diff options
| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-14 20:01:53 -0700 |
|---|---|---|
| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-14 20:01:53 -0700 |
| commit | 0f99b09efcb1db784f7434f2c46bba12cb261009 (patch) | |
| tree | 96fceb87034553e396dca622e167e2e1701d8227 /34571-h | |
Diffstat (limited to '34571-h')
| -rw-r--r-- | 34571-h/34571-h.htm | 12343 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 34571-h/images/psb01.jpg | bin | 0 -> 10377 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 34571-h/images/psb02.jpg | bin | 0 -> 58429 bytes |
3 files changed, 12343 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/34571-h/34571-h.htm b/34571-h/34571-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3c829b5 --- /dev/null +++ b/34571-h/34571-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,12343 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Pearl Story Book, by Various. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + + p {margin-top: .75em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: .75em;} + + h1 {font-weight: normal; text-align: center; clear: both;} + + h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 {text-align: center; clear: both;} + + hr {width: 33%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; clear: both;} + + div.centered table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + body {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + + a {text-decoration: none;} + + img {border: none;} + + em {font-style: italic;} + + .hidden {display: none;} + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-style: normal; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + } /* page numbers */ + + .blockquot {margin-left: 8%; margin-right: 8%;} + + .bbox {border: solid 2px; padding: 1em; margin-top: 3em; margin-bottom: 3em;} + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps; font-style: normal;} + .itals {font-style: italic;} + + .caption {font-style: italic; text-align: left; margin-top: -.5em; padding-bottom: 2em; font-size: 80%;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em;} + + .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + .footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + .fnanchor {vertical-align: .2em; font-size: .8em; text-decoration: none;} + + .cpoem {width: 60%; margin: 0 auto;} /* centers poem and maintains span indentation */ + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i1 {display: block; margin-left: 1em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i3 {display: block; margin-left: 3em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 4em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i6 {display: block; margin-left: 6em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i7 {display: block; margin-left: 7em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i8 {display: block; margin-left: 8em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.poet {display: block; margin-left: 6em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em; font-variant: small-caps;} + + .tdl {text-align: left; vertical-align: top;} /* left top align cell */ + .tdlp {text-align: left; vertical-align: top; padding-right: 2em;} /* left top align cell */ + .tdrt {text-align: right; vertical-align: top; font-style: italic;} /* right top align cell */ + .tdr {text-align: right; vertical-align: bottom;} /* right bottom align cell */ + .tdc {text-align: center; vertical-align: top; padding-top: 2em;} /* centre bottom align cell */ + + .lrgfont {font-size: 120%;} + .smlfont {font-size: 85%;} + .vsmlfont {font-size: 75%;} + .tinyfont {font-size: 50%;} + + .padtop {padding-top: 3em;} + .padbase {padding-bottom: 3em;} + .hrpad {padding-top: 2em;} + .ipadtop {padding-top: 2em;} + .ipadboth {padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 2em;} + + .hang {text-align: left; margin-left: 2em; text-indent: -2em;} + + /* widths for images */ + .imgw1 {width: 125px;} + .imgw2 {width: 390px;} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Pearl Story Book, by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Pearl Story Book + Stories and Legends of Winter, Christmas, and New Year's Day + +Author: Various + +Release Date: December 6, 2010 [EBook #34571] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PEARL STORY BOOK *** + + + + +Produced by David Edwards, Sam W. and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive) + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + + + +<h1 class="padtop">THE<br /> +PEARL STORY BOOK<br /> + +<span class="tinyfont"><i>Stories and Legends of +Winter, Christmas, and New Year’s Day</i></span></h1> + + +<p class="center padtop"><span class="vsmlfont">COMPILED BY</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="lrgfont">ADA M. SKINNER</span><br /> + +<span class="vsmlfont">AND</span><br /> + +<span class="lrgfont">ELEANOR L. SKINNER</span></p> + +<p class="center smlfont"><i>Editors of “The Emerald Story Book,” “The Topaz Story Book,”<br /> +“The Turquoise Story Book,” “Children’s Plays,” Etc.</i></p> + + +<div class="figcenter padtop imgw1"> +<img src="images/psb01.jpg" width="125" height="174" +alt="Publisher's logo" /> +</div> + + +<p class="center padtop"><span class="smlfont">NEW YORK</span><br /> +DUFFIELD & COMPANY<br /> +<span class="smlfont">1919</span></p> + + + +<p class="center vsmlfont padtop padbase">Copyright 1910 by<br /> +DUFFIELD & COMPANY</p> + + + +<div class="figcenter imgw2"> +<img src="images/psb02.jpg" width="390" height="590" +alt="Three shepherds look up at the sky, amazed" /> +<p class="caption">Drawn by Maxfield Parrish</p> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2><a name="acknowledgments" id="acknowledgments"></a>ACKNOWLEDGMENTS</h2> + + +<p>The editors’ thanks are due to the following +authors and publishers for the use of valuable +material in this book:</p> + +<p>To T. C. and E. C. Jack of Edinburgh for +permission to use “Holly” and the legend of +the “Yew” from “Shown to the Children +Series”; to Frederick A. Stokes Company for +“The Voice of the Pine Trees,” from “Myths +and Legends of Japan”; to the Wessels Company +for “The First Winter” by W. W. Canfield; +to Julia Dodge for permission to use two +poems by Mary Mapes Dodge; to the Christian +Herald for a poem by Margaret E. +Sangster, Jr.; to Lothrop, Lee and Shepherd +for “The Pine and the Flax” by Albrekt Segerstedt; +to the Outlook Company for a story +by Mine Morishima; to the Independent for +the poem “Who Loves the Trees Best?”; to +Laura E. Richards for her story “Christmas +Gifts”; to George Putnam and Sons for “Silver +Bells” by Hamish Hendry, and “The +Happy Prince” by Oscar Wilde; to the +Churchman for a story by John P. Peters; to +Dodd, Mead and Company for the story +“Holly” from the “Story Hour”; and “Prince +Winter” from “The Four Seasons” by Carl +Ewald; to George Jacobs for “A Legend of +St. Nicholas” from “In God’s Garden” by +Amy Steedman; to A. Flanagan Company for +“The New Year’s Bell” from “Christ-Child +Tales” by Andrea Hofer Proudfoot; to Jay T. +Stocking and the Pilgrims Press for “The +Snowball That Didn’t Melt” from “The Golden +Goblet”; to the New York State Museum +for permission to use two stories contained in +Bulletin 125, by Mrs. H. M. Converse; to +Small, Maynard and Company for “A Song +of the Snow,” from “Complete Works of +Madison Cawein.”</p> + +<p>The selections from James Russell Lowell, +Edna Dean Proctor, Celia Thaxter, Nathaniel +Hawthorne, Edith M. Thomas, Margaret +Deland, John Townsend Trowbridge, and +Frank Dempster Sherman are used by permission +of, and by special arrangement with, +Houghton, Mifflin Company, authorized +publishers of their works.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2><a name="contents" id="contents"></a>CONTENTS</h2> + + +<div class="centered"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="Table of contents"> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#introduction">INTRODUCTION</a></td> + <td class="tdrt"> </td> + <td class="tdr"> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdc" colspan="3"><a href="#book1">WINTER STORIES AND LEGENDS</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"> </td> + <td class="tdrt"> </td> + <td class="tdr"><small>PAGE</small></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">Winter (selection)</td> + <td class="tdrt">James Russell Lowell</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk1chap01">2</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">The Ice King (Indian legend)</td> + <td class="tdrt">Eleanor L. Skinner</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk1chap02">3</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">A Song of the Snow (poem)</td> + <td class="tdrt">Madison Cawein</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk1chap03">9</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">King Frost and King Winter (adapted)</td> + <td class="tdrt">Margaret T. Canby</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk1chap04">11</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">The Snowstorm (poem)</td> + <td class="tdrt">Ralph Waldo Emerson</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk1chap05">18</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">The First Winter (Iroquois legend)</td> + <td class="tdrt">W. W. Canfield</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk1chap06">20</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">Snow Song (poem)</td> + <td class="tdrt">Frank Dempster Sherman</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk1chap07">24</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">The Snow Maiden (Russian legend. Translated from the French)</td> + <td class="tdrt">Eleanor L. Skinner</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk1chap08">25</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">The Frost King (poem)</td> + <td class="tdrt">Mary Mapes Dodge</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk1chap09">30</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">King Winter’s Harvest</td> + <td class="tdrt">Selected</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk1chap10">32</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">Old King Winter (poem)</td> + <td class="tdrt">Anna E. Skinner</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk1chap11">36</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">Sheltering Wings</td> + <td class="tdrt">Harriet Louise Jerome</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk1chap12">37</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">Snowflakes (selection)</td> + <td class="tdrt">Henry Wadsworth Longfellow</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk1chap13">41</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">The Snow-Image</td> + <td class="tdrt">Nathaniel Hawthorne</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk1chap14">42</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdc" colspan="3"><a href="#book2">WINTER WOODS</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">The First Snow-Fall</td> + <td class="tdrt">James Russell Lowell</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk2chap01">62</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">The Voice of the Pine Trees (Japanese legend)</td> + <td class="tdrt">Frank Hadland Davis</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk2chap02">63</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">The Pine Tree Maiden (Indian legend)</td> + <td class="tdrt">Ada M. Skinner</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk2chap03">68</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">The Holly</td> + <td class="tdrt">Janet Harvey Kelman</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk2chap04">73</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">The Fable of the Three Elms (poem)</td> + <td class="tdrt">Margaret E. Sangster, Jr.</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk2chap05">79</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">The Pine and the Willow</td> + <td class="tdrt">Mine Morishima</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk2chap06">82</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">Why the Wild Rabbits Are White in Winter (Algonquin legend retold)</td> + <td class="tdrt">Eleanor L. Skinner</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk2chap07">86</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">The Yew</td> + <td class="tdrt">Janet Harvey Kelman</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk2chap08">93</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">How the Pine Tree Did Some Good</td> + <td class="tdrt">Samuel W. Duffield</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk2chap09">95</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">A Wonderful Weaver (poem)</td> + <td class="tdrt">George Cooper</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk2chap10">105</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">The Pine and the Flax</td> + <td class="tdrt">Albrekt Segerstedt</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk2chap11">107</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">The Fir Tree (poem)</td> + <td class="tdrt">Edith M. Thomas</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk2chap12">110</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">Why Bruin Has a Stumpy Tail (Norwegian legend)</td> + <td class="tdrt">Eleanor L. Skinner</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk2chap13">111</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">Pines and Firs</td> + <td class="tdrt">Mrs. Dyson</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk2chap14">116</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">Who Loves the Trees Best? (poem)</td> + <td class="tdrt">Selected</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk2chap15">131</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdc" colspan="3"><a href="#book3">CHRISTMAS EVERYWHERE</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">A Christmas Song</td> + <td class="tdrt">Phillips Brooks</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk3chap01">134</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">The Shepherd Maiden’s Gift (Eastern legend)</td> + <td class="tdrt">Eleanor L. Skinner</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk3chap02">135</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">Christmas Gifts</td> + <td class="tdrt">Laura E. Richards</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk3chap03">141</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">Silver Bells (poem)</td> + <td class="tdrt">Hamish Hendry</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk3chap04">146</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">The Animals’ Christmas Tree</td> + <td class="tdrt">John P. Peters</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk3chap05">147</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">A Christmas Carol</td> + <td class="tdrt">Christina Rossetti</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk3chap06">162</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">Holly</td> + <td class="tdrt">Ada M. Marzials</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk3chap07">164</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">The Willow Man (poem)</td> + <td class="tdrt">Juliana Horatia Ewing</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk3chap08">175</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">The Ivy Green (selection)</td> + <td class="tdrt">Charles Dickens</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk3chap09">178</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">Legend of St. Nicholas</td> + <td class="tdrt">Amy Steedman</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk3chap10">179</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">Christmas Bells (selection)</td> + <td class="tdrt">Henry Wadsworth Longfellow</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk3chap11">197</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">A Night With Santa Claus</td> + <td class="tdrt">Anna R. Annan</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk3chap12">198</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">A Child’s Thought About Santa Claus (poem)</td> + <td class="tdrt">Sydney Dayre</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk3chap13">208</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">Charity in a Cottage</td> + <td class="tdrt">Jean Ingelow</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk3chap14">210</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">The Waits (poem)</td> + <td class="tdrt">Margaret Deland</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk3chap15">223</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">Where Love Is There God Is Also (adapted)</td> + <td class="tdrt">Leo Tolstoi</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk3chap16">225</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen</td> + <td class="tdrt">Dinah Mulock Craik</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk3chap17">234</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdc" colspan="3"><a href="#book4">THE GLAD NEW YEAR</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">The Glad New Year (poem)</td> + <td class="tdrt">Mary Mapes Dodge</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk4chap01">236</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">The Bad Little Goblin’s New Year</td> + <td class="tdrt">Mary Stewart</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk4chap02">237</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">Selection</td> + <td class="tdrt">Robert Herrick</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk4chap03">248</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">The Queen of the Year (poem)</td> + <td class="tdrt">Edna Dean Proctor</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk4chap04">249</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">The New Year’s Bell</td> + <td class="tdrt">Andrea Hofer Proudfoot</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk4chap05">250</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">The New Year</td> + <td class="tdrt">Selected</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk4chap06">256</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">The Child and the Year (poem)</td> + <td class="tdrt">Celia Thaxter</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk4chap07">257</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">A Masque of the Days</td> + <td class="tdrt">Charles Lamb</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk4chap08">258</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">Ring Out, Wild Bells (poem)</td> + <td class="tdrt">Alfred Tennyson</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk4chap09">262</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdc" colspan="3"><a href="#book5">MIDWINTER</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">The Bells (selection)</td> + <td class="tdrt">Edgar Allen Poe</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk5chap01">264</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">A January Thaw</td> + <td class="tdrt">Dallas Lore Sharp</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk5chap02">265</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">The Snow Man</td> + <td class="tdrt">Hans Christian Andersen</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk5chap03">276</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">The Happy Prince</td> + <td class="tdrt">Oscar Wilde</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk5chap04">284</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">The Legend of King Wenceslaus (adapted)</td> + <td class="tdrt">John Mason Neale</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk5chap05">303</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">Midwinter (poem)</td> + <td class="tdrt">John Townsend Trowbridge</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk5chap06">310</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdc" colspan="3"><a href="#book6">WHEN WINTER AND SPRING MET</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">Old Winter (poem)</td> + <td class="tdrt">Thomas Noel</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk6chap01">314</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">The Snowball That Didn’t Melt</td> + <td class="tdrt">Jay T. Stocking</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk6chap02">315</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">Gau-wi-di-ne and Go-hay (Iroquois legend retold)</td> + <td class="tdrt">Eleanor L. Skinner</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk6chap03">330</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">Naming the Winds (Indian legend retold)</td> + <td class="tdrt">Ada M. Skinner</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk6chap04">339</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">North Wind’s Frolic (translated)</td> + <td class="tdrt">Montgomery Maze</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk6chap05">343</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">The Months: A Pageant (adapted)</td> + <td class="tdrt">Christina Rossetti</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk6chap06">346</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">Prince Winter</td> + <td class="tdrt">Carl Ewald</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk6chap07">366</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">How Spring and Winter Met (poem)</td> + <td class="tdrt">Edith M. Thomas</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bk6chap08">376</a></td> + </tr> +</table> +</div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2><a name="introduction" id="introduction"></a>INTRODUCTION</h2> + + +<p>“Once upon a time,” in the winter season +suggests happy, young faces grouped about a +blazing fire. A heavy snowstorm promises +plenty of sport for tomorrow, but at present +the cosiness indoors is very attractive, especially +now that the evening story hour is at +hand. And while the story-teller is slowly +choosing his subjects he hears the children’s +impatient whispers of “The Snow Man,” +“Prince Winter,” “The Legend of Holly,” +“The Animals’ Christmas Tree.”</p> + +<p>Silence! The story-teller turns his eyes +from the glowing fire to the faces of his eager +audience. He is ready to begin.</p> + +<p>Each season of the year opens a treasury of +suggestion for stories. In the beauty and wonder +of nature are excellent themes for tales +which quicken children’s interest in the promise +of joyous springtime, in the rich pageantry +of ripening summer, in the blessings of generous +autumn, and in the merry cheer of grim +old winter.</p> + +<p>The Pearl Story Book is the fourth volume +in a series of nature books each of which emphasizes +the interest and beauty characteristic +of a particular season. The central theme of +this volume is winter, “snow-wrapped and +holly-decked.”</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1"><!-- no visible page number --></a></span></p> + +<h2 class="padtop"><a name="book1" id="book1"></a>WINTER STORIES AND LEGENDS</h2> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>2]</a></span></p> + +<h3 class="padtop"><a name="bk1chap01" id="bk1chap01"></a>WINTER</h3> + + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Down swept the chill wind from the mountain peak,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the snow five thousand summers old;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On open wold and hill-top bleak<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It had gathered all the cold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And whirled it like sleet on the wanderer’s cheek.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It carried a shiver everywhere<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the unleafed boughs and pastures bare;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The little brook heard it and built a roof<br /></span> +<span class="i0">’Neath which he could house him winter-proof;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All night by the white stars’ frosty gleams<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He groined his arches and matched his beams;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Slender and clear were his crystal spars<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the lashes of light that trim the stars:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He sculptured every summer delight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In his halls and chambers out of sight.<br /></span> +<span class="poet">James Russell Lowell.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>3]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="bk1chap02" id="bk1chap02"></a>THE ICE KING</h3> + +<p class="center smcap">(Indian Legend)</p> + + +<p>Once upon a time there was an Indian village +built on the bank of a wide river. During the +spring, summer, and autumn the people were +very happy. There was plenty of fuel and +game in the deep woods; the river afforded excellent +fish. But the Indians dreaded the +months when the Ice King reigned.</p> + +<p>One winter the weather was terribly cold +and the people suffered severely. The Ice +King called forth the keen wind from the +northern sky, and piled the snowdrifts so high +in the forests that it was most difficult to supply +the wigwams with game. He covered the +river with ice so thick that the Indians feared +it would never melt.</p> + +<p>“When will the Ice King leave us?” they +asked each other. “We shall all perish if he +continues his cruel reign.”</p> + +<p>At last signs of spring encouraged the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>4]</a></span> +stricken people. The great snowdrifts in the +forests disappeared and the ice on the river +broke into large pieces. All of these floated +downstream except one huge cake which +lodged on the bank very near the village. And +when the Indians saw that the spring sunshine +did not melt this great mass of ice they were +puzzled and anxious.</p> + +<p>“It is the roof of the Ice King’s lodge,” they +said. “We shall never enjoy warm weather +while he dwells near us. Have we no brave +who is willing to do battle with this winter tyrant?”</p> + +<p>At last, a courageous young hunter armed +himself with a huge club and went forth to see +if he could shatter the glittering frozen mass +and rid the village of the giant who dwelt +beneath it. With all his strength he struck the +ice roof blow upon blow, crying out, “Begone, +O cruel Ice King! Your time is past! Begone!”</p> + +<p>Finally, there was a deafening noise like the +crashing of forest trees when the lightning +strikes, and the huge ice cake split into several +pieces.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>5]</a></span> +“Begone!” cried the young brave, as he +struggled with each great lump of ice until he +pushed it from the bank and tumbled it into +the river below.</p> + +<p>And when the mighty task was finished the +white figure of the Ice King stood before the +Indian brave.</p> + +<p>“You have ruined my lodge,” said the +giant.</p> + +<p>“The winter season is past,” answered the +brave. “Begone!”</p> + +<p>“After several moons I shall return to stay,” +threatened the Ice King. Then he stalked +away toward the North.</p> + +<p>The people were very happy when they +knew that the young brave had conquered the +giant; but their joy was somewhat dampened +when they heard about the threatened return +of the Ice King.</p> + +<p>“I shall prepare for his return and do battle +with him again,” declared the Indian conqueror.</p> + +<p>This promise comforted the people somewhat, +but still they thought of the coming winter +with dread.