!’’ laughed Buddy, as, catching up his strap of books, he began to run toward his home. ‘‘Brick and I will have a lot of fun this winter in the snow! Hurray!’’

On ran Buddy to get his dog which was kept chained near a warm kennel while his little master was in school. Mrs. Martyne thought perhaps Brick might run off and follow Buddy to class unless kept chained.

‘Ho, Brick!’’ called Buddy when he was near his house. ‘‘Ho, Brick!’’

In the still, cold, wintry air the boy’s voice carried a long distance. Brick heard and answered with several loud barks.

“‘T’m coming, Brick!’’ cried Buddy. ‘‘I’m coming !’’

But as he got in front of his house the red haired boy saw, standing on the steps, a messenger from the telegraph office in Main Street. In his hand this messenger held a yellow envelope.

‘*Hello!’ called Buddy as he went into the yard.

‘Hello!’ greeted the messenger. ‘Does Mr. Martyne live here?”’

‘*Yes,’’ Buddy answered. ‘‘He’s my father but he isn’t home. He’s down at his law office.”’

‘*Well, if your mother’s home she can sign for this telegram, I guess,’’ said the messenger. ‘‘I’ve been ringing the bell but no one has answered.’’

Just then Lola Wagg, the housemaid, opened the door and as soon as she saw the yellow envelope she exclaimed:

“Oh, a telegram! That’s bad luck! I hope nothing has happened!’’ And then, catching sight of Buddy, she asked: ‘‘What are you doing home this time of day? Oh, I’m sure something has happened !’’

Without signing the book, which the messenger held out to her, Lola left the door open and ran back through the hall crying:

“‘Oh, Mrs. Martyne! Something terrible has happened! Buddy’s home from school and there’s a man at the door with a telephone—I mean a telegram—and it’s bad luck! Oh, dear! Oh, dear! Oh, dear!’’

CHAPTER III UP IN A TREE HAT’S the matter with her ?’’ the mes

senger asked of Buddy, who stood at the bottom step wondering what it was all about.

‘‘Matter with who?’ inquired the red haired boy who had run home, almost out of breath, with the surprising news that there was to be no more school.

‘‘That girl—why did she run away when I wanted her to take this telegram?’’ went on the messenger.

‘Oh, Lola is funny!’’ said Buddy with a laugh. ‘‘I’ll call my mother.”’

‘You don’t have to, you can sign the book just as well—it’s all paid,”’ said the tall young man who had ridden from the telegraph office, in the middle of Mountchester, out to the

UP IN A TREE 29

Martyne home on his bicycle. ‘‘That is if you can write your name,’’ he added—as he looked at the blue eyed boy.

“Of course I can write my name!”’ said Buddy. ‘‘Don’t I go to school ?’’

**You aren’t in school now and you ought to be if you go,”’ said the messenger with a laugh as he held out his black, oilcloth covered book with the telegram inside. ‘‘Why aren’t you in school now? It’s too early for school to be out.”’

‘‘The boiler blew up and there won’t be any heat in our school so we all came home and we’re going to have a winter vacation,’’ said Buddy. ‘‘And I’m glad of it!”’

**Oh, so that’s how it is!’’ exclaimed the telegram messenger. ‘‘Well, if you can write your name, sign my book and I’ll hop along. That hired girl of yours sure is queer—running away from a telegram. There’s no harm in ’em. I deliver lots of ’em every day and most folks are glad to get ’em.”’

Buddy’s mother came to the open door as he was looking at the yellow envelope in his hand, wondering from whom it had come. It was addressed to his father.

‘“What’s the matter?’’ asked Mrs. Martyne in surprise. ‘‘Oh, Buddy, why are you home from school so early, and why did Lola run away and leave this door open to let in all the cold air ?”’

‘‘T guess she was so scared about the telegram that she didn’t know what she was doing,’”’ said Buddy, answering his mother’s last question first.

‘*What telegram ?’’ inquired Mrs. Martyne.

‘‘This one—for Daddy,” said Buddy.

‘*Oh, it’s about business I suppose,’’ said Mrs. Martyne taking the yellow envelope. ‘‘Tt should have gone to his office. I’ll telephone him about it. But why are you home from school ?’’ .

‘There isn’t any school!’’ answered Buddy and he laughed. ‘‘I mean,’’ he went on, ‘there isn’t going to be any more school for a long time on account of a boiler getting

UP IN A TREE 97 eracked and a lot of steam coming out in all the rooms. So Mr. Pardin sent us home. And I’m glad—I don’t mean I’m glad ’cause the boiler cracked,’’ the red haired boy made haste to say, ‘‘but I’m glad I can stay home for a while so I can play with Brick. Is he out in the yard?”’

