"I never could understand why boys are always trying to hit something,"
he said at last. "When they haven't an air-gun, they throw stones and
snowballs. I could tell you of some serious accidents from stone-
throwing. A little friend of mine was killed by falling from a horse
which had been frightened by a snowball. It is disgraceful that there
should be no strict laws to forbid that kind of play."
Robert's cheeks and ears were beginning to burn.
"Father won't give me an air-gun," he said, presently. "He says it will
make me hard-hearted to kill anything--even English sparrows. But I
thought all boys threw snowballs."
"Perhaps they do," said Mr. Spencer. "I wish they could know some of the
risks they run and the pain they give. I have seen little girls come
home from school, crying and hurt, and I knew they had been snowballed."
"They were pretty mean boys who did that," began Robert. "We don't throw
snowballs at girls."
"Tired old men and hard-working horses and other busy workers are not
much better targets," said Mr. Spencer, and again Robert's cheeks
flamed. "Perhaps, however, your snowballs always go just where you
intend to have them. That makes it safer, of course."
The farmer's tone was so polite that Robert looked up suspiciously.
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