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>6]</a></span> +During the autumn the hunter built near +the river a strong wigwam and stored therein +abundant fuel and dried game. He filled +many bags made of skin, with oil, which he +procured from the animals he killed. Also, +he was well supplied with fur rugs, blankets, +and warm clothes.</p> + +<p>At last the winter season came. The cold +north wind blew unceasingly, the snow piled +high around the wigwams; ice several feet +thick covered the river.</p> + +<p>“The Ice King has come,” said the Indians. +“If he keeps his threat to stay among us we +shall surely perish.”</p> + +<p>One bitter cold day the young Indian who +had prepared well for the severe weather sat +in his wigwam near a blazing fire. Suddenly, +a strong gust of wind tore aside the bear skin +which protected the doorway and into the +lodge stalked the Ice King. His freezing +breath filled the place and dampened the fire. +He took a seat opposite the Indian brave who +said, “Welcome, Ice King.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve come to stay,” answered the giant.</p> + +<p>The Indian shivered with cold at the sudden +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>7]</a></span> +change of temperature in his wigwam, but +he rose and brought more logs to the fire. +Also, he opened one of his bags of oil and +poured the contents on the great pieces of +wood. The flames soon caught the oil-soaked +logs and a roaring fire crackled and blazed in +the wigwam. More and more fuel the young +brave piled on his fire until finally the frosty +cold air was changed to summer heat.</p> + +<p>The Ice King shifted his seat away from the +glowing fire. Farther and farther away he +pushed until he sat with his back against the +wall of the wigwam. As he moved he seemed +to grow smaller and weaker. The icy feathers +of his headgear drooped about his forehead +and great drops of sweat covered his face. +But still the Indian brave piled fuel on the +blazing fire.</p> + +<p>“Spare me, O hunter,” cried the Ice King.</p> + +<p>But to the words of the giant the young Indian +was deaf. He opened another bag of +oil and poured it on the logs.</p> + +<p>“Have mercy, I beg you!” pleaded the Ice +King. He rose and staggered toward the door.</p> + +<p>“You have conquered me,” he said in a weak +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>8]</a></span> +voice. “I will depart. Twice you have won a +victory over me. I give up my hope of reigning +continually among your people. My season +shall last during three moons, only.”</p> + +<p>He staggered out of the wigwam and stalked +wearily away. Since that day the giant Ice +King has not tried to reign throughout the +year.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>9]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="bk1chap03" id="bk1chap03"></a>A SONG OF THE SNOW</h3> + + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sing, Ho, a song of the winter dawn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the air is still and the clouds are gone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the snow lies deep on hill and lawn,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the old clock ticks, “’Tis time! ’Tis time!”<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the household rises with many a yawn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sing, Ho, a song of the winter dawn!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Sing, Ho!<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sing, Ho, a song of the winter sky<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the last star closes its icy eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And deep in the road the snow-drifts lie,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the old clock ticks, “’Tis late! ’Tis late!”<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the flame on the hearth leaps red—leaps high<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sing, Ho, a song of the winter sky!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Sing, Ho!<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>10]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Sing, Ho, a song of the winter morn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the snow makes ghostly the wayside thorn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hills of pearl are the shocks of corn,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the old clock ticks, “Tick-tock; tick-tock;”<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the goodman bustles about the barn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sing, Ho, a song of the winter morn!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Sing, Ho!<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sing, Ho, a song of the winter day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When ermine capped are the stocks of hay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the wood-smoke pillars the air with gray,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the old clock ticks, “To work! To work!”<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the goodwife sings as she churns away<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sing, Ho, a song of the winter day!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Sing, Ho!<br /></span> +<span class="poet">Madison Cawein.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>11]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="bk1chap04" id="bk1chap04"></a>KING FROST AND KING WINTER</h3> + +<p class="center smcap">Margaret T. Canby</p> + + +<p>King Winter lives in a very strong palace +near the cold North Pole; it is built of great +blocks of thick ice, and all around it stand +high, pointed icebergs, and cross, white bears +keep guard at the gate. He has many little +fairy servants to do his bidding and they are +like their master, cross and spiteful, and seldom +do any kind actions, so that few are found +who love them. King Winter is rich and powerful, +but he keeps all his wealth so tightly +locked up that it does no one any good; and +what is worse, he often tries to get the treasures +of other persons, to add to the store in +his money chests.</p> + +<p>One day when this selfish old king was walking +through the woods he saw the leaves +thickly covered with gold and precious stones, +which had been spread upon them by King +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>12]</a></span> +Frost, to make the trees more beautiful and +give pleasure to all who saw them. But looking +at them did not satisfy King Winter; he +wanted to have the gold for his own, and he +made up his mind to get it, somehow. Back +he went to his palace to call his servants home +to do this new work. As soon as he reached +the gate, he blew a loud, shrill note on his horn +and in a few minutes his odd little fairies came +flying in at the windows and doors and stood +before him quietly waiting their commands. +The king ordered some to go out into the forest, +at nightfall, armed with canes and clubs, +and beat off all the gold and ruby leaves; and +he told others to take strong bags, and gather +up all the treasure, and bring it to him.</p> + +<p>“If that silly King Frost does not think any +more of gold and precious stones than to waste +them on trees I shall teach him better,” said +the old king.</p> + +<p>The fairies promised to obey him, and as +soon as night came, off they rushed to the forest, +and a terrible noise they made, flying from +one beautiful tree to another, banging and +beating the leaves off. Branches were cracking +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>13]</a></span> +and falling on all sides, and leaves were +flying about, while the sound of shouting and +laughing and screaming told all who heard it +that the spiteful winter fairies were at some +mischief. The other fairies followed, and +gathered up the poor shattered leaves, cramming +them into the great bags they had +brought, and taking them to King Winter’s +palace as fast as they were filled.</p> + +<p>This work was kept up nearly all night and +when morning came, the magic forest of +many-colored leaves was changed into a dreary +place. Bare trees stretched their long brown +branches around and seemed to shiver in the +cold wind and to sigh for the beautiful dress +of shining leaves so rudely torn from them.</p> + +<p>King Winter was very much pleased, as one +great sack after another was tugged in by the +fairies and when morning came he called his +servants together and said, “You have all +worked well, my fairies, and have saved much +treasure from being wasted; I will now open +these bags and show you the gold. Each of +you shall have a share.”</p> + +<p>The king took up the sack nearest to him, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>14]</a></span> +their surprise, when out rushed a great heap +of brown leaves, which flew all over the floor +and half choked them with dust! When the +king saw this he growled with rage and +looked at the fairies with a dark frown +on his face. They begged him to look +at the next sack, but when he did so, it, +too, was full of brown leaves, instead of +gold and precious stones. This was too much +for King Winter’s patience. He tossed +the bags one by one out of the palace window, +and would have tossed the unlucky +fairies after them, had not some of the bravest +ones knelt down and asked for mercy, telling +him they had obeyed his orders, and, if King +Frost had taken back his treasure, they were +not to blame.</p> + +<p>This turned their master’s anger against +King Frost, and very angry and fierce he was. +He gnashed his great teeth with rage and +rushed up and down in his palace, until it +shook again. At last he made up his mind to +go out that night, break down King Frost’s +beautiful palace, and take away all his +riches.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>15]</a></span> +When night came, he started out with all his +fairies. Some were armed with the clubs they +had beaten off the leaves with, and others had +lumps of ice to throw at their enemy; but the +king had been so angry all day that he had not +told them what to do; also, he had left their +sharp spears locked up. He wrapped himself +in his great white cloak of swan’s down in +order that he might look very grand, and so +they went on their way.</p> + +<p>King Frost lived on the other side of the +wood, and he had heard all the noise made by +the winter fairies in spoiling the trees and had +seen the next morning the mischief they had +done. It made him very sorry to find the beautiful +leaves all knocked off and taken away, +and he determined to punish King Winter by +going to attack <em>his</em> palace that night. He +spent the day making ready and dressing himself +and his servants in shining coats of ice-armour +and giving each one several spears and +darts of ice tipped with sharp diamond points. +They looked like brave little soldiers.</p> + +<p>The two groups of fairies met in the midst +of the great wood. After some words between +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>16]</a></span> +the kings, their servants fell to blows and a +great battle they had. The winter fairies +fought with their clubs and threw lumps of ice +at the frost fairies; but their clubs were weak +from being used so roughly the night before +and soon broke; and when their ice-balls were +all thrown away they could find no more. But +King Frost had armed his servants well, and +they threw their icy darts among the winter +fairies. The trees, too, seemed to fight on the +Frost King’s side. The bare twigs pulled their +hair and the branches ripped their ice clothes +wherever they could. So the winter fairies +had the worst of it and at last started off at full +speed and rushed through the woods, never +stopping till they reached the palace, and +shut themselves in—leaving their king, who +was too proud to run, all alone with King +Frost and his fairies. You may be sure they +were not very merciful to him. They began +to pull his cloak, calling out, “Give us your +cloak to keep our trees warm. You stole their +pretty leaves; you must give us your cloak.”</p> + +<p>Now this was a magic cloak and had been +given to King Winter by the Queen of the +fairies, so when he felt them pulling at it, he +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>17]</a></span> +wrapped it tightly about him, and began to +run. After him flew the frost fairies, pulling +and plucking at his great white cloak, snatching +out a bit here and a bit there and laughing +and shouting while King Winter howled and +roared and rushed along, not knowing where +he went. On they flew up and down the wood +in and out among the trees,—their way marked +by the scattered bits of white down from King +Winter’s cloak. When day began King Winter +found himself near his own palace. He +dashed his tattered cloak to the ground and +rushed through the gate, shaking his fist at +King Frost.</p> + +<p>He and his fairies took the cloak. As they +went home through the woods they hung beautiful +wreaths of white down on all the trees +and also trimmed the branches with their +broken spears and darts, which shone like silver +in the sunlight, and made the woods look +as bright almost, as before it had been robbed +of its golden and ruby leaves. Even the +ground was covered with shining darts and +white feathers. Every one thought it very +beautiful, and no one could tell how it happened. +(<i>Adapted.</i>)</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>18]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="bk1chap05" id="bk1chap05"></a>THE SNOWSTORM</h3> + + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Announced by all the trumpets of the sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Arrives the snow, and, driving o’er the fields,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seems nowhere to alight: the whited air<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hides hills and woods, and river, and the heaven,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And veils the farmhouse at the garden’s end,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sled and traveler stopped, the courier’s feet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Around the radiant fireplace, inclosed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In a tumultuous privacy of storm.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Come, see the north wind’s masonry.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Out of an unseen quarry evermore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Furnished with tile, the fierce artificer<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Curves his white bastions with projected roof<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Round every windward stake, or tree, or door.<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>19]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Speeding, the myriad-handed, his wild work<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So fanciful, so savage, naught cares he<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For number or proportion. Mockingly,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On coop or kennel he hangs Parian wreaths;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A swanlike form invests the hidden thorn;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fills up the farmer’s lane from wall to wall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mauger the farmer’s sighs; and at the gate<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A tapering turret overtops the work.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when his hours are numbered, and the world<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is all his own, retiring, as he were not,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Leaves, when the sun appears, astonished Art<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To mimic in slow structures, stone by stone—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Built in an age, the mad wind’s night work,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The frolic architecture of the snow.<br /></span> +<span class="poet">Ralph Waldo Emerson.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>20]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="bk1chap06" id="bk1chap06"></a>THE FIRST WINTER</h3> + +<p class="center smcap">(Iroquois Legend)</p> + + +<p>There was a time when the days were always +of the same length, and it was always summer. +The red men lived continually in the smile of +the Great Spirit and were happy. But there +arose a chief who was so powerful that he at +last declared himself mightier than the Great +Spirit, and taught his brothers to go forth to +the plain and mock him. They would call +upon the Great Spirit to come and fight with +them or would challenge him to take away the +crop of growing corn or drive the game from +the woods. They would say he was an unkind +father to keep himself and their dead brothers +in the Happy Hunting Grounds, where the +red men could hunt forever without weariness.</p> + +<p>They laughed at their old men who had +feared for so many moons to reproach the +Great Spirit for his unfair treatment of the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>21]</a></span> +Indians who were compelled to hunt and fish +for game for their wives and children, while +their own women had to plant the corn and +harvest it.</p> + +<p>“In the Happy Hunting Grounds,” they +said, “the Great Spirit feeds our brothers and +their wives and does not let any foes or dangers +come upon them, but here he lets us go hungry +many times. If he is as great as you have +said, why does he not take care of his children +here?”</p> + +<p>Then the Great Spirit told them he would +turn his smiling face away from them, so that +they should have no more light and warmth +and they must build fires in the forest if they +would see.</p> + +<p>But the red men laughed and taunted him, +telling him that he had followed one trail so +long that he could not get out of it, but would +have to come every day and give them light +and heat as usual. Then they would dance +and make faces at him and taunt him with his +helplessness.</p> + +<p>In a few days the quick eyes of some of the +red men saw in the morning the face of the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>22]</a></span> +Great Spirit appear where it was not wont to +appear, but they were silent, fearing the jibes +of their brothers. Finally, duller eyes noticed +the change, and alarm and consternation +spread among the people. Each day brought +less and less of the Great Spirit’s smile and his +countenance was often hidden by dark clouds, +while terrible storms beat upon the frightened +faces turned in appeal toward the heavens. +The strong braves and warriors became as +women; the old men covered their heads with +skins and starved in the forests; while the +women in their lodges crooned the low, +mournful wail of the death song. Frosts and +snows came upon an unsheltered and stricken +race, and many of them perished.</p> + +<p>Then the Great Spirit, who had almost removed +his face from the sight of men, had pity +and told them he would come back. Day after +day the few that remained alive watched with +joy the return of the sun. They sang in praise +of the approaching summer and once more +hailed with thankfulness the first blades of +growing corn as it burst from the ground. +The Great Spirit told his children that every +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>23]</a></span> +year, as a punishment for the insults they had +given their Father, they should feel for a season +the might of the power they had mocked; +and they murmured not, but bowed their heads +in meekness.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>24]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="bk1chap07" id="bk1chap07"></a>SNOW SONG</h3> + + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Over valley, over hill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hark, the shepherd piping shrill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Driving all the white flock forth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the far folds of the north.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Blow, wind, blow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Weird melodies you play,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Following your flocks that go<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Across the world today.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Hither, thither, up and down,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Every highway of the town,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Huddling close the white flocks all<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gather at the shepherd’s call.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Blow, wind, blow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon your pipes of joy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All your sheep the flakes of snow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And you their shepherd boy.<br /></span> +<span class="poet">Frank Dempster Sherman.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>25]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="bk1chap08" id="bk1chap08"></a>THE SNOW MAIDEN</h3> + +<p class="center smcap">(Russian Legend)</p> + + +<p>Once upon a time there lived a peasant +named Ivan and his wife, Marie. They were +very sad because they had no children. One +cold winter day the peasant and his wife sat +near a window in their cottage and watched +the village children playing in the snow. The +little ones were busily at work making a beautiful +snow maiden.</p> + +<p>Ivan turned to his wife and said, “What a +good time the children are having. See, they +are making a beautiful snow maiden. Come, +let us go into the garden and amuse ourselves +in the same way. We will make a pretty little +snow image.”</p> + +<p>They went into the garden which lay back +of their cottage.</p> + +<p>“My husband,” said Marie, “we have no +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>26]</a></span> +children, what do you say to our making for +ourselves a child of snow?”</p> + +<p>“A very good idea!” said the husband. And +he at once began to mold the form of a little +body, with tiny feet and hands. His wife +made a small head and set it upon the shoulders +of the snow image.</p> + +<p>A man who passed by the garden stopped +for a moment and looked at the peasants who +were so strangely occupied. After a moment’s +silence he said to them, “May God help you.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you,” said Ivan.</p> + +<p>“God’s blessing, indeed, is always good,” +nodded Marie.</p> + +<p>“What are you making?” asked the stranger.</p> + +<p>Ivan looked up and said, “We are making a +little snow maiden.” Then he went on with +his work, forming the nose, chin, and eyes.</p> + +<p>In a few moments the snow child was finished, +and Ivan looked at her in great admiration. +Suddenly, he noticed that the mouth and +eyes opened, the cheeks and lips took on a rosy +hue, and in a few moments the astonished +peasant saw standing before him a living +child.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>27]</a></span> +“Who are you?” he asked, filled with wonder +at seeing a little girl instead of a snow +image.</p> + +<p>“I am Snow White, your little daughter,” +said the child. Then she threw her arms lovingly +around the man and his wife, who both +began to cry for joy.</p> + +<p>The delighted parents took Snow White +into the cottage, and before long the news ran +through the village that a little daughter had +come to live with Ivan and Marie.</p> + +<p>Of course the village children came to play +with Snow White. She was such a charming +little girl, with a very white skin, eyes as blue +as the sky, and lovely golden hair. To be sure, +her cheeks were not so rosy as those of her +companions, but she was so bright and gentle +that everyone loved her very much indeed.</p> + +<p>The winter passed very quickly and Snow +White grew so fast that by the time the trees +were veiled in the green buds of spring she +was as tall as a girl of twelve or thirteen years.</p> + +<p>During the winter months the snow maiden +had been very joyous and happy, but when +the mild, warm days of spring came she +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>28]</a></span> +seemed sad and low-spirited. Her mother, +Marie, noticed the change and said to her, +“My dear little girl, why are you sad? Tell +me, are you ill?”</p> + +<p>“No, mother, dear, I am not ill,” said Snow +White. But she no longer seemed to enjoy +playing out of doors with the other children; +she stayed very quietly in the cottage.</p> + +<p>One lovely spring day the village children +came to the cottage and called out, “Come, +Snow White! Come! We are going into the +woods to gather wild flowers. Come with us.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, do go, my dear!” said mother Marie. +“Go with your little friends and gather spring +flowers. I’m sure you’ll enjoy the outing.”</p> + +<p>Away went the happy children to the woods. +They gathered the lovely wild flowers and +made them into bouquets and coronets, and +when the afternoon sun began to sink in the +western sky they built a big bonfire. Gayly +they sang little songs, merrily dancing around +the bright, crackling blaze.</p> + +<p>“Let each one dance alone,” called out one +of the little girls.</p> + +<p>“Snow White, watch us for a little while, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>29]</a></span> +and then you, too, will know how to dance +alone.”</p> + +<p>Away whirled the happy little children, +dancing freely round and round the bonfire. +In a little while Snow White joined them.</p> + +<p>When the gay little people were out of +breath and the dancing grew slower and +slower, some one called out, “Where is Snow +White?”</p> + +<p>“Snow White, where are you?” shouted the +other children, but nowhere could they find +their little companion.</p> + +<p>They ran home and told Ivan and Marie +that Snow White had disappeared while +dancing round the bonfire. The villagers +made a thorough search for the little maiden, +but they never found her, for while she was +dancing around the bonfire she had slowly +changed into a little white vapour and had +flown away toward the sky, where she changed +into a delicate snowflake.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>30]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="bk1chap09" id="bk1chap09"></a>THE FROST KING</h3> + + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oho! have you seen the Frost King,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A-marching up the hill?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His hoary face is stern and pale,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His touch is icy chill.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He sends the birdlings to the South,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He bids the brooks be still;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet not in wrath or cruelty<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He marches up the hill.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He will often rest at noontime,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To see the sunbeams play;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And flash his spears of icicles,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or let them melt away.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He’ll toss the snowflakes in the air,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor let them go nor stay;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then hold his breath while swift they fall,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That coasting boys may play.