When it was done and declared to be a good likeness, each fellow armed himself with snowballs, and, standing a little way off, the command was given to fire, and "Old Snooks" received a merciless pelting, one ball hitting him squarely in the eye, another on the nose, another knocking off an ear, until the image was completely demolished amid shouts of triumph.

Then somebody else was set up for a mark. But usually the most fun was in building a fort and laying siege to it—or rather storming and taking it.

Once the real "Old Snooks" himself came staggering by while the boys were raising the breastworks. He stopped a moment to swear as he usually did, when one of the little "rascals" took deliberate aim and fired, and Snooks' old hat was lifted into the air and landed over the fence into a big snowbank.

Now when the boys saw the rage of the old man, and that he was making for them as fast as his poor legs would let him, away they ran. But all that night and the next day they trembled and kept out of the way, fearing the wrath of Old Snooks.

The wretched man found it easier to catch his hat than scampering boys. So he gave up the chase and urged his way homeward.

But the track was drifted, and his limbs chilled. Soon he fell, but was picked up by a passing neighbor and carried to his miserable home.

Not long after the village bell tolled for his funeral. Those boys were thoroughly sobered when they remembered that their fun had something to do with Old Snooks' death; so they resolved that, whatever they did, they would never find pleasure again over the misery or sin of any one.

One day when their snow fortress was done and besiegers and besieged were about to see which party was master of the situation, several of General Gage's soldiers came along. This was more than one hundred years ago, and the "village" was Boston; the playground Boston Common; Gage, the British general in command. It was a time when almost every American man, woman and child, was "mad" at England because of taxes or the "Stamp Act."

The wise old men said with an ominous shake of the head that trouble was coming. The boys heard it and began to talk war and "play soldier." They were at it now. Those in the fort were "British;" those about to storm it, "Americans."

The passing soldiers heard the words, "Drive the Britishers out;" "shoot them;" "kill the tyrants." Though it was all in play, the words stung them, and coming suddenly upon the boys, they handled them roughly, calling them "young rebels," and demolishing the fort.

This did not make the boys less "rebel." They spread the news of their bad treatment by General Gage's soldiers. Teachers, parents, everybody, was angry.

The next day a procession of boys, headed by one of the "storming party," marched through the Common and halted before General Gage's headquarters. Three of the number were admitted to his presence and asked what it all meant. Nothing frightened by being surrounded by officers, glittering with armor, the young "captain," looking the great general full in the face, recounted the affair about the destroying of their fort by the soldiers.

General Gage patiently heard the statement and promised to reprove his men and see their sport should not be spoiled again in that way.

So the procession departed in triumph. The boys were no more molested.

But the Revolution soon came on, and instead of snowballs and snow forts and the sport of children, there were musket balls and roaring cannon, there were stone forts and "banners rolled in blood."

Seven years of war followed, in which the sword, the bayonet, the bullet, fire and famine, played their awful part, and—"the Britishers" went home to England.

America was free!

How many of those boys who snowballed "Old Snooks" and visited General Gage became Congressmen, I have never heard. Yet I dare say some of them got into the high places of the new nation.

But one of the best "resolutions" ever passed was theirs:

Never to have fun at the expense of such creatures as "Old Snooks."