"Behind the door
The Mill you'll find,
But snow, the Mill
Will never grind.

We'll gather snow,
And still more snow,
Then roll it down
To cool Below."

"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed the Chief Dwarf. "We have snow enough here to put
out a dozen fires. Come, brothers, let us roll the snowball Below!"

"Heave ho! Heave ho!" cried the other six dwarfs.

In the twinkling of an eye, the seven little dwarfs had rolled the
snowball through an entrance in the side of the hill.

Down, down, the snowball rolled, until it reached the place where the
fires burned.

Then sizzle, sizzle, came the hot steam pouring out of the entrance.

All this time the Poor Brother had stood watching the seven dwarfs, and
saying not a word. But suddenly he thought, "If I do not go Below at
once, there will be no fire left to boil my ham."

So the Poor Brother groped his way through the steam and the smoke, and
at last he found his way into the home of the seven dwarfs.