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>31]</a></span> +<span class="i0">He’ll touch the brooks and rivers wide,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That skating crowds may shout;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He’ll make the people far and near<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Remember he’s about.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He’ll send his nimble, frosty Jack—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Without a shade of doubt—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To do all kinds of merry pranks,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And call the children out;<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He’ll sit upon the whitened fields,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And reach his icy hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O’er houses where the sudden cold<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Folks cannot understand.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The very moon, that ventures forth<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From clouds so soft and grand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will stare to see the stiffened look<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That settles o’er the land.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And so the Frost King o’er the hills,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And o’er the startled plain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will come and go from year to year<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Till Earth grows young again—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till Time himself shall cease to be,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Till gone are hill and plain:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whenever Winter comes to stay,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The hoary King shall reign.<br /></span> +<span class="poet">Mary Mapes Dodge.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>32]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="bk1chap10" id="bk1chap10"></a>KING WINTER’S HARVEST</h3> + + +<p>King Winter sat upon his iceberg throne, +and waving his scepter, a huge icicle, called +for all the Snow Fairies and Frost Fairies to +draw near, as he wished to see them.</p> + +<p>“Tell me, Snow Fairies,” said King Winter, +“what have you been doing of late; have +you made anybody happy by your work?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes,” they all said at once, “we had +the jolliest time last night putting white +dresses on the trees, white spreads over the +grasses, white caps on all the fence posts, and +making things look so strange that when the +children came out in the morning they just +shouted and laughed, and soon threw so much +snow over each other that they were dressed in +white, too, and seemed Snow Fairies like ourselves. +They, too, wanted to make curious +canes, castles, and other things with the snow +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>33]</a></span> +as we had done. Sleds were brought out and +when the sleighbells commenced their music +it seemed that everybody was made glad by +our work.”</p> + +<p>“Well done,” said King Winter, “now away +to your work again.”</p> + +<p>In a twinkling the Snow Fairies were up in +a purple cloud-boat throwing a shower of +snowflake kisses down to King Winter to thank +him for giving them work to do.</p> + +<p>“Now, Frost Fairies,” said King Winter, +turning to a glittering band who wore some +of his own jewels, “what have you done to +make anybody glad?”</p> + +<p>“We have made pictures upon the windows +and hung your jewels upon the trees for the +people to look at, and covered the skating +ponds,” said Jack Frost, the leader.</p> + +<p>“That is good,” said King Winter. “You +and the Snow Fairies seem to be making the +world glad now, but pretty soon we must leave +the work, and the good sunbeams will put our +things away; they will hide the snowballs, and +crack the skating ponds so that the ice may +float downstream. Now I would like to make +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>34]</a></span> +something that will keep long after we are +gone away. Queen Summer is gone but her +harvest of hay and grain is in the barns. +Queen Autumn is gone but her harvest of +apples and potatoes is in the cellars; now I +want to leave a harvest, too.”</p> + +<p>“But the sunbeams are away most of the +time now,” said Jack Frost. “Can anything +grow without them?”</p> + +<p>“My harvest will grow best without them,” +said King Winter, “and I’ll just hang up a +thick cloud curtain and ask them to play upon +the other side while my harvest grows. Mr. +North Wind will help, and if all you Frost +Fairies do your liveliest work my harvest will +soon be ready.”</p> + +<p>North Wind soon came with bags of cold +air which he scattered hither and thither, +while the Frost Fairies carried it into every +track and corner, wondering all the while +what the harvest would be. But after two +days’ work they found out; for horses were +hitched to sleds and men started for the lakes +and rivers, saying, “The ice has frozen so +thick that it is a fine time to fill the ice-houses.” +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>35]</a></span> +Saws and poles were carried along, and soon +huge blocks of ice were finding places upon +the sleds ready for a ride to some ice-house +where they would be packed so securely in +sawdust that King Winter’s harvest would +keep through the very hottest weather.</p> + +<p>“Then the ice-men can play that they are +we,” said a Frost Fairy, “scattering cold all +about to make people glad.”</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>36]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="bk1chap11" id="bk1chap11"></a>OLD KING WINTER</h3> + + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Old King Winter’s on his throne<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In robes of ermine white;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The crown of jewels on his head<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Now glitters bright with light.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The little flakes of snow and hail,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And tiny pearls of sleet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are with the wild winds dancing<br /></span> +<span class="i1">All round his magic feet.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">His beard is white, his cheeks are red,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">His heart is filled with cheer;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His season’s best some people say;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The <em>best</em> of all the year.<br /></span> +<span class="poet">Anna E. Skinner.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>37]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="bk1chap12" id="bk1chap12"></a>SHELTERING WINGS</h3> + +<p class="center smcap">Harriet Louise Jerome</p> + + +<p>It was intensely cold. Heavy sleds creaked +as they scraped over the jeweled sounding +board of dry, unyielding snow; the signs above +shop doors shrieked and groaned as they +swung helplessly to and fro; and the clear, +keen air seemed frozen into sharp little crystalline +needles that stabbed every living thing +that must be out in it. The streets were almost +forsaken in mid-afternoon. Business men hurried +from shelter to shelter; every dog remained +at home; not a bird was to be seen or +heard. The sparrows had been forced to hide +themselves in crevices and holes; the doves +found protected corners and huddled together +as best they could; many birds were frozen to +death.</p> + +<p>A dozen or more doves were gathered close +under the cornice of the piazza of a certain +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>38]</a></span> +house, trying with little success to keep warm. +Some small sparrows, disturbed and driven +from the cozy place they had chosen, saw the +doves and came flying across the piazza.</p> + +<p>“Dear doves,” chirped the sparrows, “won’t +you let us nestle near you? Your bodies look +so large and warm.”</p> + +<p>“But your coats are frosted with cold. We +cannot let you come near us, for we are almost +frozen now,” murmured the doves sadly.</p> + +<p>“But we are perishing.”</p> + +<p>“So are we.”</p> + +<p>“It looks so warm near your broad wings, +gentle doves. Oh, let us come! We are so +little, and so very, very cold!”</p> + +<p>“Come,” cooed a dove at last, and a trembling +little sparrow fluttered close and nestled +under the broad white wing.</p> + +<p>“Come,” cooed another dove, and another +little sparrow found comfort.</p> + +<p>“Come! Come!” echoed another warm-hearted +bird, and another, until at last more +than half the doves were sheltering small, +shivering sparrows beneath their own half-frozen +wings.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>39]</a></span> +“My sisters, you are very foolish,” said the +other doves. “You mean well, but why do you +risk your own beautiful lives to give life to +worthless sparrows?”</p> + +<p>“Ah! they were so small, and so very, very +cold,” murmured the doves. “Many of us +will perish this cruel night; while we have life +let us share its meager warmth with those in +bitter need.”</p> + +<p>Colder and colder grew the day. The sun +went down behind the clouds suffused with +soft and radiant beauty, but more fiercely and +relentlessly swept the wind around the house +where the doves and sparrows waited for +death.</p> + +<p>An hour after sunset a man came up to the +house and strode across the piazza. As the +door of the house closed heavily behind him, a +little child watching from the window saw +something jarred from the cornice fall heavily +to the piazza floor.</p> + +<p>“Oh, papa,” she cried in surprise, “a poor +frozen dove has fallen on our porch!”</p> + +<p>When he stepped out to pick up the fallen +dove the father saw the others under the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>40]</a></span> +cornice. They were no longer able to move or +to utter a cry, so he brought them in and +placed them in a room where they might +slowly revive. Soon more than half of the +doves could coo gratefully, and raise their stiffened +wings. Then out from beneath the wing +of each revived dove fluttered a living sparrow.</p> + +<p>“Look, papa!” cried the child. “Each dove +that has come to life was holding a poor little +sparrow close to her heart.”</p> + +<p>They gently raised the wings of the doves +that could not be revived. Not one had a sparrow +beneath it.</p> + +<p>Colder and fiercer swept the wind without, +cutting and more piercing grew the frozen, +crystalline needles of air, but each dove that +had sheltered a frost-coated sparrow beneath +her own shivering wings lived to rejoice in the +glowing gladsome sunshine of the days to +come.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>41]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="bk1chap13" id="bk1chap13"></a>SNOWFLAKES</h3> + + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Out of the Bosom of the Air,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Over the woodlands brown and bare,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Over the harvest-fields forsaken,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Silent, and soft, and slow,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Descends the snow.<br /></span> +<span class="poet">Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>42]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="bk1chap14" id="bk1chap14"></a>THE SNOW-IMAGE</h3> + +<p class="center smcap">Nathaniel Hawthorne</p> + + +<p>One afternoon of a cold winter’s day, when +the sun shone forth with chilly brightness, +after a long storm, two children asked leave +of their mother to run out and play in the new-fallen +snow.</p> + +<p>The elder child was a little girl, whom, because +she was of a tender and modest disposition, +and was thought to be very beautiful, +her parents, and other people who were familiar +with her, used to call Violet.</p> + +<p>But her brother was known by the title of +Peony, on account of the ruddiness of his +broad and round little phiz, which made +everybody think of sunshine and great scarlet +flowers.</p> + +<p>“Yes, Violet—yes, my little Peony,” said +their kind mother; “you may go out and play +in the new snow.”</p> + +<p>Forth sallied the two children, with a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>43]</a></span> +hop-skip-and-jump, that carried them at once into +the very heart of a huge snow-drift, whence +Violet emerged like a snow bunting, while +little Peony floundered out with his round face +in full bloom.</p> + +<p>Then what a merry time they had! To +look at them, frolicking in the wintry garden, +you would have thought that the dark and +pitiless storm had been sent for no other purpose +but to provide a new plaything for Violet +and Peony; and that they themselves had been +created, as the snowbirds were, to take delight +only in the tempest and in the white mantle +which it spread over the earth.</p> + +<p>At last, when they had frosted one another +all over with handfuls of snow, Violet, after +laughing heartily at little Peony’s figure, was +struck with a new idea.</p> + +<p>“You look exactly like a snow-image, +Peony,” said she, “if your cheeks were not so +red. And that puts me in mind! Let us make +an image out of snow—an image of a little +girl—and it shall be our sister, and shall run +about and play with us all winter long. Won’t +it be nice?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>44]</a></span> +“Oh, yes!” cried Peony, as plainly as he +could speak, for he was but a little boy. “That +will be nice! And mamma shall see it.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” answered Violet; “mamma shall see +the new little girl. But she must not make +her come into the warm parlour, for, you +know, our little snow-sister will not love the +warmth.”</p> + +<p>And forthwith the children began this great +business of making a snow-image that should +run about; while their mother, who was knitting +at the window and overheard some of +their talk, could not help smiling at the gravity +with which they set about it. They really +seemed to imagine that there would be no difficulty +whatever in creating a live little girl +out of the snow.</p> + +<p>Indeed, it was an exceedingly pleasant sight—those +bright little souls at their task! +Moreover, it was really wonderful to observe +how knowingly and skillfully they managed +the matter. Violet assumed the chief direction, +and told Peony what to do, while, with +her own delicate fingers, she shaped out all +the nicer parts of the snow-figure.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>45]</a></span> +It seemed, in fact, not so much to be made +by the children, as to grow up under their +hands, while they were playing and prattling +about it. Their mother was quite surprised at +this, and the longer she looked, the more and +more surprised she grew.</p> + +<p>Now, for a few moments, there was a busy +and earnest but indistinct hum of the two +children’s voices, as Violet and Peony +wrought together with one happy consent. +Violet still seemed to be the guiding spirit, +while Peony acted rather as a labourer and +brought her the snow from far and near. And +yet the little urchin evidently had a proper +understanding of the matter, too.</p> + +<p>“Peony, Peony!” cried Violet; for her +brother was at the other side of the garden. +“Bring me those light wreaths of snow that +have rested on the lower branches of the pear-tree. +You can clamber on the snow-drift, +Peony, and reach them easily. I must have +them to make some ringlets for our snow-sister’s +head!”</p> + +<p>“Here they are, Violet!” answered the +little boy. “Take care you do not break +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>46]</a></span> +them. Well done! Well done! How pretty!”</p> + +<p>“Does she not look sweet?” said Violet, with +a very satisfied tone; “and now we must have +some little shining bits of ice to make the +brightness of her eyes. She is not finished yet. +Mamma will see how very beautiful she is; +but papa will say, ‘Tush! nonsense! come in +out of the cold!’”</p> + +<p>“Let us call mamma to look out,” said +Peony; and then he shouted, “Mamma! +mamma!! mamma!!! Look out and see what +a nice ’ittle girl we are making!”</p> + +<p>“What a nice playmate she will be for us +all winter long!” said Violet. “I hope papa +will not be afraid of her giving us a cold! +Sha’n’t you love her dearly, Peony?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes!” cried Peony. “And I will hug +her and she shall sit down close by me and +drink some of my warm milk.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no, Peony!” answered Violet, with +grave wisdom. “That will not do at all. +Warm milk will not be wholesome for our +little snow-sister. Little snow-people like her +eat nothing but icicles. No, no, Peony; we +must not give her anything warm to drink!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>47]</a></span> +There was a minute or two of silence; for +Peony, whose short legs were never weary, +had gone again to the other side of the garden. +All of a sudden, Violet cried out, loudly and +joyfully, “Look here, Peony! Come quickly! +A light has been shining on her cheek out of +that rose-coloured cloud! And the colour does +not go away! Is not that beautiful?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, it is beau-ti-ful,” answered Peony, +pronouncing the three syllables with deliberate +accuracy. “O Violet, only look at her +hair! It is all like gold!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, certainly,” said Violet, as if it were +very much a matter of course. “That colour, +you know, comes from the golden clouds that +we see up there in the sky. She is almost +finished now. But her lips must be made very +red, redder than her cheeks. Perhaps, Peony, +it will make them red if we both kiss them!”</p> + +<p>Accordingly, the mother heard two smart +little smacks, as if both her children were +kissing the snow-image on its frozen mouth. +But, as this did not seem to make the lips quite +red enough, Violet next proposed that the +snow-child should be invited to kiss Peony’s +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>48]</a></span> +scarlet cheek. “Come, ’ittle snow-sister, kiss +me!” cried Peony.</p> + +<p>“There! she has kissed you,” added Violet, +“and now her lips are very red. And she +blushed a little, too!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, what a cold kiss!” cried Peony.</p> + +<p>Just then, there came a breeze of the pure +west wind sweeping through the garden and +rattling the parlour-windows. It sounded so +wintry cold, that the mother was about to tap +on the window-pane with her thimbled finger, +to summon the two children in, when they +both cried out to her with one voice:</p> + +<p>“Mamma! mamma! We have finished our +little snow-sister, and she is running about the +garden with us!”</p> + +<p>“What imaginative little beings my children +are!” thought the mother, putting the last few +stitches into Peony’s frock. “And it is strange, +too, that they make me almost as much a child +as they themselves are! I can hardly help +believing now that the snow-image has really +come to life!”</p> + +<p>“Dear mamma!” cried Violet, “pray look +out and see what a sweet playmate we have!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>49]</a></span> +The mother, being thus entreated, could no +longer delay to look forth from the window. +The sun was now gone out of the sky, leaving, +however, a rich inheritance of his brightness +among those purple and golden clouds +which make the sunsets of winter so magnificent.</p> + +<p>But there was not the slightest gleam or +dazzle, either on the window or on the snow; +so that the good lady could look all over the +garden, and see everything and everybody in +it. And what do you think she saw there? +Violet and Peony, of course, her own two +darling children.</p> + +<p>Ah, but whom or what did she see besides? +Why, if you will believe me, there was a small +figure of a girl, dressed all in white, with rose-tinged +cheeks and ringlets of golden hue, playing +about the garden with the two children!</p> + +<p>A stranger though she was, the child seemed +to be on as familiar terms with Violet and +Peony, and they with her, as if all the three +had been playmates during the whole of their +little lives. The mother thought to herself +that it must certainly be the daughter of one +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>50]</a></span> +of the neighbours, and that, seeing Violet and +Peony in the garden, the child had run across +the street to play with them.</p> + +<p>So this kind lady went to the door, intending +to invite the little runaway into her comfortable +parlour; for, now that the sunshine +was withdrawn, the atmosphere out of doors +was already growing very cold.</p> + +<p>But, after opening the house-door, she +stood an instant on the threshold, hesitating +whether she ought to ask the child to come in, +or whether she should even speak to her. Indeed, +she almost doubted whether it were a +real child, after all, or only a light wreath of +the new-fallen snow, blown hither and thither +about the garden by the intensely cold west +wind.</p> + +<p>There was certainly something very singular +in the aspect of the little stranger. +Among all the children of the neighbourhood +the lady could remember no such face, with +its pure white and delicate rose-colour, and the +golden ringlets tossing about the forehead and +cheeks.</p> + +<p>And as for her dress, which was entirely of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>51]</a></span> +white, and fluttering in the breeze, it was +such as no reasonable woman would put upon +a little girl when sending her out to play in +the depth of winter. It made this kind and +careful mother shiver only to look at those +small feet, with nothing in the world on them +except a very thin pair of white slippers.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, airily as she was clad, the +child seemed to feel not the slightest inconvenience +from the cold, but danced so lightly +over the snow that the tips of her toes left +hardly a print in its surface; while Violet +could but just keep pace with her, and +Peony’s short legs compelled him to lag behind.</p> + +<p>All this while, the mother stood on the +threshold, wondering how a little girl could +look so much like a flying snow-drift, or how +a snow-drift could look so very like a little +girl.</p> + +<p>She called Violet and whispered to her.</p> + +<p>“Violet, my darling, what is this child’s +name?” asked she. “Does she live near us?”</p> + +<p>“Why, dearest mamma,” answered Violet, +laughing to think that her mother did not +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>52]</a></span> +comprehend so very plain an affair, “this is +our little snow-sister whom we have just been +making!”</p> + +<p>“Yes, dear mamma,” cried Peony, running +to his mother, and looking up simply into her +face. “This is our snow-image! Is it not a +nice ’ittle child?”</p> + +<p>“Violet,” said her mother, greatly perplexed, +“tell me the truth, without any jest. +Who is this little girl?”</p> + +<p>“My darling mamma,” answered Violet, +looking seriously into her mother’s face, surprised +that she should need any further explanation, +“I have told you truly who she is. +It is our little snow-image which Peony and I +have been making. Peony will tell you so, as +well as I.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, mamma,” declared Peony, with much +gravity in his crimson little phiz, “this is ’ittle +snow-child. Is not she a nice one? But, +mamma, her hand is, oh, so very cold!”</p> + +<p>While mamma still hesitated what to think +and what to do, the street-gate was thrown +open, and the father of Violet and Peony appeared, +wrapped in a pilot-cloth sack, with a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>53]</a></span> +fur cap drawn down over his ears, and the +thickest of gloves upon his hands.</p> + +<p>Mr. Lindsey was a middle-aged man, with +a weary and yet a happy look in his wind-flushed +and frost-pinched face, as if he had +been busy all day long, and was glad to get +back to his quiet home. His eyes brightened +at the sight of his wife and children, although +he could not help uttering a word or two of +surprise at finding the whole family in the +open air, on so bleak a day, and after sunset, +too.</p> + +<p>He soon perceived the little white stranger, +sporting to and fro in the garden, like a dancing +snow-wreath and the flock of snowbirds +fluttering about her head.</p> + +<p>“Pray, what little girl may this be?” inquired +this very sensible man. “Surely her +mother must be crazy, to let her go out in such +bitter weather as it has been today, with only +that flimsy white gown and those thin slippers!”</p> + +<p>“My dear husband,” said his wife, “I know +no more about the little thing than you do. +Some neighbour’s child, I suppose. Our Violet +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>54]</a></span> +and Peony,” she added, laughing at herself +for repeating so absurd a story, “insist that +she is nothing but a snow-image which they +have been busy about in the garden, almost all +the afternoon.”</p> + +<p>As she said this, the mother glanced her +eyes toward the spot where the children’s +snow-image had been made. What was her +surprise on perceiving that there was not the +slightest trace of so much labour!—no image +at all!—no piled-up heap of snow!—nothing +whatever, save the prints of little footsteps +around a vacant space!</p> + +<p>“This is very strange!” said she.</p> + +<p>“What is strange, dear mother?” asked +Violet. “Dear father, do not you see how it +is? This is our snow-image, which Peony and +I have made, because we wanted another playmate. +Did not we, Peony?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, papa,” said crimson Peony. “This is +our ’ittle snow-sister. Is she not beau-ti-ful? +But she gave me such a cold kiss!”</p> + +<p>“Pooh, nonsense, children!” cried their good +honest father, who had a plain, sensible way +of looking at matters. “Do not tell me of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>55]</a></span> +making live figures out of snow. Come, wife; +this little stranger must not stay out in the +bleak air a moment longer. We will bring her +into the parlour; and you shall give her a +supper of warm bread and milk, and make her +as comfortable as you can.”</p> + +<p>So saying, this honest and very kind-hearted +man was going toward the little damsel, with +the best intentions in the world. But Violet +and Peony, each seizing their father by the +hand, earnestly besought him not to make her +come in.</p> + +<p>“Nonsense, children, nonsense, nonsense!” +cried the father, half-vexed, half-laughing. +“Run into the house, this moment! It is too +late to play any longer now. I must take care +of this little girl immediately, or she will catch +her death of cold.”</p> + +<p>And so, with a most benevolent smile, this +very well-meaning gentleman took the snow-child +by the hand and led her toward the +house.</p> + +<p>She followed him, droopingly and reluctant, +for all the glow and sparkle were gone out +of her figure; and, whereas just before she had +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>56]</a></span> +resembled a bright, frosty, star-gemmed evening, +with a crimson gleam on the cold horizon, +she now looked as dull and languid as a +thaw.</p> + +<p>As kind Mr. Lindsey led her up the steps of +the door, Violet and Peony looked into his +face, their eyes full of tears which froze before +they could run down their cheeks, and +again entreated him not to bring their snow-image +into the house.</p> + +<p>“Not bring her in!” exclaimed the kind-hearted +man. “Why, you are crazy, my +little Violet!