**Ves, I guess so,’’ Mrs. Martyne answered. She was looking at the telegram envelope. ‘* And it seems to me,”’ she went on, ‘‘that you have been out of school enough already this winter, Buddy, with the long Christmas holidays.”’

**Can’t help it!’’ called back Buddy as he ran around the corner of the house to his dog’s kennel in the back yard. ‘‘We can’t have school if there’s no heat.’’

‘‘No, I suppose not,’’ agreed his mother. ‘‘Well, I must tell your father about this telegram,’’ and she went in to telephone to Mr. Martyne at his law office down town.

‘‘Hi, old Brick!’’ shouted Buddy as he ran toward his dog and Brick barked loudly, wagged his tail as if to shake it off and tried to break loose from his chain to greet his beloved small master. ‘‘Now we can have a lot of fun this winter!’’ went on Buddy. ‘““There’s no more school for a long time! Hurray!’’

He loosed Brick from the kennel chain and soon the dog and boy were romping about. A little later Buddy and Brick ran across the lots to join Tom Gordon and Harry Clee who were building a snow fort.

It was noon, as Buddy knew by the blowing of the factory whistles, when the fort was finished and he exclaimed:

‘*T’ve got to go home to dinner. Come on, Brick!’ He whistled to his dog who was running about sniffing at holes in the snow. ‘‘T’ll be over after a while and we’ll have a snow fight,’’ said Buddy to his two chums.

‘Sure!’ said Harry. ‘‘We’ll have a dandy fight !’’

‘*What fun—no school in winter!’ yelled Tom standing on his head in a snow bank.

UP IN A TREE 29

As Buddy ran home, he began to wonder what was in the telegram which had so excited Lola. And when he saw his father going up the front steps just ahead of him, Buddy began to think that perhaps, after all, the yellow message might have brought bad news. Klse why would his father come home at this hour of the day? Almost always Mr. Martyne had his lunch down town near his law office.

‘“‘Well, Buddy, I see you’re all right, anyhow,’’ spoke Mr. Martyne as he waited for his son and the dog to reach the front gate.

“Yes, Daddy, I’m all right and so is Brick,’’ Buddy answered. ‘‘Why shouldn’t I be?”’ .

‘‘T heard there was an accident at Clover School this morning,’’ went on Mr. Martyne, “so I came home in a hurry to find out about it. But first I telephoned your mother and she said you were all right.”’

“Nobody was hurt when the boiler eracked,’’ Buddy stated. ‘‘But I signed my name for a telegram to you, Daddy.’’

‘‘Yes, so Mother said. That’s another reason I came home this noon. I was expecting that telegram. It should have gone to my office. It’s about something I must do. But you had better come in to lunch, now, Buddy.”’

‘“‘T’m going to, Daddy! I’m hungry!”’ said the red haired boy with a laugh. ‘‘I’ll be in as soon as I fasten Brick to his kennel.’’

Buddy found it hard to part from Brick, who did not like being left alone in the kennel.

“But you eat your dinner and [’ll eat mine,’’ said Buddy to his pet, ‘‘and then we’ll play all the rest of the afternoon.”’

Buddy found his father and mother at the table, when, after a quick wash up in the bath room, he slid down the banister rail to take his own place at one end. Mr. and Mrs. Martyne were talking about the telegram that had just come, for it lay opened at Mr. Martyne’s plate.

‘“Then we can take Buddy with us,’’ Mrs. Martyne said as the blue eyed boy slid into his chair. Buddy, who had been looking anx-

UP IN A TREE 3]

iously at the table to see what there was to eat, was suddenly excited on hearing this.

*“Take me where?”’ he cried. ‘‘What’s the matter? Where are we going? Is there anything the matter—that telegram—’’ he pointed to it.

**Nothing has really happened,’’ his father said. ‘*‘I mean there is no bad news, such as Lola thinks must always come when there is a telegram. But I shall soon have to go up to Glenford, to a big lumber camp, to look after some business for a man, and, as I may have to stay there several weeks, I was thinking of taking your mother with me.’’

“‘Oh—take Mother!’’ murmured Buddy. “Well, what about me?”’

‘‘Since your school has closed, my dear,’’ said Mrs. Martyne looking at her somewhat excited, small son, ‘‘we have decided to take you with us.”’