The Crime

It was a crisp, clear winter's morning with the snow packed in clean squares on the ground. The blue sky seemed to reflect the purity of earth and air. It was the sort of day when a young man's thoughts turn to the contemplation of Nature's simple beauty. A student, weighty with books yet light with joy and good feeling, smiled at a little, rosy-checked lass who was patting the snow with her red-mittened hands. The sweet innocence on her round face made him wistful, and for a moment he lost his carefree look. But to show his supreme faith in childhood, he stooped down, pinched her check, and walked on with a sigh. Two seconds later he was stopped dead by the plop of a snowball in the back of his neck and an carsplitting whine, as though some one had been kicked in the shins, and his 'petite' cried, "Say, what are you trying to do: make me?"