—quite crazy, my small Peony! +She is so cold already that her hand has +almost frozen mine, in spite of my thick +gloves. Would you have her freeze to +death?”</p> + +<p>His wife, as he came up the steps, had been +taking another long, earnest gaze at the little +white stranger. She hardly knew whether it +was a dream or no; but she could not help +fancying that she saw the delicate print of +Violet’s fingers on the child’s neck. It looked +just as if, while Violet was shaping out the +image, she had given it a gentle pat with her +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>57]</a></span> +hand, and had neglected to smooth the impression +quite away.</p> + +<p>“After all, husband,” said the mother, “after +all, she does look strangely like a snow-image! +I do believe she is made of snow!”</p> + +<p>A puff of the west wind blew against the +snow-child, and again she sparkled like a +star.</p> + +<p>“Snow!” repeated good Mr. Lindsey, drawing +the reluctant guest over his hospitable +threshold. “No wonder she looks like snow. +She is half frozen, poor little thing! But a +good fire will put everything to rights.”</p> + +<p>This common-sensible man placed the snow-child +on the hearth-rug, right in front of the +hissing and fuming stove.</p> + +<p>“Now she will be comfortable!” cried Mr. +Lindsey, rubbing his hands and looking about +him, with the pleasantest smile you ever saw. +“Make yourself at home, my child.”</p> + +<p>Sad, sad and drooping, looked the little +white maiden as she stood on the hearth-rug, +with the hot blast of the stove striking through +her like a pestilence. Once she threw a glance +toward the window, and caught a glimpse, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>58]</a></span> +through its red curtains, of the snow-covered +roofs and the stars glimmering frostily, and all +the delicious intensity of the cold night. The +bleak wind rattled the window-panes as if it +were summoning her to come forth. But +there stood the snow-child, drooping, before +the hot stove!</p> + +<p>But the common-sensible man saw nothing +amiss.</p> + +<p>“Come, wife,” said he, “let her have a pair +of thick stockings and a woolen shawl or +blanket directly; and tell Dora to give her +some warm supper as soon as the milk boils. +You, Violet and Peony, amuse your little +friend. She is out of spirits, you see, at finding +herself in a strange place. For my part, I +will go around among the neighbours and find +out where she belongs.”</p> + +<p>The mother, meanwhile, had gone in search +of the shawl and stockings. Without heeding +the remonstrance of his two children, who +still kept murmuring that their little snow-sister +did not love the warmth, good Mr. +Lindsey took his departure, shutting the parlour +door carefully behind him.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>59]</a></span> +Turning up the collar of his sack over his +ears, he emerged from the house, and had +barely reached the street-gate, when he was +recalled by the screams of Violet and Peony +and the rapping of a thimbled finger against +the parlour window.</p> + +<p>“Husband! husband!” cried his wife, showing +her horror-stricken face through the +window panes. “There is no need of going +for the child’s parents!”</p> + +<p>“We told you so, father!” screamed Violet +and Peony, as he re-entered the parlour. “You +would bring her in; and now our poor—dear—beau-ti-ful +little snow-sister is thawed!”</p> + +<p>And their own sweet little faces were already +dissolved in tears; so that their father, +seeing what strange things occasionally happen +in this every-day world, felt not a little anxious +lest his children might be going to thaw too. +In the utmost perplexity, he demanded an +explanation of his wife. She could only reply +that, being summoned to the parlour by cries +of Violet and Peony, she found no trace of +the little white maiden, unless it were the remains +of a heap of snow, which, while she +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>60]</a></span> +was gazing at it, melted quite away upon the +hearth-rug.</p> + +<p>“And there you see all that is left of it!” +added she, pointing to a pool of water, in front +of the stove.</p> + +<p>“Yes, father,” said Violet, looking reproachfully +at him through her tears, “there +is all that is left of our dear little snow-sister!”</p> + +<p>“Naughty father!” cried Peony, stamping +his foot, and—I shudder to say—shaking his +little fist at the common-sensible man. “We +told you how it would be! What for did you +bring her in?”</p> + +<p>And the stove, through the isinglass of +its door, seemed to glare at good Mr. Lindsey, +like a red-eyed demon, triumphing in the mischief +which it had done! (<i>Abridged.</i>)</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61"><!-- no visible page number --></a></span></p> + +<h2 class="padtop"><a name="book2" id="book2"></a>WINTER WOODS</h2> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>62]</a></span></p> + +<h3 class="padtop"><a name="bk2chap01" id="bk2chap01"></a>THE FIRST SNOW-FALL</h3> + + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The snow had begun in the gloaming,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And busily all the night<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had been heaping field and highway<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With a silence deep and white.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Every pine and fir and hemlock<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Wore ermine too dear for an earl,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the poorest twig on the elm tree<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Was ridged inch deep with pearl.<br /></span> +<span class="poet">James Russell Lowell.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>63]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="bk2chap02" id="bk2chap02"></a>THE VOICE OF THE PINE TREES</h3> + +<p class="center smcap">(Japanese Legend)</p> + + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“And all the while<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The voice of the breeze<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As it blows through the firs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That grow old together<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will yield us delight.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>In ancient days there lived a fisherman and +his wife, and little daughter Matsue. There +was nothing that Matsue loved to do more than +to sit under the great pine tree. She was particularly +fond of the pine needles that never +seemed tired of falling to the ground. With +these she fashioned a beautiful dress and sash, +saying, “I will not wear these pine clothes +until my wedding day.”</p> + +<p>One day while Matsue was sitting under +the pine tree, she sang the following song:</p> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>64]</a></span> +<span class="i0">“No one so callous but he heaves a sigh<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When o’er his head the withered cherry flowers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Come fluttering down. Who knows?—the spring’s soft showers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May be but tears shed by the sorrowing sky.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>While thus she sang Teogo stood on the +steep shore of Sumiyoshi watching the flight +of a heron. Up, up, it went into the blue sky, +and Teogo saw it fly over the village where +the fishfolk and their daughter lived.</p> + +<p>Now Teogo was a youth who dearly loved +adventure and he thought it would be very delightful +to swim across the sea and discover +the land over which the heron had flown. So +one morning he dived into the sea and swam +so hard and so long that the poor fellow found +the waves spinning and dancing and saw the +great sky bend down and try to touch him. +Then he lay unconscious on the water; but the +waves were kind to him after all, for they +pressed him on and on till he was washed up +at the very place where Matsue sat under the +pine tree.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>65]</a></span> +Matsue carefully dragged Teogo underneath +its sheltering branches, and then set him +down upon a couch of pine needles, where he +soon regained consciousness and warmly +thanked Matsue for her kindness.</p> + +<p>Teogo did not go back to his own country, +for, after a few happy months had gone by, +he married Matsue and on her wedding morn +she wore her dress and sash of pine needles.</p> + +<p>When Matsue’s parents died her loss only +seemed to make her love for Teogo the more. +The older they grew the more they loved each +other. Every night when the moon shone, they +went hand in hand to the pine tree and with +their little rake they made a couch for the +morrow.</p> + +<p>One night the great silver face of the moon +peered through the branches of the pine tree +and looked in vain for the two sitting together +on a couch of pine needles. Their little rakes +lay side by side and still the moon waited for +the slow steps of these pine tree lovers. But +that night they did not come. They had gone +home to an everlasting place on the River of +Souls.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>66]</a></span> +They had loved so well and so splendidly, +in old age as well as in youth, that their souls +were allowed to come back again and wander +round the pine tree that had listened to their +love for so many years.</p> + +<p>When the moon is full they whisper and +laugh and sing and draw the pine needles together, +while the sea sings softly upon the +shore:</p> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“The dawn is near<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the hoar-frost falls<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the fir tree twigs;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But its leaves dark green<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Suffer no change.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Morning and evening<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath its shade<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The leaves are swept away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet they never fail.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">True it is<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That these fir trees<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shed not all their leaves;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their verdure remains fresh<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For ages long,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the Masaka’s trailing vine;<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>67]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Even amongst evergreen trees—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The emblem of unchangeableness—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Exalted is their fame<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As a symbol to the end of time.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fame of the fir trees that<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have grown old together.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>68]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="bk2chap03" id="bk2chap03"></a>THE PINE TREE MAIDEN</h3> + +<p class="center smcap">(Indian Legend)</p> + + +<p>In an Indian village which stood near the +Big Sea Water lived a beautiful little girl +whose name was Leelinau. Her chief delight +was to wander among the pine trees of a +sacred grove which bordered the great waters. +Here she passed many hours watching the +sunlight dance on the stems of the tall trees +and listening to the soft music of the wind as +it came up from the sea and played in the +forest.</p> + +<p>The child’s desire to spend so much of her +time alone in the grove made her little companions +regard her with awe, and they sometimes +whispered together about the meaning +of her strange journeys to the deep woods.</p> + +<p>“Leelinau goes to the forest to play with +the Puckwudjinies. She dances with the +fairy folk and talks to them in their own +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>69]</a></span> +language,” said the Indian children when they +saw the little girl’s figure hurrying toward +the grove of pine trees.</p> + +<p>Leelinau’s parents took little notice of her +strange attraction for the lonely forest. They +thought it was a childish fancy which would +vanish in a few years. But the little girl grew +into a beautiful slender maiden and still she +visited her retreat with increasing delight.</p> + +<p>“When Leelinau goes to the forest the air is +filled with the sweetest perfume and the trees +nod their feathery plumes in welcome to her,” +whispered the youths and maidens of the village. +“Some say she calls the pine trees by +name and they answer her in a strange language +which she understands.”</p> + +<p>One day it happened that an Indian hunter, +who was a mighty chief, passed through the +sacred grove. There, leaning against her +favourite tree, a stately pine, he saw Leelinau, +a dark-haired maiden marvellously beautiful. +In a few days the chief sought her parents +and laid before them rich gifts, saying that he +wished to make the forest maiden his bride.</p> + +<p>To the surprise of all the people in the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>70]</a></span> +village Leelinau took no joy in her approaching +marriage to the great chief. To be sure, +she made no complaint, for she was an obedient +daughter. But each day, when she returned +from her accustomed journey to the +forest, she was sad and thoughtful. Sometimes +she stood before her father’s tepee and +looked with wistful eyes toward her beloved +grove.</p> + +<p>At last the day arrived on which the great +chief would claim her for his bride. The forest +maiden dressed herself in her beautiful +wedding robe and took her usual walk into +the forest. Her parents were not surprised +that she should wish to take a farewell look +at the grove where she had spent so many +happy hours, and which she was about to +leave, for the great chief lived many miles +away.</p> + +<p>When she reached the forest she hastened +to her beautiful pine tree. Clinging to the +trunk she wept bitterly and whispered the +story of her coming marriage to a war chief +from whom her heart shrank in fear. When +she had finished there was a soft rustling in +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>71]</a></span> +the branches overhead and a voice said: +“Leelinau! Leelinau! thou art my beloved! +Wilt thou stay in the forest and be my bride?”</p> + +<p>And she answered, “I will never leave my +pine tree lover.”</p> + +<p>The sun stood high above the sacred grove +and Leelinau had not returned to her father’s +lodge. Friends were sent to bring her to the +village but they came back with the report +that the maiden was not in the forest. The +great chief and his warriors searched far and +wide for the lost maiden. She had disappeared +so completely that the keenest-eyed +Indians could discover no trace of her. The +chief departed without his bride and for a +year no tidings of Leelinau came to the +village.</p> + +<p>It happened one calm evening when the sun +was sinking into the Big Sea Water, that an +Indian youth in a birch bark canoe was swiftly +skimming along toward the shore bordered by +the sacred grove. There, standing near the +deep forest, was a familiar figure. It was +Leelinau, the lost maiden. In his surprise and +joy the youth shouted to her and she waved +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>72]</a></span> +her hand to him in recognition. Then he +noticed that she was not alone. By her side +stood a handsome brave with a green plume +standing high on his head. With all his might +the young Indian quickened the speed of his +canoe and in a few moments he sprang ashore. +But where were Leelinau and the young +brave! They had disappeared and not a trace +of them was to be found on the lonely shore +or in the forest.</p> + +<p>The youth returned to the village and told +his story. Reverently the people bowed their +heads and whispered, “Leelinau will never +come back to us. She is the bride of her +favourite pine tree.”</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>73]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="bk2chap04" id="bk2chap04"></a>THE HOLLY</h3> + +<p class="center smcap">Janet Harvey Kelman</p> + + +<p>The Holly is our most important evergreen, +and is so well known that it scarcely needs +any description. It has flourished in this country +as long as the Oak, and is often found growing +under tall trees in the crowded forests, as +well as in the open glades, where lawns of fine +grass are to be found.</p> + +<p>People say that the Holly, or Holm tree, +as it is often called, is the greenwood tree +spoken of by Shakespeare, and that under its +bushy shelter Robin Hood and his merry men +held their meetings in the open glades of +Sherwood Forest. Sometimes it is called the +Holly tree, because from the oldest time of +which we have any record its boughs have +been used to deck our shrines and churches, +and in some parts of England the country people +in December speak of gathering Christmas, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>74]</a></span> +which is the name they give to the Holly, +or Holy tree. It is this evergreen which we +oftenest use at Christmas-tide to decorate our +churches, and very lovely the dark green +sprays, with their coral berries, look when +twined round the grey stone pillars.</p> + +<p>The Holly is looked upon as a second-rate +forest tree. It is never very large, and it +usually appears as a thick, tall bush, with +many branches reaching almost to the ground. +Sometimes you find it with a slender, bare +trunk, clothed with pale grey bark, and if you +look closely at this bark you will see that it is +covered with curious black markings, as if +some strange writing had been traced on it +with a heavy black pen.</p> + +<p>This writing is the work of a tiny plant +which makes its home on the Holly stem and +spreads in this strange way.</p> + +<p>The bark of the young Holly shoots and +boughs is pale green and quite smooth.</p> + +<p>The tree requires little sunshine, and it +seems to keep all it gets as every leaf is highly +polished and reflects the light like a mirror. +These leaves grow closely on every branch; +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>75]</a></span> +they are placed alternately on each side of the +twigs, and are oval, with the edges so much +waved that the leaves will not lie flat, but curl +on each side of the centre rib.</p> + +<p>The prickly leaves which grow low down +on the tree have sharp spines along the waved +edges, and a very sharp spine always grows +at the point of the leaf. But the upper +branches are clothed with blunt leaves which +have no spines along the edges; instead there +is a pale yellow line round each leaf, and there +is a single blunt spine at the point.</p> + +<p>Sheep and deer are very fond of eating the +tough, leathery leaves of the Holly, and it is +believed that the tree clothes its lower +branches in prickly leaves to protect itself +from these greedy enemies.</p> + +<p>Country people tell you that if branches of +smooth Holly are the first to be brought into +the house at Christmas-time, then the wife +will be head of the house all the next year, +but if the prickly boughs enter first, then the +husband will be ruler.</p> + +<p>The Holly leaves hang on the tree several +years, and after they fall they lie a long time +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>76]</a></span> +on the ground before the damp soaks through +their leathery skin and makes them decay. +You will find Holly leaves from which all the +green part of the leaf has disappeared, leaving +a beautiful skeleton leaf of grey fibre, +which is still perfect in every vein and rib.</p> + +<p>The flowers of the Holly bloom in May. +They appear in small crowded clusters between +the leaf stalk and the twig, and each +flower is a delicate pale pink on the outside, +but is pure white within. There is a calyx +cup edged with four green points, and inside +this cup stands a long white tube, with four +white petals at the top. There are four yellow-headed +stamens, and a tiny seed-vessel is +hidden inside the flower tube. Sometimes all +these parts will be found complete in a single +flower; sometimes there will be flowers on the +same branch which have stamens and no seed-vessel, +and others which have seed-vessels and +no stamens. Perhaps you will find a whole +tree on which not a single seed flower grows. +This tree may be laden with lovely white flowers +in spring, but it will bear no berries in +winter. You must have both stamen flowers +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>77]</a></span> +and seed flowers if the tree is to produce any +fruit.</p> + +<p>As summer passes, the seed-vessels, which +have had stamen dust scattered over them, become +small green berries and these berries +turn yellow and then change into a deep red, +the colour of coral or sealing wax. The berries +cluster round the green stalk, and most +beautiful they are among the glossy dark +leaves. Inside each berry there are four little +fruit stones containing seeds, and the birds +love to eat these red berries, which are full of +mealy pulp; but remember that children must +never eat the Holly berries, as they are poisonous +except for the birds.</p> + +<p>You will find that if the Holly tree has a +good crop of berries this winter there will not +be many the following year; the tree seems to +require a year’s rest before it can produce a +second large crop.</p> + +<p>There are some Holly trees with leaves +which are shaded with pale yellow or white-variegated +Hollies, we call them. These are +greatly prized for planting in gardens, where +the bushes with different-coloured leaves lend +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>78]</a></span> +much beauty when all the trees are bare in +winter.</p> + +<p>The wood of the Holly is too small to be of +much use. It is white and very hard, and +when stained black it is largely used instead +of ebony, which is scarce and expensive. The +black handles of many of our silver teapots +are made of stained Holly wood, and the slender +branches are good for making walking-sticks +and coachmen’s whips.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>79]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="bk2chap05" id="bk2chap05"></a>THE FABLE OF THE THREE ELMS</h3> + + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The North Wind spoke to three sturdy elms,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And, “Now you are dead!” said he;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">“I have blown a blast till the snow whirled past,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And withered your leaves, and see:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You are brown and old and your boughs are cold!”<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And he sneered at the elm trees three.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The first elm spoke in a hollow tone<br /></span> +<span class="i1">(For the snow lay deep and white,)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">“You think we are dead, North Wind?” he said,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">“Why we sleep—as you sleep at night.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath the snow lie my sturdy roots,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">They grip on the friendly earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I rest—till another year!” said he,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And he shook with a noisy mirth.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>80]</a></span> +<span class="i0">The second elm laughed a hearty laugh,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And, “North Wind,” he cried in glee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">“Beneath my bark glows a living spark,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The sap of a healthy tree;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My boughs are bare and my leaves are gone,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But—what have I to fear?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the winter time is my time of rest<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And I sleep till another year!”<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The third elm spoke and his voice was sweet,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And kind as the summery sea;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">“Oh, Wind!” he said, “we are far from spring—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The God in whose hand we be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Looks down, with love, from the winter sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And sends us His sun to cheer;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If we had no snow there would be no spring—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">We rest till another year!”<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The three elms rocked in the stinging blast,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And under the heavy snow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their roots were warm from the raging storm,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And safe from the winds that blow.<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>81]</a></span> +<span class="i0">They smiled in their hearts and their leafless boughs<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Spread over the frosty way;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For they knew that the God of forest trees<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Would watch through each winter day.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The North Wind uttered a frosty sigh,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As the snow blew far and free;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And his weary eyes sought the winter skies,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And, “Mighty is God!” said he.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">“To die or live are His gifts to give!”<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And he smiled at the elm trees three.<br /></span> +<span class="poet">Margaret E. Sangster, Jr.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>82]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="bk2chap06" id="bk2chap06"></a>THE PINE AND THE WILLOW</h3> + +<p class="center smcap">(Japanese Tale)</p> + +<p class="center smcap">Mine Morishima</p> + + +<p>In a beautiful large garden, among many +kinds of trees and shrubs, there stood a tall +fine Pine tree, and near to him, and almost +as tall, a graceful Willow.</p> + +<p>One dark winter morning the wind blew +hard and the clouds showed that a storm was +coming soon.</p> + +<p>The Pine felt lonesome, as little children +often do and thought he would talk to the +Willow. So he said, “Friend Willow, your +branches are trembling. I am sorry for you, +for I know you are afraid of the storm that +is coming. I wish you were like me. I am +so strong nothing can hurt me. The frost cannot +change the colour of my leaves nor the +wind blow them off; occasionally, some old +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>83]</a></span> +ones may fall on the ground, but there are +always new ones to take their places—and I +am the only tree in this large garden that is +always fresh and bright. As for you, dear +Willow, your branches all hang down, you +have no leaves now and, as you are neither +strong nor pretty and shake in such a little +wind, of what good are you to yourself, or +to any one else?”