His New Mittens by Stephen Crane

Little Horace was walking home from school, brilliantly decorated by a pair of new red mittens. A number of boys were snowballing gleefully in a field. They hailed him. "Come on, Horace! We're having a battle."

Horace was sad. "No," he said, "I can't. I've got to go home. " At noon his mother had admonished him: "Now, Horace, you come straight home as soon as school is out. Do you hear? And don't you get them nice new mittens all wet, either. Do you hear? " Also his aunt had said: "I declare, Emily, it's a shame the way you allow that child to ruin his things. " She had meant mittens. To his mother, Horace had dutifully replied, "Yes'm. " But he now loitered in the vicinity of the group of uproarious boys, who were yelling like hawks as the white balls flew.