</p> + +<p>“Dear Pine,” the Willow answered, “I do +not tremble with fear, for I am not afraid, +but God made me so that the wind would +move my branches very easily, and that I +should not have leaves in the winter time. By +and by I shall have delicate green leaves and +blossoms, and I thank Him for giving me a +beautiful summer dress, even though I go bare +in cold weather. It must be very beautiful +to be strong and handsome, as you are, and I +am happy in having so good a friend.”</p> + +<p>While they were talking the wind had +grown much stronger, and now the rain came +pouring down. The Pine stood up angrily +against the wind, scolding with a hin, hin, hin, +while the Willow bent and swayed to and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>84]</a></span> +fro and all the other trees bowed their heads.</p> + +<p>Then the Pine said, “Willow, why do you +not push this rude wind away instead of yielding +to him; you are cowardly to let him abuse +you so, when you might resist him, as I do.”</p> + +<p>Then the Willow answered, “There are +many ways to keep oneself from harm, and I +do not like to resist any one with force.”</p> + +<p>The Pine was vexed at the Willow and +would say no more, but battled with the wind +he could no longer hold back. Then his +branches were torn and his top broken off; +they fell to the ground and the proud tree was +a sad sight.</p> + +<p>But the Willow bent her branches and +yielded to the wind, and so was unhurt.</p> + +<p>The next morning, when the rain had ceased +and the sun shone brightly, the owner of the +garden came out to see how his trees had +stood the storm. When he saw the broken +Pine he thought it was too bad to have a +broken tree in his fine garden, so he ordered +the gardener to move the Pine into the back +yard.</p> + +<p>After a time, spring came, and the Willow +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>85]</a></span> +put forth her lovely green leaves and every +one who passed looked at the graceful tree +and said, “How beautiful she is, how gentle +she seems!”</p> + +<p>The little birds built their nests in her +branches, and soon baby birds came, which +made the tree very happy. The butterflies +danced around in the sunshine and all summer +little children loved to play in the shade +of the drooping Willow.</p> + +<p>And when the Pine peeped in from the +back yard, and saw how happy and beautiful +the Willow was, and how the children, the +birds, and the butterflies loved to play about +her, he thought, “If only I had been less proud +of my own strength, then might I, too, be +standing in that beautiful garden with my +crown of leaves, and with young life all about +me.”</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>86]</a></span></p> + + +<h3><a name="bk2chap07" id="bk2chap07"></a>WHY THE WILD RABBITS ARE WHITE IN WINTER</h3> + +<p class="center smcap">(Algonquin Legend)</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="smlfont">Adapted from “Algonquin Indian Tales,” by Egerton R. +Young. Copyright, 1903, by Egerton R. Young. Reprinted +by permission of the Abington Press, Publishers.</p> +</div> + + +<p>Long ago Wild Rabbit of the Northland +wore a brown fur coat, throughout the year. +Today, when the long winter months come, +Wild Rabbit changes his coat of brown to one +that is the colour of the snow. And this is how +the change happened.</p> + +<p>Wild Rabbit could not defend himself +from his many foes. Almost all the animals,—foxes +of all kinds, wildcats, wolves, wolverines, +weasels, and ermine hunted Wild Rabbit +for food. Then there were the fierce birds,—the +eagles, hawks, and owls—that were always +on the lookout for rabbits, young or old. The +result was that with this war continually +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>87]</a></span> +waged against them, the poor rabbits had a +hard time of it, especially in winter. They +found it very difficult to hide themselves when +the leaves were off the trees and the ground +was covered with snow.</p> + +<p>In those days of long ago the animals used +to have a large council. There was a great +father at the head of each kind of animal and +bird, and these leaders used to meet and talk +about the welfare of their kind. There was +always peace and friendship among them +while at the council. They appointed a king +and he presided as chief. All the animals +that had troubles or grievances had a right to +come and speak about them at the council, and +if it were possible, all wrongs were remedied.</p> + +<p>Sometimes queer things were said. At one +council the bear found great fault with the fox +who had deceived him and had caused him to +lose his beautiful tail by telling him to go and +catch fish with it in a big crack in the ice. +The bear sat fishing so long that the crack +froze up solidly and, to save his life, the bear +had to break off his tail.</p> + +<p>But all the things they talked about were +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>88]</a></span> +not so funny as the bear’s complaint. They +had their troubles and dangers and they discussed +various plans for improving their condition; +also, they considered how they could +best defeat the skill and cleverness of the +human hunters.</p> + +<p>At one of the council meetings, when the +rabbit’s turn to be heard came, he said that +his people were nearly all destroyed, that the +rest of the world seemed to be combined +against his race and they were killing them by +day and night, in summer and winter. Also, +he declared that the rabbits had little power +to fight against enemies, and, therefore, his +people were almost discouraged, but they had +sent him to the council to see if the members +could suggest any remedy or plan to save the +rabbit race from complete destruction.</p> + +<p>While the rabbit was speaking the wolverine +winked at the wildcat, while the fox, although +he tried to look solemn, could not keep +his mouth from watering as he thought of the +many rabbits he intended to eat.</p> + +<p>Thus it can be seen that the rabbit did not +get much sympathy from his enemies in the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>89]</a></span> +council. But his friends,—the moose, the +reindeer, and the mountain goat—stood up in +the meeting and spoke out bravely for their +little friend. Indeed, they told the animals +that had laughed at the little rabbit’s sad +story that if they continued to kill all the rabbits +they could find there would soon be none +left. Then these cruel animals would be the +greatest sufferers, for what else could they find +to eat in sufficient numbers to keep them alive, +if the rabbits were all gone?</p> + +<p>This thought sobered the thoughtless animals +at first but they soon resumed their mocking +at the poor little rabbit and his story. As +they happened to be in the majority, the +council refused to do anything in the matter.</p> + +<p>When the moose heard the decision of the +council he was very sorry for his poor little +brother rabbit. He lowered his head and +told the rabbit to jump on one of his flat horns. +The moose then carried him some distance +away from the council and said, “There is no +hope for you here. Most of the animals live +on you and so they will not do anything that +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>90]</a></span> +will make it more difficult for you to be caught +than it now is. Your only hope is to go to +Manabozho, and see what he can do for you. +His name was once Manabush, which means +Great Rabbit, so I am sure he will be your +friend because I think he is a distant relative +of yours.”</p> + +<p>Away sped the rabbit along the route described +by the moose, who had lately found +out where Manabozho was stopping.</p> + +<p>The rabbit was such a timid creature that, +when he came near to Manabozho, he was +much afraid that he would not be welcomed. +However, his case was desperate, and although +his heart was thumping with fear he hurried +along to have the matter decided as soon as +possible.</p> + +<p>To his great joy he found Manabozho in +the best humour and the little creature was +received most kindly. The great Master saw +how weary the little rabbit was after the long +journey so he made the little fellow rest on +some fragrant grass in the sunshine. Then +Manabozho went out and brought in some of +the choicest things in his garden for the rabbit.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>91]</a></span> +“Tell me all your troubles, little brother,” +said Manabozho. “Also, tell me about the +council meeting.”</p> + +<p>The rabbit repeated his story and told all +about the treatment he had received at the +council.</p> + +<p>When the Great Master heard how unjustly +the little rabbit had been treated he grew +very angry and said, “And that is the way +they treated little brother rabbit at the council +we have given them, is it? And they know +we expect them to give the smallest and weakest +the same kind of justice as they offer the +biggest and strongest! It is high time for +some one to report the council news to me if +such unfair meetings take place. Look out, +Mr. Fox, Mr. Wolverine, and Mr. Wildcat, +for if I take you in hand you’ll be sorry little +brother rabbit was obliged to come to Manabozho +for help.”</p> + +<p>The Great Master had worked himself up +into such a furious temper that the rabbit was +frightened almost to death. But when Manabozho +saw this he laughed and said, “I’m +sorry to have frightened you, little brother. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>92]</a></span> +But I was so very angry with those animals +for ill-treating you that I forgot myself. And +now tell me what you wish me to do for you?”</p> + +<p>After a long talk about the matter it was +decided that there should be two great changes +made. First, the eyes of the rabbit should be +so increased in power that in the future they +would be able to see by night as well as by +day. Second, in all the Northland where +much snow falls during many months of the +year the rabbits of that region should change +their coats for the winter season into a beautiful +white colour like the snow.</p> + +<p>And the rabbits of the Northland now have +a much better time than they had formerly. +In their soft white coats they can glide away +from their enemies, or they can sometimes +escape notice by remaining perfectly still on +the white earth. (<i>Adapted.</i>)</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>93]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="bk2chap08" id="bk2chap08"></a>THE YEW</h3> + +<p class="center smcap">Janet Harvey Kelman</p> + + +<p>Once upon a time a discontented Yew tree +grew in a wood. Other trees, it thought, had +larger and more beautiful leaves which fluttered +in the breeze and became red and brown +and yellow in the sunshine, and the Yew +tree pined because the fairies had given +it such an unattractive dress. One morning +the sunshine disclosed that all its green +leaves had changed into leaves made of +gold, and the heart of the Yew tree danced +with happiness. But some robbers, as they +stole through the forest, were attracted by the +glitter, and stripped off every golden leaf. +Again the tree bemoaned its fate, and next day +the sun shone on leaves of purest crystal. +“How beautiful!” thought the tree; “see how +I sparkle!” But a hailstorm burst from the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>94]</a></span> +clouds, and the sparkling leaves lay shivered +on the grass. Once more the good fairies +tried to comfort the unhappy tree. Smooth +broad leaves covered its branches, and the Yew +tree flaunted these gay banners in the wind. +But, alas, a flock of goats came by and ate of +the fresh young leaves “a million and ten.” +“Give me back again my old dress,” sobbed +the Yew, “for I see that it was best.” And +ever since its leaves remain unchanging, and +it wears the sombre dress which covered its +boughs in the days when King William landed +from Normandy on our shores, and the swineherd +tended his pigs in the great forests which +covered so much of Merry England.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>95]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="bk2chap09" id="bk2chap09"></a>HOW THE PINE TREE DID SOME GOOD</h3> + +<p class="center smcap">Samuel W. Duffield</p> + + +<p>It was a long narrow valley where the Pine +Tree stood, and perhaps if you want to look +for it you might find it there today. For pine +trees live a long time, and this one was not +very old.</p> + +<p>The valley was quite barren. Nothing +grew there but a few scrubby bushes; and, to +tell the truth, it was about as desolate a place +as you can well imagine. Far up over it hung +the great, snowy caps of the Rocky Mountains, +where the clouds played hide and seek +all day, and chased each other merrily across +the snow. There was a little stream, too, that +gathered itself up among the snows and came +running down the side of the mountain; but +for all that the valley was very dreary.</p> + +<p>Once in a while there went a large grey +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>96]</a></span> +rabbit, hopping among the sagebushes; but +look as far as you could you would find no +more inhabitants. Poor, solitary little valley, +with not even a cottonwood down by the +stream, and hardly enough grass to furnish +three oxen with a meal! Poor, barren little +valley lying always for half the day in the +shadow of those tall cliffs—burning under the +summer sun, heaped high with the winter +snows—lying there year after year without a +friend! Yes, it had two friends, though they +could do it but little good, for they were two +pine trees. The one nearest the mountain, +hanging quite out of reach in a cleft of the +rock, was an old, gnarled tree, which had +stood there for a hundred years. The other +was younger, with bright green foliage, summer +and winter. It curled up the ends of its +branches, as if it would like to have you understand +that it was a very fine, hardy fellow, +even if it wasn’t as old as its father up there +in the cleft of the rock.</p> + +<p>Now the young Pine Tree grew very lonesome +at times, and was glad to talk with any +persons who came along, and they were few, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>97]</a></span> +I can tell you. Occasionally, it would look +lovingly up to the father pine, and wonder if +it could make him hear what it said. It would +rustle its branches and shout by the hour, but +the father pine heard him only once, and then +the words were so mixed with falling snow +that it was really impossible to say what they +meant.</p> + +<p>So the Pine Tree was very lonesome and no +wonder. “I wish I knew of what good I am,” +he said to the grey rabbit one day. “I wish I +knew,—I wish I knew,” and he rustled his +branches until they all seemed to say, “Wish I +knew—wish I knew.”</p> + +<p>“O pshaw!” said the rabbit, “I wouldn’t +concern myself much about that. Some day +you’ll find out.”</p> + +<p>“But do tell me,” persisted the Pine Tree, +“of what good you think I am.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” answered the rabbit, sitting up on +her hind paws and washing her face with her +front ones, in order that company shouldn’t +see her unless she looked trim and tidy—“well,” +said the rabbit, “I can’t exactly say +myself what it is. If you don’t help one, you +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>98]</a></span> +help another—and that’s right enough, isn’t +it? As for me, I take care of my family. I +hop around among the sagebushes and get +their breakfast and dinner and supper. I have +plenty to do, I assure you, and you must really +excuse me now, for I have to be off.”</p> + +<p>“I wish I was a hare,” muttered the Pine +Tree to himself, “I think I could do some +good then, for I should have a family to support, +but I know I can’t now.”</p> + +<p>Then he called across to the little stream +and asked the same question of him. And the +stream rippled along, and danced in the sunshine, +and answered him. “I go on errands +for the big mountain all day. I carried one +of your cones not long ago to a point of land +twenty miles off, and there now is a pine tree +that looks just like you. But I must run along, +I am so busy. I can’t tell you of what good +you are. You must wait and see.” And the +little stream danced on.</p> + +<p>“I wish I were a stream,” thought the Pine +Tree. “Anything but being tied down to this +spot for years. That is unfair. The rabbit +can run around, and so can the stream; but I +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>99]</a></span> +must stand still forever. I wish I were dead.”</p> + +<p>By and by the summer passed into autumn, +and the autumn into winter, and the snowflakes +began to fall.</p> + +<p>“Halloo!” said the first one, all in a flutter, +as she dropped on the Pine Tree. But he +shook her off, and she fell still farther down +on the ground. The Pine Tree was getting +very churlish and cross lately.</p> + +<p>However, the snow didn’t stop for all that +and very soon there was a white robe over all +the narrow valley. The Pine Tree had no +one to talk with now. The stream had covered +himself in with ice and snow, and wasn’t to be +seen.</p> + +<p>The hare had to hop around very industriously +to get enough for her children to eat; +and the sagebushes were always low-minded +fellows and couldn’t begin to keep up a ten-minutes’ +conversation.</p> + +<p>At last there came a solitary figure across +the valley, making its way straight for the +Pine Tree. It was a lame mule, which had +been left behind from some wagon-train. He +dragged himself slowly on till he reached the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>100]</a></span> +tree. Now the Pine, in shaking off the snow, +had shaken down some cones as well, and they +lay on the snow. These the mule picked up +and began to eat.</p> + +<p>“Heigh ho!” said the tree, “I never knew +those things were fit to eat before.”</p> + +<p>“Didn’t you?” replied the mule. “Why I +have lived on these things, as you call them, +ever since I left the wagons. I am going back +on the Oregon Trail, and I sha’n’t see you +again. Accept my thanks for breakfast. +Good-bye.”</p> + +<p>And he moved off to the other end of the +valley and disappeared among the rocks.</p> + +<p>“Well!” exclaimed the Pine Tree. “That’s +something, at all events.” And he shook down +a number of cones on the snow. He was really +happier than he had ever been before,—and +with good reason, too.</p> + +<p>After a while there appeared three people. +They were a family of Indians,—a father, a +mother, and a little child. They, too, went +straight to the tree.</p> + +<p>“We’ll stay here,” said the father, looking +across at the snow-covered bed of the stream +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>101]</a></span> +and up at the Pine Tree. He was very poorly +clothed, this Indian. He and his wife and the +child had on dresses of hare-skins, and they +possessed nothing more of any account, except +bow and arrows, and a stick with a net on the +end. They had no lodge poles, and not even +a dog. They were very miserable and hungry. +The man threw down his bow and arrows +not far from the tree. Then he began to +clear away the snow in a circle and to pull up +the sagebushes. These he and the woman +built into a round, low hut, and then they +lighted a fire within it. While it was beginning +to burn the man went to the stream and +broke a hole in the ice. Tying a string to his +arrow, he shot a fish which came up to breathe, +and, after putting it on the coals, they all ate +it half-raw. They never noticed the Pine +Tree, though he scattered down at least a +dozen more cones.</p> + +<p>At last night came on, cold and cheerless. +The wind blew savagely through the valleys, +and howled at the Pine Tree, for they were +old enemies. Oh, it was a bitter night, but finally +the morning broke! More snow had +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>102]</a></span> +fallen and heaped up against the hut so that +you could hardly tell that it was there. The +stream had frozen tighter than before and the +man could not break a hole in the ice again. +The sagebushes were all hid by the drifts, and +the Indians could find none to burn.</p> + +<p>Then they turned to the Pine Tree. How +glad he was to help them! They gathered up +the cones and roasted the seeds on the fire. +They cut branches from the tree and burned +them, and so kept up the warmth in their hut.</p> + +<p>The Pine Tree began to find himself useful, +and he told the hare so one morning when she +came along. But she saw the Indian’s hut, +and did not stop to reply. She had put on her +winter coat of white, yet the Indian had seen +her in spite of all her care. He followed her +over the snow with his net, and caught her +among the drifts. Poor Pine Tree! She was +almost his only friend, and when he saw her +eaten and her skin taken for the child’s mantle, +he was very sorrowful, you may be sure. He +saw that if the Indians stayed there, he, too, +would have to die, for they would in time burn +off all his branches, and use all his cones; but +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>103]</a></span> +he was doing good at last, and he was content.</p> + +<p>Day after day passed by,—some bleak, some +warm,—and the winter moved slowly along. +The Indians only went from their hut to the +Pine Tree now. He gave them fire and food, +and the snow was their drink. He was smaller +than before, for many branches were gone, +but he was happier than ever.</p> + +<p>One day the sun came out more warmly, and +it seemed as if spring was near. The Indian +man broke a hole in the ice, and got more fish. +The Indian woman caught a rabbit. The Indian +child gathered sagebushes from under +the fast-melting snow and made a hotter fire to +cook the feast. And they did feast, and then +they went away.</p> + +<p>The Pine Tree had found out his mission. +He had helped to save three lives.</p> + +<p>In the summer there came along a band of +explorers, and one, the botanist of the party, +stopped beside our Pine Tree:</p> + +<p>“This,” said he in his big words, “is the +Pinus Monophyllus, otherwise known as the +Bread Pine.” He looked at the deserted hut +and passed his hand over his forehead.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>104]</a></span> +“How strange it is,” said he. “This Pine +Tree must have kept a whole family from cold +and starvation last winter. There are very +few of us who have done as much good as +that.” And when he went away, he waved his +hand to the tree and thanked God in his heart +that it grew there. And the Bread Pine +waved his branches in return, and said to himself +as he gazed after the departing band: “I +will never complain again, for I have found +out what a pleasant thing it is to do good, and +I know now that every one in his lifetime can +do a little of it.”</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>105]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="bk2chap10" id="bk2chap10"></a>A WONDERFUL WEAVER</h3> + + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There’s a wonderful weaver<br /></span> +<span class="i1">High up in the air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he weaves a white mantle<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For cold earth to wear.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the wind for his shuttle,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The cloud for his loom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How he weaves, how he weaves,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In the light, in the gloom.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, with finest of laces,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He decks bush and tree;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the bare, flinty meadows<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A cover lays he.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then a quaint cap he places<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On pillar and post,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he changes the pump<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To a grim, silent ghost.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>106]</a></span> +<span class="i0">But this wonderful weaver<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Grows weary at last;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the shuttle lies idle<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That once flew so fast.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then the sun peeps abroad<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On the work that is done;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he smiles: “I’ll unravel<br /></span> +<span class="i1">It all, just for fun.”<br /></span> +<span class="poet">George Cooper.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>107]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="bk2chap11" id="bk2chap11"></a>THE PINE AND THE FLAX</h3> + +<p class="center smcap">Albrekt Segerstedt</p> + + +<p>Just where a forest ended grew a pine tree +taller and more beautiful than all the others +in the forest. Far away could be seen its feathery +round crown, whose soft branches waved +so gracefully when the wind blew across the +plain.</p> + +<p>At the foot of the pine tree the fields of +grain began.</p> + +<p>Here the farmer sowed seeds of many kinds, +but the flax was sowed nearest the pine. It +came up beautiful and even, and the pine +thought a great deal of the slender green +thing.</p> + +<p>The flax stalk raised itself higher and +higher, and near the close of summer it bore a +little blue helmet on his head.</p> + +<p>“Thou art so beautiful!” said the tall pine.</p> + +<p>The flax bowed itself low, but raised again +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>108]</a></span> +so gracefully that it looked like a billowy sea.</p> + +<p>The pine and the flax often talked to each +other and became great friends.</p> + +<p>“What folly!” said the other forest trees to +the pine. “Do not have anything to do with +the flax; it is so weak. Choose the tall spruce +or the birch tree. They are strong.”</p> + +<p>But the pine would not desert the flax.</p> + +<p>The thistle and other small plants talked to +the flax.</p> + +<p>“You are crazy to think of the lofty pine. +It does not trouble itself about you. It is tall +and proud. Children of a size play best together. +Think of the bush and vine and content +yourself.”</p> + +<p>“I shall trust the pine,” replied the flax. “It +is honourable and faithful and I am fond of +it.”</p> + +<p>So the pine and the flax remained friends.</p> + +<p>Time passed and the flax was pulled up and +made into ropes and cloth. The pine was +felled and its trunk carried to the city. But +the pine and flax did not forget each other, +though neither knew where the other was.</p> + +<p>A large, beautiful ship was launched upon +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>109]</a></span> +the water. On this the pine tree was erected +as a mast, and on the highest part waved a +flag.</p> + +<p>Then came a great white sail to help the +mast carry the proud ship forward. It +wrapped itself around the mast, spread itself +out like a great wing, and caught the wind on +its wide curve.</p> + +<p>The sail had been woven of linen that grew +as flax out in the field on the edge of the wood. +And the two friends had met again.</p> + +<p>Clasping each other faithfully, out over the +foaming billows they went to new lands. It +was life, it was pleasure to go on united as +friends.</p> + +<p>The winds took a message back to the forest.</p> + +<p>“Who would have believed it?” said the +spruce and the birch.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>110]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="bk2chap12" id="bk2chap12"></a>THE FIR TREE</h3> + + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O singing Wind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Searching field and wood,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Cans’t thou find<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Aught that’s sweet or good—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flowers, to kiss awake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or dewy grass, to shake,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Or feathered seed<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Aloft to speed?<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Replies the wind:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">“I cannot find<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flowers, to kiss awake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or dewy grass to shake,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Or feathered seed<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Aloft to speed;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet I meet<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Something sweet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the scented fir,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Balsam-breathing fir—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In my flight I stir.”<br /></span> +<span class="poet">Edith M. Thomas.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>111]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="bk2chap13" id="bk2chap13"></a>WHY BRUIN HAS A STUMPY TAIL</h3> + +<p class="center smcap">(Norwegian Legend)</p> + + +<p>Once upon a time a sly fox lived in a deep forest +which bordered a river. One fine winter +day he was lying in the sun near a brush heap +with his eyes closed, and he was thinking: “It +has been several days since I had a dainty supper. +How I should enjoy a fine large fish this +evening. I’ll slip over to the edge of the forest +and watch the fishermen as they go home with +their day’s catch. Perhaps good luck will do +something for me.”</p> + +<p>Now one old man had caught a very fine lot +of fish of all sizes. Indeed, he had so many +that he was obliged to hire a cart in which to +carry them home. He was driving along +slowly when suddenly he noticed a red fox +crouched under the bush near the road. He +stopped his horse, jumped down from the cart, +and carefully crept near the spot where he had +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>112]</a></span> +seen Master Reynard. The fox did not open +his eyes nor move a muscle.</p> + +<p>“Well,” said the old fisherman, “I do believe +he is dead! What a fine coat he has. I +will take him home and give him to my wife +for a present.” He lifted the fox and put him +into the cart among the fish. The old man +then mounted to his seat and drove merrily on, +thinking how pleased his wife would be with +the fine fish and the fox. When they were +well on their way, the sly fox threw one fish +after another out of the cart until all lay scattered +along on the road; then he slipped out +of the cart.</p> + +<p>When the old man reached his cottage, he +called out to his wife, “Come and see the fine +fish I caught to-day. And I have brought you +a beautiful gift, also.”</p> + +<p>His wife hurried to the cart and said, +“Where are the fish, my husband, and where +is my present?”</p> + +<p>“Why, there in the cart,” he replied.</p> + +<p>“In the cart!” exclaimed his wife. “Why, +there is nothing here; neither fish nor present, +so far as I can see.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>113]</a></span> +The old man looked and to his great surprise +and disappointment he discovered that +what his wife said was true.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, the sly fox had gathered up the +fish and had taken them to the forest in order +to enjoy a fine supper. Presently he heard a +pleasant voice saying, “Good evening, Brother +Reynard.”</p> + +<p>He looked up and saw his friend Bruin. +“Oh, good evening to you,” answered the fox. +“I have been fishing to-day, and, as you see, +luck certainly attended me.”</p> + +<p>“It did, indeed,” answered the bear. +“Could you not spare me one fish? I should +consider the gift a great favor.”</p> + +<p>“Oh,” answered the fox, “why don’t you go +fishing yourself? I assure you when one becomes +a fisherman, he thoroughly enjoys the +fruits of patience.”</p> + +<p>“Go fishing, my friend,” said Bruin, in astonishment. +“That is impossible. I know +nothing about catching fish, I assure you.”</p> + +<p>“Pooh, it is very easy, especially in the winter +time when ice nearly covers the river. Let +me tell you what to do. Make a hole in the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>114]</a></span> +ice and stick your tail down into it. Hold it +there just as long as you can and keep saying, +‘Come, little fish; come, big fish.’ Don’t mind +if the tail smarts a little; that only means that +you have a bite, and I assure you the longer +you hold it there the more fish you will catch. +Then all at once, out with your tail. Give a +strong pull sideways, then upward, and you’ll +have enough fish to last you several days. But +mind you, follow my directions closely.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, my friend, I am very grateful for your +kind information,” said Bruin, and off he went +to the river where he proceeded to follow Master +Fox’s directions.</p> + +<p>In a short time sly Reynard passed by, and +when he saw Bruin patiently sitting on the ice +with his tail in a hole, he laughed until his +sides ached. He said, wickedly, under his +breath: “A clear sky, a clear sky! Bruin’s tail +will freeze, Bruin’s tail will freeze.”</p> + +<p>“What did you say, my friend?” asked the +bear.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I was making a wish,” replied the fox.</p> + +<p>All night long Bruin sat there, fishing patiently. +Then he decided to go home. How +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>115]</a></span> +very heavy his tail felt. He thought to himself +that all the fish in the river must be fastened +there. In a little while the women of +the village came to get water from the river, +and when they saw the bear, they called out at +the top of their voices: “Come, come! A bear, +a bear! Kill him! Kill him!”</p> + +<p>The men came quickly with great sticks in +their hands. Poor Bruin gave a short pull +sideways and his tail snapped off short. He +made off to the woods as fast as he could go, +but to this day he goes about with a stumpy +tail.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>116]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="bk2chap14" id="bk2chap14"></a>PINES AND FIRS</h3> + +<p class="center smcap">Mrs. Dyson</p> + + +<p>Pines and firs! Who knows the difference +between a pine and a fir! These trees are first +cousins; they often dwell together in our +woods; they are evergreen; they have narrow, +pointed leaves; and they bear cones, and so we +often call them all firs, as if they were brothers. +This may satisfy strangers and passers-by +who only turn their heads and say: “Ah! +a fir wood,” but it will not be sufficient +for the friends of the trees. Pines and firs +are as different as oaks and beeches; and who +would not be ashamed to take a beech for an +oak!</p> + +<p>A fir is the shape of a church steeple or a +spear-head about to cleave the sky. The lowermost +branches come out in a ring and spread +out straight and stiff like the spokes of a wheel. +Above this whorl is another of shorter +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>117]</a></span> +branches still, and so on, till the top ring is +quite a little one round a pointed shoot. The +little shoots fork out on each side of the big +branches, and like them are set closely with +leaves. These shoots do not point up to the +sky nor down to the earth; they spread out +flat, so that the branch looks like a huge fern.</p> + +<p>Pines begin to grow like firs; but as they +shoot up side by side in the woods, their lower +branches drop off for want of air and sunshine, +and their upper branches spread out wider. +A fir is a pyramid with a pointed top; but +a full-grown pine has a flat top, and often a +tall, bare trunk, so that it looks like a great +umbrella. A famous Roman writer, Pliny, +said that the smoke of a volcano was like a pine +tree. The smoke shoots up in a great pillar +from the mouth of the fiery mountain, and +then spreads itself out in a black cap.</p> + +<p>You have often amused yourselves with finding +pictures in the clouds. Have you seen a +pillar of mist rise up from the horizon, the +meeting line of the earth and sky, and then lose +itself in a soft cloud? The country people in +some parts of Europe call this cloud-form +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>118]</a></span> +<em>Abraham’s tree</em> or <em>Adam’s tree</em>, because it is +so like a pine tree. When the clouds break up +into the soft, white, fleecy ripples that we call +a mackerel sky, they say, “We shall have wind, +for Adam’s tree is putting forth leaves.”</p> + +<p>The pine trees dress themselves in long, +blue-green, rounded needles set in bundles of +two, three, or more, bristling out all round +their branches; but the fir trees wear short, +narrow, flat leaves of a yellow-green colour, set +singly each one by itself. These fir leaves +come out all round the stem just as pine leaves +do, but they are parted down the middle as we +sometimes part our hair, so that they spread +out flat in two thick rows.</p> + +<p>Mr. Ruskin calls the pines and firs and their +relations the builders with the sword, because +of their narrow, pointed leaves, and the broad-leaved +trees he calls the builders with the +shield. The trees of the sword stand erect on +the hills like armed soldiers prepared for war; +while the trees of the shield spread themselves +in the valleys to shelter the fields and pastures.</p> + +<p>Why do these mountain trees have such narrow +leaves? Can you find out a reason? +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>119]</a></span> +Perhaps this is one: when the great, strong wind is +raging with all his force, he will not suffer +any resistance but breaks down everything that +tries to stay him in his course; if he meets +broad leaves and heavy branches, he hurls +them out of his way, but he just whistles +through the slender leaves and branches of the +pines and firs, and scarcely knows they are +there.</p> + +<p>When you gather the cones in the wood, you +may know at once whether they have fallen +from pine trees or from fir trees. A pine cone +looks like a single piece of carved solid wood +until it opens, and then each hard scale shows +a thick, square head; but the fir cones are made +of broad, papery scales, with thin edges laid +neatly one over the other.</p> + +<p>Now you will never have any difficulty in +knowing the pines from the firs, even in the +far distance—colour, form, dress, fruit, all are +different.</p> + +<p>How is it we make a mistake, and call the +Scotch pine by the name of Scotch fir? Perhaps +it is because this tree is the only one of +the great pine and fir family that is a real +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>120]</a></span> +native of Britain. Our stay-at-home ancestors +who lived above three hundred years ago +never saw a real fir, and so their one pine had +to represent all its relations. They knew it +perhaps better than we do, for in their days +there were many forests that have since been +cut down to make room for houses and gardens +and fields.</p> + +<p>Sometimes when you have been walking +over the moorland you have run to gather some +bright yellow moss, and have suddenly found +your foot sinking into wet, black mud, and you +have heard stories of men and horses sucked +down by just such dreadful slime. Hundreds +of years ago forests stood where now lie these +dangerous bogs, and the trees and shrubs rotting +and decaying in the wet have changed +into black, brown swamps. Many bogs have +been drained, and the trunks of pine trees have +been found in them standing as they grew. In +one bog in Yorkshire pine trees were found +sawn across and left to lie and rot. Who felled +these trees which have been lying there hundreds +of years? Can we tell? Yes; for among +the trees are scattered axe-heads and Roman +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>121]</a></span> +coins, and we are able to picture the old story +of the place. There was once a forest there, +and the ancient Britons hid themselves in its +shelter, and the Romans cut down the trees to +drive them from their hiding-place.</p> + +<p>There are two common kinds of firs which +you will find in the woods. One is the spruce +fir, a very prim and proper tree, with slightly +curving branches turned up at the tips. It +looks as if the branches had been all cut to a +pattern, and their length and the distances between +them carefully measured. When you +have been washed and brushed and pulled and +straightened, and had every hair and bow set +in its proper place, so that you look particularly +trim and neat, you sometimes laugh and +call one another <em>spruce</em>, like the spruce fir.</p> + +<p>Some people think the name “spruce” means +the <em>pruce</em>, or Prussian tree; others say it means +the sprouting tree, the tree that sprouts at the +ends of its branches. In some countries these +bright-green sprouts are cut off and made into +a kind of beer called spruce beer.</p> + +<p>The spruce fir is at home on the high mountains +of Europe where it often grows one +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>122]</a></span> +hundred and fifty feet high. You long for the +time when you will be taken to Switzerland +to see the snow-capped Alps. Then standing +out against the white snow and the glittering +ice rivers you will see the dark spruce forests. +This fir is also at home in Norway and +the cold lands of the North, and so we call it +the Norway Spruce to distinguish it from +other kinds of spruce fir that grow in America. +In Norway many old men and women +earn a living by gathering and selling in the +markets pieces of fir for the people to strew on +the graves as we do flowers.</p> + +<p>What sort of cones has the spruce? Can +you find some in the fir wood? They are five +or six inches long and perhaps two inches +thick. You will see them hanging from the +ends of the upper branches, and perhaps you +may find some empty ones on the ground. +Look at them. Those thin scales are very different +from the tough walls of the pine cone: +each one is shaped off to a point, and this point +is divided into two sharp teeth.</p> + +<p>Perhaps when you are looking for the cones, +you will find growing fast to the branches +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>123]</a></span> +among the leaves some fanciful things that +look like little cones. These are very gay; +every scale has a border of crimson velvet and +a green spine in the middle of its back, like a +little tusk. If you open them you will find +some brown, soft things inside. Do you know +what they are? Perhaps, if you have not already +made friends with the real cone, you +will think these are seeds; but some of you are +growing wise, and know that you have intruded +into a little nest of insects. If you tie +a net round the branch and keep watch, you +may see them come out. Their mother +pierced a hole in a brown bud last autumn and +laid her eggs there; then when the buds burst +in spring the lower leaves grew fast together +and made this comfortable house, and those +green tusks you see are the leaf points.</p> + +<p>But what is the other kind of fir that grows +in our wood? It is rather like the spruce in +shape, but it is not quite so stiff and prim and +proper, and underneath each little leaf there +are two silver lines, and so we call this the silver +fir. You may always know it from the +spruce by these silver lines. Each stiff little +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>124]</a></span> +leaf has its edges rolled under as if ready for +hemming, and there is a thick green rib down +the middle of the under side, so the silver lining +just peeps out in single streaks between the +rib and the hems.</p> + +<p>The spring tufts of the Norway spruce are +of a bright yellow-green; those of the silver +fir are paler and softer in tint, more like the +primrose. When the sulphur butterfly lights +on them we lose sight of him, so he flits from +one to another, feeling quite safe, and keeping +carefully away from those dark old leaves +where he would be pounced upon at once.</p> + +<p>The silver fir does not let its cones hang +down; it holds them proudly erect on its +branches; like little towers often eight inches +high. We wonder how such slender twigs can +hold up such large cones. They look like +hairy giants, for their scales do not end in two +little teeth, but in a long point which turns +back and bends downwards.</p> + +<p>The silver fir does not like quite such cold +places as the spruce and the Scotch pine; it +dwells lower down the mountain sides, and is +at home in Central Europe.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>125]</a></span> +All the pines and firs, like the Scotch pine, +have those wonderful pipes and reservoirs of +sticky turpentine juice inside their bark, but +each kind of fir has its own way of making its +stores, and so we get different kinds of resin +and turpentine and balsams from different +trees.</p> + +<p>It is these stores of resin that make the pine +wood burn so brightly. The Highland chief +needed no gas for his great illuminations; he +had only to call his followers to hold up +branches of blazing pine. It is not very wise +to light a picnic fire in a pine or fir wood, for +sometimes a few sparks will set a whole forest +in flames.</p> + +<p><em>Fir</em>—<em>fire</em>: how much alike these two words +are! Do you think they must have some connection +with one another? Were the first fires +made of fir wood? or was this tree called fir +because it made such good fires? These words +are so old that we can only guess their history.</p> + +<p>Those of you who like pretty things have +often fingered admiringly some bright, shining +necklace of amber beads. The pieces of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>126]</a></span> +amber from which those beads were cut were +picked up on the shores of the Baltic Sea, and +it is supposed that once upon a time some great +pines or firs dropped their gummy juice and +this hardened into these beautiful transparent +stones.</p> + +<p>Pines and firs are some of our greatest tree +givers. They seem never tired of giving. Can +you think of anything that is made of pine or +fir wood? Perhaps you remember hearing +that the seats or panels or ceilings in your +school or church were of the wood of an +American pine called the pitch pine. But +common fir wood has a name of its own. Who +has not heard of <em>deal</em>? A <em>deal</em> is a part or +portion, and so we talk of a great deal of something +meaning a large portion. Our fir wood +comes in great quantities from Norway and +Germany, where it is first cut and sawn into +planks. Each plank is a <em>deal</em>—that is, a portion +of the wood. It has been easy to leave out +the article and call the wood <em>deal</em>.</p> + +<p>Our white deal comes from the firs, chiefly +from the Norway spruce. The darker-coloured +deal is the gift of the Scotch pine.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>127]</a></span> +How can the great trees be carried from the +mountain-tops, do you suppose? The streams +are the carriers; they float the great trunks +down to the rivers, where they are tied together +in great rafts and floated on again to +their new home, or to the seaport from which +they can be shipped to foreign lands. Sometimes +when the nearest stream is at a long distance +from the trees, a wooden slide is made +to it. In the winter, water is poured down the +slide, and when it freezes the trees easily shoot +down the slippery way to the stream. Oh, +what fun it must be! You would like to be +there to see. In the year 1810, when all Europe +was at war with the great Emperor Napoleon, +the deal traffic on the Baltic Sea was +stopped. What was to be done? Near the +Lake of Lucerne there is a high mountain, +called Mont Pilate, covered with great forests +of pine and fir. If these could only be cut +down and brought to the lake, they could +easily be floated down the Rhine to the sea. +So a tremendous slide was made from Mont +Pilate to the lake. It was six feet broad, and +from three to six feet deep, and eight miles +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>128]</a></span> +long, and twenty-five thousand pine trees were +used in making it. When water had been +poured down and had frozen, the great trunks +were started one at a time. Away they shot, +and reached the lake, eight miles off, in six +minutes, and in wet weather, when the slide +was very slippery, they were only three minutes +on the way.</p> + +<p>Look at the deal planks on the floor of your +room. Do you see those dark knots? They +show you where once branches sprang out of +the trunk. Many of these decayed and +dropped off while quite young, and a little +store of juice prepared for the branch gathered +into the knot and turned it brown and +dark. You will often find the knots in pairs, +showing you how the branches grew opposite +one another.</p> + +<p>These long straight lines in the plank that +we call the <em>grain</em> show the rings of wood made +by the pine tree year by year.</p> + +<p>How astonished you would be if suddenly +out of that plank a great insect were to creep +and spread out its wings. This sometimes +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>129]</a></span> +happens, to the alarm of the people in the +room, but only when the wood is new and has +been used too soon, before it was properly +dried and seasoned. The insect looks very +formidable, for it has a long, pointed weapon +at the end of its body, but it is quite harmless. +It is called the <em>giant sirex</em>, and it looks something +like a wasp or hornet. With its weapon +it pierces holes in the pine tree bark and lays +its eggs there. The grubs eat great tunnels in +the trunk, and when they are full grown they +creep nearly to the outside, and there wait till +they are changed and their wings are ready before +they creep out. Sometimes while they +wait the tree is cut down and then they are +either sawn in two or left inside the plank.</p> + +<p>We often see young fir trees in a very strange +place, bearing wonderful fruit of gold and silver +shining lights, and glittering toys.</p> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i3">“The fir tree stood<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In a beautiful room;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">A hundred tapers<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Dispelled the gloom.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>130]</a></span> +<span class="i0">All decked with gold and silver was he,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lilies and roses so fair to see.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hurrah for the fir tree, the Christmas tree;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A prince in all the forests is he!<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i3">The little children<br /></span> +<span class="i4">With merry shout<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Came crowding, clustering<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Round about.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Brighter and rounder grew their eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And they gazed at the fir in glad surprise.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hurrah for the fir tree, the Christmas tree;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A prince in all the forests is he!”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>131]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="bk2chap15" id="bk2chap15"></a>WHO LOVES THE TREES BEST?</h3> + + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Who loves trees best?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">“I,” said the spring,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">“Their leaves so beautiful<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To them I bring.”<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Who loves the trees best?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">“I,” summer said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">“I give them blossoms,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">White, yellow, red.”<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Who loves the trees best?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">“I,” said the fall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">“I give luscious fruits,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bright tints to all!”<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Who loves the trees best?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">“I love them best,”<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Harsh winter answered,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">“I give them rest.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132"><!-- blank page --></a></span></p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133"><!-- no visible page number --></a></span></p> + +<h2 class="padtop"><a name="book3" id="book3"></a>CHRISTMAS EVERYWHERE</h2> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>134]</a></span></p> + +<h3 class="padtop"><a name="bk3chap01" id="bk3chap01"></a>A CHRISTMAS SONG</h3> + + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Everywhere, everywhere, Christmas to-night!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Christmas in lands of fir tree and pine;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Christmas in lands of palm tree and vine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Christmas where snow peaks stand solemn and white;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Christmas where cornfields lie sunny and bright;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Everywhere, everywhere, Christmas to-night!<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Christmas where children are hopeful and gay;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Christmas where old men are patient and grey;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Christmas where peace like a dove in its flight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Broods over brave men in the thick of the fight;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Everywhere, everywhere, Christmas to-night.<br /></span> +<span class="poet">Phillips Brooks.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>135]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="bk3chap02" id="bk3chap02"></a>THE SHEPHERD MAIDEN’S GIFT</h3> + +<p class="center smcap">(Eastern Legend)</p> + + +<p>In the quiet midnight, peace brooded over the +fields where the shepherds were watching +their flocks. The tinkling of sheepbells, the +bleating of lambs, and the barking of watchdogs +had gradually ceased. Around a large +campfire several shepherds lay resting, for +they had had a long, hard day. Each had beside +him a strong shepherd’s crook and a stout +club ready for use in case any lurking danger +threatened the beloved flocks.</p> + +<p>Not far away from the campfire a shepherd +maiden lay sleeping in the rude shelter of a +rocky cave. All day long she had helped her +father guard the sheep, and when darkness +fell over the fields and hills, she was glad to lie +down in her snug bed made of the fleecy skins +of kids and lambs.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>136]</a></span> +Suddenly a light filled the cave and wakened +the maiden. Thinking it was daybreak, +she sprang up, stepped to the rude doorway, +and pushed aside the curtain of goatskin.</p> + +<p>“What has happened?” she whispered.</p> + +<p>The fields and hills were flooded with light. +The group of shepherds were standing close +together, gazing intently at the luminous eastern +sky. A moment later she saw them fall on +their knees in worship. There in the entrance +of her rude shelter, she, too, knelt and prayed. +Clearly she saw the shining angel appear and +in the peaceful stillness of the night she heard +these words:</p> + +<p>“Be not afraid; for, behold, I bring good +tidings of great joy which shall be to all the +people: for there is born to you this day, in +the city of David, a Saviour, which is Christ +the Lord. And this shall be the sign unto you: +ye shall find a babe wrapped in swaddling +clothes and lying in a manger.”</p> + +<p>And suddenly there was with the angel +many, many others. Together they lifted up +their voices in praise and sang,</p> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>137]</a></span> +<span class="i0">“Glory to God in the highest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Peace on earth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Good will toward men.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>When the sweet music died away, the +maiden rose to her feet and joined the shepherds.</p> + +<p>“I saw the angel, Father, and heard the +singing,” she whispered.</p> + +<p>“Christ, the Lord, is born,” answered her +father.</p> + +<p>“Let us hasten to Bethlehem and see the +Heavenly Child who fulfills the promise of +God,” said one of the shepherds.</p> + +<p>“Shall we leave our flocks?” asked another. +But the question was not answered.</p> + +<p>“Come, let us see what gifts we have to carry +to the Christ-child,” said the shepherd who +first saw the light in the sky.</p> + +<p>In a few moments these simple-hearted men +were ready to start across the fields and over +the low hills to Bethlehem. Very humble +gifts they had to offer, but their hearts were +filled with joy and wonder.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>138]</a></span> +Standing near the entrance to the cave the +shepherd maiden could see the outline of the +group of men making their way to the city of +David. “They are going to see the Christ-child,” +she said to herself, “a babe wrapped +in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger.”</p> + +<p>How she would love to see the Heavenly +Child! A deep longing to behold the little +new-born King seized her. She would follow +the shepherds to Bethlehem. One glimpse at +the Christ-child would fill her heart with joy.</p> + +<p>Away over the star-lit fields and hills she +started. Not once did she falter, although the +way was long and some of the hillsides were +hard to climb.</p> + +<p>Finally, she saw the shepherds pass in the +gate of the city of Bethlehem.</p> + +<p>“I came to see the Christ-child,” she said to +a group of people who stood whispering together. +They looked at her in astonishment.</p> + +<p>“I am following the shepherds,” she added.</p> + +<p>“They have gone to the inn,” was the answer.</p> + +<p>When she reached the inn she was directed +to a cave near, which served as a stable.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>139]</a></span> +There through the entrance she saw the +shepherds lay their humble presents at Mary’s +feet and then kneel in solemn adoration.</p> + +<p>“I have brought nothing to offer,” whispered +the maiden, looking wistfully into the +rude shelter. “I cannot go in without a gift—a +little gift for the Christ-child.”</p> + +<p>Tears of disappointment filled her eyes. +Slowly she turned to leave the place. But +after she had taken a few steps she stopped +and burst into sobs. How could she go away +without a glimpse of the Heavenly Child? +Then, as she stood weeping, a marvelous thing +happened. An angel appeared beside her +and said:</p> + +<p>“Lo, here at thy feet is a gift for the Christ-child.”</p> + +<p>Then she saw growing near her, slender +stems covered with delicate green leaves and +bearing lovely flowers.</p> + +<p>The maiden did not stop to wonder. Here +was a gift fit to offer the little Saviour. With +trembling joy she gathered the Christmas +roses and stepped lightly into the humble +house where the little babe lay smiling in his +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>140]</a></span> +mother’s arms. In Mary’s lap the maiden laid +her gift of flowers, and, with radiant face, she +knelt and filled her heart with the glorious +vision.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>141]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="bk3chap03" id="bk3chap03"></a>CHRISTMAS GIFTS</h3> + +<p class="center smcap">Laura E. Richards</p> + + +<p>“Mother,” said Jack, “may I have some +money to buy Christmas presents with?”</p> + +<p>“Dear,” said his mother, “I have no money. +We are very poor, and I can hardly buy +enough food for us all.”</p> + +<p>Jack hung his head; if he had not been ten +the tears would have come to his eyes, but he +was ten.</p> + +<p>“All the other boys give presents!” he said.</p> + +<p>“So shall you!” said his mother. “All presents +are not bought with money. The best boy +that ever lived was as poor as we are, and yet +He was always giving.”</p> + +<p>“Who was He,” asked Jack; “and what did +He give?”</p> + +<p>“This is His birthday,” said the mother. +“He was the good Jesus. He was born in a +stable, and He lived in a poor working-man’s +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>142]</a></span> +house. He never had a penny of His own, yet +he gave twelve good gifts every day. Would +you like to try His way?”</p> + +<p>“Yes!” cried Jack.</p> + +<p>So his mother told him this and that; and +soon after Jack started out, dressed in his best +suit, to give his presents.</p> + +<p>First, he went to Aunt Jane’s house. She +was old and lame, and she did not like boys.</p> + +<p>“What do you want?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“Merry Christmas!” said Jack. “May I +stay for an hour and help you?”</p> + +<p>“Humph!” said Aunt Jane. “Want to keep +you out of mischief, do they? Well, you may +bring in some wood.”</p> + +<p>“Shall I split some kindling, too?” asked +Jack.</p> + +<p>“If you know how,” said Aunt Jane. “I +can’t have you cutting your foot and messing +my clean shed all up.”</p> + +<p>Jack found some fresh pine wood and a +bright hatchet, and he split up a great pile of +kindling and thought it fun. He stacked it +neatly, and then brought in a pail of fresh +water and filled the kettle.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>143]</a></span> +“What else can I do?” he asked. “There +are twenty minutes more.”</p> + +<p>“Humph!” said Aunt Jane. “You might +feed the pig.”</p> + +<p>Jack fed the pig, who thanked him in his +own way.</p> + +<p>“Ten minutes more!” he said. “What +shall I do now?”</p> + +<p>“Humph!” said Aunt Jane. “You may sit +down and tell me why you came.”</p> + +<p>“It is a Christmas present!” said Jack. “I +am giving hours for presents. I had twelve, +but I gave one to mother, and another one was +gone before I knew I had it. This hour was +your present.”</p> + +<p>“Humph!” said Aunt Jane. She hobbled +to the cupboard and took out a small round +pie that smelt very good. “Here!” she said. +“This is <em>your</em> present, and I thank you for +mine. Come again, will you?”</p> + +<p>“Indeed I will,” said Jack, “and thank you +for the pie!”</p> + +<p>Next Jack went and read for an hour to +old Mr. Green, who was blind. He read a +book about the sea, and they both liked it very +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>144]</a></span> +much, so the hour went quickly. Then it was +time to help mother get dinner, and then time +to eat it; that took two hours, and Aunt Jane’s +pie was wonderful. Then Jack took the Smith +baby for a ride in its carriage, as Mrs. Smith +was ill, and they met its grandfather, who +filled Jack’s pockets with candy and popcorn +and invited him to a Christmas tree that night.</p> + +<p>Next Jack went to see Willy Brown, who +had been ill for a long time and could not leave +his bed. Willy was very glad to see him; they +played a game, and then each told the other a +story, and before Jack knew it the clock struck +six.</p> + +<p>“Oh!” cried Jack. “You have had two!”</p> + +<p>“Two what?” asked Willy.</p> + +<p>“Two hours!” said Jack; and he told Willy +about the presents he was giving. “I am glad +I gave you two,” he said, “and I would give +you three, but I must go and help mother.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, dear!” said Willy. “I thank you very +much, Jack. I have had a perfectly great +time; but I have nothing to give you.”</p> + +<p>Jack laughed. “Why, don’t you see?” he +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>145]</a></span> +cried; “you have given me just the same thing. +I have had a great time, too.”</p> + +<p>“Mother,” said Jack, as he was going to +bed, “I have had a splendid Christmas, but +I wish I had had something to give you besides +the hours.”</p> + +<p>“My darling,” said his mother, “you have +given me the best gift of all—yourself!”</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>146]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="bk3chap04" id="bk3chap04"></a>SILVER BELLS</h3> + + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Across the snow the Silver Bells<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Come near and yet more near;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each Day and Night, each Night and Day<br /></span> +<span class="i1">They tinkle soft and clear.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">’Tis Father Christmas on his way<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Across the winter Snows;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While on his sleigh the Silver Bells<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Keep chiming as he goes.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I listen for them in the Night,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I listen all the Day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I think these merry Silver Bells<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Are long, long on the way!<br /></span> +<span class="poet">Hamish Hendry.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>147]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="bk3chap05" id="bk3chap05"></a>THE ANIMALS’ CHRISTMAS TREE</h3> + +<p class="center smcap">John P. Peters</p> + + +<p>Once upon a time the animals decided to have +a Christmas tree, and this was how it came +about: The swifts and the swallows in the +chimneys in the country houses, awakened +from their sleep by joy and laughter, had +stolen down and peeped in upon scenes of happiness, +the center of which was always an +evergreen tree covered with wonderful fruit, +bright balls of many colours, and sparkling +threads of gold and silver, lying like beautiful +frost-work among the green fir needles. +A sweet, fairy-like figure of a Christ Child or +an angel rested high among the branches, and +underneath the tree were dolls and sleds and +skates and drums and toys of every sort, and +furs and gloves and tippets, ribbons and handkerchiefs, +and all the things that boys and +girls need and like; and all about this tree +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>148]</a></span> +were gathered always little children with +faces—oh! so full of wonderment and expectation, +changing to radiant, sparkling merriment +as toys and candies were taken off the +tree or from underneath its boughs and distributed +among them.</p> + +<p>The swifts and swallows told their feathered +friends all about it, and they told others, both +birds and animals, until at last it began to be +rumoured through all the animal world that +on one day in the year the children of men +were made wonderfully happy by means of +some sort of festival which they held about a +fir tree from the forest. Now, of course, the +tame animals and the house animals, the dogs +and the cats and the mice, knew something +more about this festival. But then, they did +not exchange visits with the wild animals, because +they felt themselves above them.</p> + +<p>They were always trying to be like men and +women, you know, putting on airs and pretending +to know everything; but, after all, they +were animals and could not help making +friendships now and then with the wild creatures, +especially when the men and women +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>149]</a></span> +were not there. And when they were asked +about the Christmas tree, they told still more +wonderful stories than the swifts and the swallows +from the chimneys had told, for some of +them had taken part in these festivals, and +some had even received presents from the tree, +just like the children.</p> + +<p>They said that the tree was called a Christmas +tree, because that strange fruit and that +wonderful frosting came on it only in the +Christmas time, and that the Christmas time +was the time when men and women and little +children, too, were always kind and good and +loving, and gave things to one another; and +they said, moreover, that on the Christmas +tree grew the things which every one wanted, +and which would make them happy, and that +it was so, because in the Christmas time everyone +was trying to make everyone else happy +and to think of what other people would like. +This they said was what they had seen and +heard told about Christmas trees. They did +not quite understand why it was so, but they +knew that the Christmas tree, when rightly +made, brought the Christmas spirit, and they +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>150]</a></span> +had heard men say that the Christmas spirit +was the great thing, and that that was what +made everyone happy.</p> + +<p>Well, the long and the short of it was that +the animals talked of it in their dens and on +their roosts, in the fields, and in the forests, +wild beasts and tame alike—the cows and the +horses in their stalls, the sheep in their fold, +the doves in their cotes and the poultry in the +poultry-yard, until all agreed that a Christmas +tree would be a grand thing for the wild +and tame alike. Like the men, they, too, +would have a tree of their very own. But how +to do it?</p> + +<p>Then the lion called a meeting of all the +creatures, wild and tame; for you know the +lion is king of beasts and when he calls they +all must come. You know, too, that before +and during and after these animal congresses +there is a royal peace. The lamb can come to +the meeting and sit down by the wolf, and +the wolf dare not touch him; the dove may +perch on the bough between the hawk and the +owl and neither will harm him, when the great +king of beasts has summoned them all together +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>151]</a></span> +to take counsel. But you know all about the +rules of the animals, for you have read them +in books, and you have seen the pictures: how +the lion sits on his throne with a crown on one +side of his head, and all the other creatures +gather about—the elephant, and giraffe, the +hippopotamus, the buffalo, wolves and tigers +and leopards, foxes and deer, goats and sheep, +monkeys and orang-outangs, parrots and robins +and turkeys and swans and storks and +eagles and frogs and lizards and alligators, +and all the rest besides.</p> + +<p>Then, when the lion had called the meeting +to order, the swifts and the swallows told what +they had seen, and a fat little pug-dog, with a +ribbon and a silver bell about his neck, +wheezed out a story of a Christmas tree that +he had seen, and how a silver bell had grown +on that tree for him and a whole box of the +best sweets he had ever dreamed of while he +lay comfortably snoozing on his cushion before +the fire. And a Persian cat, with her hair +turned the wrong way, mewed out her story +of a Christmas tree that she had attended, and +told how there was a white mouse made of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>152]</a></span> +cream cheese for her creeping about beneath +the branches.</p> + +<p>Then the monkeys chattered and the elephants +trumpeted, the horses neighed, the hyenas +laughed, and each in his own way argued +for a Christmas tree and told what he would +do to help make it.</p> + +<p>The elephant would go into the forest, and +choose the tree and pull it up. The buffaloes +would drag it in. The giraffe would fix the +ornaments on the higher limbs, because its +neck was long. The monkeys would scramble +up where the giraffe could not reach. The +squirrels could run out on the slender twigs +and help the monkeys. The birds would fly +about and get the golden threads and put them +on the tree with their beaks. The fire-flies +would hide themselves among the branches +and sparkle like diamonds, and the glow-worms +promised to help the fire-flies by playing +candles, if someone would lift them up +and put them on the branches. The parrots +and paroquets and other birds of gay plumage +would give feathers to hang among the +branches, and the humming-birds promised to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>153]</a></span> +flutter in and out among the twigs, and the +sheep to give white wool to lie like snow +among the boughs.</p> + +<p>Then the parrots screeched and the peacocks +screamed with delight, and you and I never +could have told whether anybody voted aye or +nay; but the lion knew; and the owl, for he +was clerk, set it down in the minutes, as the +lion bade him, that all the birds and beasts +would do their part. So each planned what +he could do. Even the little beetle, who makes +great balls of earth, thought that if he could +only once see one of those gay balls that grow +on the children’s Christmas tree, he might +make some for the animals’ tree. Different +birds and beasts told of the oranges and apples +and holly-berries and who knows what they +could get and hang upon the tree. You see +the animals came from many places, and then, +too, they could send the carrier pigeons to go +and bring fruit and berries, and who knows +what besides, from oh, so far away, because the +carrier pigeons can fly through the air no one +knows how fast or how far.</p> + +<p>Well, I cannot tell you everything that each +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>154]</a></span> +one was going to do, but if you will go and +get your Noah’s ark and take the animals out +one by one, then you surely will think it out +for yourself, for you have all the animals +there.</p> + +<p>And so they arranged how they would ornament +the tree, and the next thing was to decide +what presents should be hung on the tree +or put beneath its boughs, for each one must +have his present. Well, after much discussion +in roars, and bellows, crows and croaks, lows +and screams and bleats, and baas and grunts, +and all the other sounds of birds and beast language, +it was voted that each might choose the +present he wished hung on the tree. The +clerkly owl should call their names one by one, +and each might declare his choice. So they +began. The parrots and the macaws thought +that they would like oranges and bananas and +such things, which would look so pretty on the +tree, too; and so they were arranged for. The +robins and the cedar birds chose cherries; the +the partridges, partridge berries, the squirrels, +the red and grey and black, nuts and apples +and pears. The monkeys said the popcorn +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>155]</a></span> +strings would do for them, and the cats and +dogs, remembering the Christmas gift which +the pug-dog and Persian cat had told about, +asked for tiny mice made of cream cheese or +chocolate. By and by it came the pig’s turn to +tell his choice. “Grunt, grunt!” said the pig, +“I want a nice pail of swill hung on the very +lowest bough of all.”</p> + +<p>“Ugh!” said the black leopard, so sleek and +so clean.</p> + +<p>“Faugh!” said the gazelle, with his dainty +sense of smell.</p> + +<p>“Neigh!” said the horse, so daintily +groomed.</p> + +<p>“What!” roared the lion, “what’s that you +want?”</p> + +<p>“A pail of swill,” grunted the pig. “Each +one has chosen what he wants, and I have a +right to choose what I want.”</p> + +<p>“But,” roared the lion, “each one has chosen +something beautiful to make the tree a joy to +all.”</p> + +<p>“Grunt, grunt,” said the pig. “The parrots +and macaws are going to have oranges and bananas, +and the robins and the cedar birds red +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>156]</a></span> +cherries, the partridges, their berries, the +squirrels, nuts and apples and pears, the dog +and the cat, their cream and chocolate mice. +They all have what they want to eat. Grunt, +grunt,” said he; “I will have what I want to +eat, too, and what I want is a pail of swill.”</p> + +<p>Now, you see it had been voted, as I told +you, that each should have what he wanted +hung on the tree for him, and so the lion could +not help himself. If the pig chose swill, swill +he must have, and angrily he had to roar: “If +the pig wants swill, a pail of swill he must +have, hung on the lowest bough of the tree!”</p> + +<p>Then the wolf’s wicked eyes gleamed, for +his turn was next, and he said: “If the pig has +swill because he wants swill to eat, I must have +what I want to eat, and I want a tender lamb, +six months old.” And at that all the lambs and +the sheep bleated and baaed.</p> + +<p>“Ha, ha!” barked the fox; “then I want +a turkey!” And the turkeys gobbled in +fear.</p> + +<p>“And I,” said the tiger, “want a yearling +calf.” And the cows and the calves lowed in +horror.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>157]</a></span> +“And I,” said the owl, the clerk, “I want a +plump dove.”</p> + +<p>“And I,” said the hawk, “will take a rabbit.”</p> + +<p>“And I,” said the leopard, “want a deer or +a gazelle.”</p> + +<p>Then all was fear and uproar. The hares +and rabbits scuttled into the grass; the gazelles +and the deer bounded away; the sheep and the +cattle crowded close together; the small birds +rose in the air in flocks; and the Christmas tree +was like to have come to grief and ended, +not in Christmas joy, but in fear and hatred +and terror.</p> + +<p>Then a little lamb stepped out and bleated: +“Ah! king lion, it would be very sad if all the +animals should lose their Christmas tree, for +the very thought of that tree has brought us +closer together, and here we were, wild and +tame, fierce and timid, met together as +friends; and oh! king lion, rather than there +should not be a tree, they may take me and +hang me on it. Let them not take the turkeys +and gazelles and the calves and the rabbits +and all the rest that they have chosen. Let the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>158]</a></span> +tigers and leopards, and wolves and foxes and +eagles, and hawks and owls and all their kind +be content that their Christmas present shall +be a lamb; and so we may come together again +and have our happy Christmas tree, and each +have what he wishes.”</p> + +<p>“But,” said the lion, “what will you have? +If you give yourself, then you will have no +Christmas present.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said the lamb, “I, too, shall have +what I want, for I shall have brought them all +together again, and made each one happy.”</p> + +<p>Then a dove fluttered down from a tree and +landed on the ground beside the lamb, and +very timidly and softly she cooed: “Take me, +too, king lion, as the present for the owls and +the hawks, and the weasels and minks, because +for them a lamb is too big. I am the best present +for them. Take me, king lion!”</p> + +<p>Then the lion roared: “See what the lamb +and the dove have done! My food, oh, tigers +and leopards and wolves and eagles and all +your kind, is like your food; but I would +rather eat nothing from our Christmas tree +than take this lamb or dove for my present.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>159]</a></span> +Then all the beasts kept still, because the +lion roared so loud and angrily, and the birds +that were flying away settled on the branches +of the trees, and the gazelles stopped their +running and turned their heads to listen, and +the rabbits peeped out through the grass and +brush where they had hid. Then the lion +turned to the pig, and roared:</p> + +<p>“See this lamb and this dove! Are you not +ashamed for what you have done? You have +spoiled all our happiness. Will you take back +your choice, you pig, or do you wish to ruin +our Christmas tree?”</p> + +<p>“Grunt, grunt,” said the pig, “it is my right. +I want something good. I don’t care for your +lambs and your doves. I want my swill!”</p> + +<p>Then the lion roared again: “Have all +chosen?” and all answered, “Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Then,” said the lion, “it is my choice.”</p> + +<p>And all said: “It is.”</p> + +<p>“I love fat and tender pigs. I choose a pig +for my Christmas gift,” roared the lion.</p> + +<p>Did you ever hear a pig squeal? Oh, how +that pig squealed then! And he got up on his +fat little legs and tried to run away, but all +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>160]</a></span> +the animals gathered around in a ring and the +hyenas laughed, and the jackals cried, and the +dogs and the wolves and the foxes headed him +off and hunted the poor pig back again. +Then, when the pig found that he could not +run away, he lay down on his back with his +feet in the air and squealed with all his might: +“Oh, I don’t want the swill; oh, I don’t want +the swill! I take it all back! I don’t want +anything!”</p> + +<p>But at first no one heard him, because all +were talking at once in their own way—barking +and growling and roaring and chattering; +but by and by the lion saw that the pig was +squealing something, so he roared for silence, +and then they all heard the pig squeal out that +he did not want any swill. And the lion +roared aloud: “You have heard. Has the owl +recorded that the pig will have no swill?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said the owl.</p> + +<p>“Then,” said the lion, “record that the lion +wants no pig.”</p> + +<p>Then the tiger growled: “And I want no +calf,” and one by one the leopard and the +eagle, the wolf and the fox, the hawk and owl, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>161]</a></span> +and all their kind, took back their votes.</p> + +<p>And so it came about that the animals did +have a Christmas tree after all; but instead of +hanging lambs and doves upon the tree, they +agreed that they could hang little images of +lambs and doves, and other birds and animals, +too, perhaps. And by and by the custom +spread until the humans came to hang the +same little images on their trees, too, and when +you see a little figure of a lamb or a dove on +the Christmas tree, you may know that it is all +because the lamb and the dove, by their unselfishness, +saved the animals from strife; for +neither thought what he wanted from the tree, +but each was ready to give himself for the others, +so that they might not fight and kill one +another at the Christmas time.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>162]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="bk3chap06" id="bk3chap06"></a>A CHRISTMAS CAROL</h3> + + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Shepherds had an Angel,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The Wise Men had a star,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But what have I, a little child,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To guide me home from far,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where glad stars sing together<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And singing angels are?<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Those Shepherds through the lonely night<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sat watching by their sheep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Until they saw the heavenly host<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Who neither tire nor sleep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All singing “Glory, glory,”<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In festival they keep.<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Wise Men left their country<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To journey morn by morn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With gold and frankincense and myrrh,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>163]</a></span> +<span class="i1">Because the Lord was born:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">God sent a star to guide them<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And sent a dream to warn.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My life is like their journey,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Their star is like God’s book;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I must be like those good Wise Men<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With heavenward heart and look:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But shall I give no gifts to God?—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">What precious gifts they took!<br /></span> +<span class="poet">Christina Rossetti.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>164]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="bk3chap07" id="bk3chap07"></a>HOLLY</h3> + +<p class="center smcap">Ada M. Marzials</p> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Highty-tighty, Paradighty,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Clothèd all in green.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The King could not read it<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No more could the Queen.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They sent for a Wise Man out of the East,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who said it had horns but was not a beast.<br /></span> +<span class="i8">(<i>Old Riddle.</i>)<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + + +<p>There was once upon a time a very war-like +kingdom where they had never heard of +Christmas. The men spent all their days +fighting, and the women spent <em>their</em> days in +urging the warriors to further deeds of valour.</p> + +<p>This had gone on for a very long time, and +no one had ever yet said that he was tired +of it. There was but one person in the whole +kingdom who had openly declared that war +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>165]</a></span> +was hateful, but as she was only the Youngest +Princess nobody paid any heed to her.</p> + +<p>Then came a time, just before our Christmas +Day, when the King was preparing a +great campaign against a far-off country. He +called together his Council of War—grave old +warriors, dressed completely in armour.</p> + +<p>“My friends,” said he, “we are about to +wage war on the distant kingdoms of Zowega. +Up till this time the people of that country +have been our very good friends, but as we +have now conquered all our enemies, there +seems no one but our friends left to fight, +and of these the King of the Zowegians is +chief.</p> + +<p>“You will remember that his youngest son, +Prince Moldo, spent some of his boyhood at +our court in order to gain instruction in feats +of arms, and that the Prince left us to travel +over the world. A few months ago his father +sent word to me that the Prince had returned +home, bringing with him the news of a Pearl +of Great Price, which contained the Secret of +Happiness. It is this Pearl which I have +made the excuse for war, for I have demanded +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>166]</a></span> +it in payment for the services that we rendered +to Prince Moldo. In my message I have said +that if the Pearl, and the Secret which it contains, +are not brought and revealed to us here +within the next five days, our troops will descend +upon the kingdom of Zowega and wipe +it off the face of the earth.”</p> + +<p>Loud and long cheered the Council at the +speech of their King, as, indeed, was their +duty, though in their hearts of hearts they had +no wish to fight against the King of the Zowegians, +who was their very good friend. The +Queen and the Princesses smiled graciously +upon them, all save the Youngest Princess, +who had been Prince Moldo’s playfellow. She +disgraced herself by bursting into passionate +tears, and was forthwith ordered out of the +Council Hall.</p> + +<p>At the end of five days the Council once +more assembled to await the arrival of the +messenger with the answer from the King of +Zowega.</p> + +<p>The day was bright and cold, and there was +snow on the ground. The King and Queen +were wrapped in thick fur cloaks. The +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>167]</a></span> +Princesses were all assembled, too, even the Youngest, +who was dressed in ermine and looked as +pale as death.</p> + +<p>It was Christmas Eve, but there were no +Christmas trees preparing and no presents. +No one was thinking of hanging his stockings +up. The Hall was not decorated, neither +were the churches; indeed, there were no +churches to decorate, for, as you remember, +the people in this kingdom knew nothing +about Christmas.</p> + +<p>The Council sat and waited in the big bare +Hall.</p> + +<p>At last the great doors were flung open, +there was a blast of trumpets, and the messenger +appeared.</p> + +<p>He was tall and fair, and held himself +proudly. His eyes were bright and shining +and there was a smile upon his face. He was +completely dressed in bright green and the +Council noted with astonishment that he was +without armour of any kind. He wore neither +breastplate, shield nor helmet; he had neither +sword by his side, nor spurs on his feet. He +was bare-headed, and in his right hand he +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>168]</a></span> +carried something green, horny and prickly, with +little red dots on it.</p> + +<p>Looking neither to the right nor to the left, +he walked with firm and steady step up the +long Hall between the rows of armed warriors.</p> + +<p>As he passed the Youngest Princess she +blushed deeply, but he did not seem to notice +her.</p> + +<p>When he reached the throne he bowed low +before the King and Queen, and laid the +prickly object on the table before them.</p> + +<p>“Your Majesty,” said he in a clear, ringing +voice. “From the King of Zowega, greeting! +He sends you this token. It is the symbol of +the Secret of Happiness.”</p> + +<p>The King stared, so did the Queen.</p> + +<p>They had expected a Pearl of Great Price, +accompanied by a scroll on which was written +the Secret of Happiness, and the King of +Zowega had sent them <em>this</em>!</p> + +<p>Amid dead silence the King took the token +up in his hands in order to examine it more +carefully.</p> + +<p>He dropped it hastily, for it pricked him, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>169]</a></span> +and little drops of blood were seen starting +from his hand.</p> + +<p>“Highty-tighty!” said he. “’Tis surely +some kind of beast and a symbol of war, for +it pricked me right smartly. Truly the King +of Zowega deals in riddles which I for one +cannot read! Take it, my dear,” added he to +the Queen and pointing to the token; “perchance +your quick wits may be able to understand +this mystery.”</p> + +<p>She picked up the token and examined it +carefully.</p> + +<p>It rather resembled the branch of a tree, but +the leaves were thick and resisting and edged +with very sharp spikes, and there was on it a +cluster of round, bright red objects like tiny +balls. But even as it had pricked the King +so did it prick her, and she dropped it hastily +into the lap of the Eldest Princess, who was +sitting beside her.</p> + +<p>“Paradighty!” exclaimed the Queen in her +own language. “It is certainly a beast. See, +it has horns!” and she pointed to the spikes.</p> + +<p>“But I certainly cannot read the riddle—if +riddle it be.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>170]</a></span> +Then it was passed to all the Princesses in +turn, but they could not read the token any +more than could the King and Queen. At +last it reached the Youngest Princess, and, +though it pricked her little hands sorely, she +took it up tenderly and kissed it.</p> + +<p>“’Tis a token of love,” said she.</p> + +<p>The messenger turned his shining eyes full +upon her.</p> + +<p>“The Princess has read the riddle of the +token aright,” said he, and he stepped forward +as though to kiss her hand.</p> + +<p>“Stay!” said the King imperiously springing +to his feet. “A token of love, forsooth! +But I sent the King of Zowega a Declaration +of War! What does he mean by sending me a +token of love? The Princess must certainly +be mistaken—and as for <em>you</em>,” he continued, +turning fiercely to the messenger, “you shall be +marched off to prison until we have had time +to consult with our Wise Men as to the real +meaning of this extraordinary token.”</p> + +<p>So there and then the messenger was +marched off to spend the night in prison, and +all the Wise Men in the kingdom were bidden +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>171]</a></span> +to appear in the Council Chamber the very +next day, especially one very old Wise Man +from the East who was reputed to be wiser +than all the others put together.</p> + +<p>The next day, of course, was Christmas +Day, but, as these people had never heard of +Christmas, there were no bells ringing, no +carols were sung, and there was neither holly, +ivy nor mistletoe upon the walls.</p> + +<p>Slowly and painfully the Wise Men began +to arrive.</p> + +<p>They were all dressed alike, in black flowing +robes, and on their heads they wore +long pointed black caps covered with weird +devices.</p> + +<p>The very old Wise Man from the East wore +a red pointed cap, but in all other respects was +dressed just like the others.</p> + +<p>They assembled round a large circular table +at one end of the Hall. In the middle of the +table was placed the token.</p> + +<p>At the other end of the Hall were gathered +the warriors, and above them on a double +throne sat the King and Queen with the Princesses +grouped on either side of the dais.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>172]</a></span> +The Wise Men examined the token in +silence.</p> + +<p>“’Tis a curious beast,” said one of them at +last.</p> + +<p>“Of a new and quite unheard-of species,” +said another.</p> + +<p>“It has neither legs nor tail,” said a third.</p> + +<p>“Yet it has a number of globular red eyes,” +said a fourth.</p> + +<p>“And it certainly has horns,” said a fifth.</p> + +<p>And so said they all, until it came to the turn +of the very old Wise Man from the East.</p> + +<p>He looked long at the token.</p> + +<p>“It has horns,” said he at last, “but it is not a +beast.”</p> + +<p>“Not a beast!” said they, one to the other.</p> + +<p>“But what is it then?”</p> + +<p>“It is a token of love,” said he.</p> + +<p>“Highty-tighty,” interrupted the King. +“Read us then the full meaning of the token.”</p> + +<p>“I cannot,” said the very old Wise Man; +“but let the youth be brought hither who carried +it. He will be able to explain it more +fully than I.”</p> + +<p>“Paradighty!” said the Queen in her own +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>173]</a></span> +language. “Why did we not think of that +before! Fetch him back again at once!”</p> + +<p>So two of the warriors fetched the youth +from prison, and he was soon standing before +the Assembly, with his head held as high and +his eyes as bright and shining as before.</p> + +<p>“Read us the token!” commanded the King.</p> + +<p>The youth bowed low. “The Princess read +it aright yesterday. It is a token of love.”</p> + +<p>“Explain yourself!” said the King. “How +can a beast with horns be a token of love?”</p> + +<p>The youth drew himself up to his full +height.</p> + +<p>“It is not a beast,” said he. “It is the branch +of a holly-tree. On this day of the year, which +in my country we call Christmas Day, our +people decorate their houses with branches of +this holly or holy tree as a token of love and +peace and good-will. This is the message that +I have brought to you—a message that we in +our country know very well, but which you +have never heard before.”</p> + +<p>The King and the Warriors, the Wise Men, +the Queen and Princesses all listened to his +words in silence.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>174]</a></span> +When he had ended there was a long +pause.</p> + +<p>“And in what particular way does your +message affect us?” said the King at last.</p> + +<p>“Thus, your Majesty,” answered the youth, +approaching the Youngest Princess and taking +both her hands in his, “on this day I, Prince +Moldo, would have peace and good-will between +my kingdom and your kingdom; and +I would seal it for ever by taking the Youngest +Princess home with me as my bride. You, +O King, recognized me not, for I have much +changed since I lived here with her for playfellow, +but in all my wanderings I found a +Pearl of no greater price than this, and I +would proclaim to all the world that the +Secret of Happiness is Love.”</p> + +<p>So on that very Christmas Day they were +married, amid great rejoicings, and war +ceased throughout the kingdom. And on +every Christmas Day for ever after, the people +of that country decorated their houses with +holly, the symbol of love and peace and good-will, +and wished each other a Merry Christmas, +even as I do now to you.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>175]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="bk3chap08" id="bk3chap08"></a>THE WILLOW MAN</h3> + + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There once was a Willow, and he was very old,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all his leaves fell off from him, and left him in the cold;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But ere the rude winter could buffet him with snow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There grew upon his hoary head a crop of Mistletoe.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">All wrinkled and furrowed was this old Willow’s skin<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His taper fingers trembled, and his arms were very thin;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Two round eyes and hollow, that stared but did not see,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sprawling feet that never walked, had this most ancient tree.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>176]</a></span> +<span class="i0">A Dame who dwelt a-near was the only one who knew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That every year upon his head the Christmas berries grew;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when the Dame cut them, she said—it was her whim—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">“A merry Christmas to you, Sir,” <em>and left a bit for him</em>.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Oh, Granny dear, tell us,” the children cried, “where we<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May find the shining mistletoe that grows upon the tree?”<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At length the Dame told them, but cautioned them to mind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To greet the willow civilly, <em>and leave a bit behind</em>.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Who cares,” said the children, “for this old Willow-man?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We’ll take the Mistletoe, and he may catch us if he can.”<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With rage the ancient Willow shakes in every limb,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For they have taken all, and <em>have not left a bit for him</em>.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>177]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Then bright gleamed the holly, the Christmas berries shone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But in the wintry wind, without the Willow-man did moan:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">“Ungrateful, and wasteful! the mystic Mistletoe<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A hundred years hath grown on me, but never more shall grow.”<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A year soon passed by, and the children came once more,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But not a sprig of Mistletoe the aged Willow bore.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each slender spray pointed; he mocked them in his glee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And chuckled in his wooden heart, that ancient Willow-tree.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O children, who gather the spoils of wood and wold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From selfish greed and wilful waste your little hands withhold.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though fair things be common, this moral bear in mind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">“Pick thankfully and modestly, <em>and leave a bit behind</em>.”<br /></span> +<span class="poet">Juliana Horatia Ewing.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>178]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="bk3chap09" id="bk3chap09"></a>THE IVY GREEN</h3> + + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, a dainty plant is the ivy green,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That creepeth o’er ruins old!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of right choice food are his meals, I ween,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In his cell so lone and cold.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wall must be crumbled, the stone decayed<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To pleasure his dainty whim;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the mouldering dust that years have made,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Is a merry meal for him.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Creeping where no life is seen,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A rare old plant is the ivy green.<br /></span> +<span class="poet">Charles Dickens.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>179]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="bk3chap10" id="bk3chap10"></a>LEGEND OF SAINT NICHOLAS</h3> + +<p class="center smcap">Amy Steedman</p> + + +<p>Of all the saints that little children love is +there any to compare with Santa Claus? The +very sound of his name has magic in it, and +calls up visions of well-filled stockings, with +the presents we particularly want peeping +over the top, or hanging out at the side, too +big to go into the largest sock. Besides, there +is something so mysterious and exciting about +Santa Claus, for no one seems to have ever +seen him. But we picture him to ourselves as +an old man with a white beard, whose favourite +way of coming into our rooms is down +the chimney, bringing gifts for the good children +and punishments for the bad.</p> + +<p>Yet this Santa Claus, in whose name the +presents come to us at Christmas time, is a +very real saint, and we can learn a great deal +about him, only we must remember that his +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>180]</a></span> +true name is Saint Nicholas. Perhaps the +little children, who used to talk of him long +ago, found Saint Nicholas too difficult to say, +and so called him their dear Santa Claus. But +we learn, as we grow older, that Nicholas is +his true name, and that he is a real person who +lived long years ago, far away in the East.</p> + +<p>The father and mother of Nicholas were +noble and very rich, but what they wanted +most of all was to have a son. They were +Christians, so they prayed to God for many +years that He would give them their hearts’ +desire; and when at last Nicholas was born, +they were the happiest people in the world.</p> + +<p>They thought there was no one like their +boy; and indeed, he was wiser and better than +most children, and never gave them a moment’s +trouble. But alas, while he was still a +child, a terrible plague swept over the country, +and his father and mother died, leaving +him quite alone.</p> + +<p>All the great riches which his father had +possessed were left to Nicholas, and among +other things he inherited three bars of gold. +These golden bars were his greatest treasure, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>181]</a></span> +and he thought more of them than all the +other riches he possessed.</p> + +<p>Now in the town where Nicholas lived +there dwelt a nobleman with three daughters. +They had once been very rich, but great misfortunes +had overtaken the father, and now +they were all so poor they had scarcely enough +to live upon.</p> + +<p>At last a day came when there was not even +bread enough to eat, and the daughters said +to their father:</p> + +<p>“Let us go into the streets and beg, or do +anything to get a little money, that we may +not starve.”</p> + +<p>But the father answered:</p> + +<p>“Not to-night. I cannot bear to think of it. +Wait at least until to-morrow. Something +may happen to save my daughters from such +disgrace.”</p> + +<p>Now, just as they were talking together, +Nicholas happened to be passing, and as the +window was open he heard all that the poor +father said. It seemed terrible to think that +a noble family should be so poor and actually +in want of bread, and Nicholas tried to plan +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>182]</a></span> +how it would be possible to help them. He +knew they would be much too proud to take +money from him, so he had to think of some +other way. Then he remembered his golden +bars, and that very night he took one of them +and went secretly to the nobleman’s house, +hoping to give the treasure without letting +the father or daughters know who brought it.</p> + +<p>To his joy Nicholas discovered that a little +window had been left open, and by standing +on tiptoe he could reach it. So he lifted the +golden bar and slipped it through the window, +never waiting to hear what became of it, in +case any one should see him. (And now do +you see the reason why the visits of Santa +Claus are so mysterious?)</p> + +<p>Inside the house the poor father sat sorrowfully +watching, while his children slept. He +wondered if there was any hope for them anywhere, +and he prayed earnestly that heaven +would send help. Suddenly something fell at +his feet, and to his amazement and joy, he +found it was a bar of pure gold.</p> + +<p>“My child,” he cried, as he showed his +eldest daughter the shining gold, “God has +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>183]</a></span> +heard my prayer and has sent this from +heaven. Now we shall have enough and to +spare. Call your sisters that we may rejoice +together, and I will go instantly and change +this treasure.”</p> + +<p>The precious golden bar was soon sold to a +money-changer, who gave so much for it that +the family were able to live in comfort and +have all that they needed. And not only was +there enough to live upon, but so much was +over that the father gave his eldest daughter +a large dowry, and very soon she was happily +married.</p> + +<p>When Nicholas saw how much happiness +his golden bar had brought to the poor nobleman +he determined that the second daughter +should have a dowry too. So he went as before +and found the little window again open, +and was able to throw in the second golden +bar as he had done the first. This time the +father was dreaming happily, and did not find +the treasure until he awoke in the morning. +Soon afterwards the second daughter had her +dowry and was married too.</p> + +<p>The father now began to think that, after +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>184]</a></span> +all, it was not usual for golden bars to fall +from heaven, and he wondered if by any +chance human hands had placed them in his +room. The more he thought of it the stranger +it seemed, and he made up his mind to keep +watch every night, in case another golden bar +should be sent as a portion for his youngest +daughter.</p> + +<p>And so when Nicholas went the third time +and dropped the last bar through the little +window, the father came quickly out, and before +Nicholas had time to hide, caught him +by his cloak.</p> + +<p>“O Nicholas,” he cried, “is it thou who hast +helped us in our need? Why didst thou hide +thyself?” And then he fell on his knees and +began to kiss the hands that had helped him so +graciously.</p> + +<p>But Nicholas bade him stand up and give +thanks to God instead, warning him to tell no +one the story of the golden bars.</p> + +<p>This was only one of the many kind acts +Nicholas loved to do, and it was no wonder +that he was beloved by all who knew him.</p> + +<p>Soon afterwards Nicholas made up his +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>185]</a></span> +mind to enter God’s service as a priest. He +longed above all things to leave the world and +live as a hermit in the desert, but God came +to him in a vision and told him he must stay +in the crowded cities and do his work among +the people. Still his desire to see the deserts +and the hermits who lived there was so great +that he went off on a journey to Egypt and +the Holy Land. But remembering what God +had bade him do he did not stay there but +returned to his own country.</p> + +<p>On the way home a terrific storm arose, and +it seemed as if the ship he was in must be +lost. The sailors could do nothing, and great +waves dashed over the deck, filling the ship +with water. But just as all had given up hope, +Nicholas knelt and prayed to God to save +them, and immediately a calm fell upon the +angry sea. The winds sank to rest and the +waves ceased to lash the sides of the ship so +that they sailed smoothly on, and all danger +passed.</p> + +<p>Thus Nicholas returned home in safety, and +went to live in the city of Myra. His ways +were so quiet and humble that no one knew +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>186]</a></span> +much about him, until it came to pass one +day that the Archbishop of Myra died. +Then all the priests met to choose another +archbishop, and it was made known to them +by a sign from heaven that the first man who +should enter the church next morning should +be the bishop whom God had chosen.</p> + +<p>Now Nicholas used to spend most of his +nights in prayer and always went very early +to church, so next morning just as the sun was +rising and the bells began to ring for the early +mass, he was seen coming up to the church +door and was the first to enter. As he knelt +down quietly to say his prayers as usual, what +was his surprise to meet a company of priests +who hailed him as their new archbishop, +chosen by God to be their leader and guide. +So Nicholas was made Archbishop of Myra +to the joy of all in the city who knew and +loved him.</p> + +<p>Not long after this there was great trouble +in the town of Myra, for the harvests of that +country had failed and a terrible famine +swept over the land. Nicholas, as a good +bishop should, felt the suffering of his people +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>187]</a></span> +as if it were his own, and did all he could to +help them.</p> + +<p>He knew that they must have corn or they +would die, so he went to the harbour where +two ships lay filled with grain, and asked the +captains if they would sell him their cargo. +They told the bishop they would willingly do +so, but it was already sold to merchants of +another country and they dared not sell it over +again.</p> + +<p>“Take no thought of that,” said Nicholas, +“only sell me some of thy corn for my starving +people, and I promise thee that there shall be +nought wanting when thou shalt arrive at thy +journey’s end.”</p> + +<p>The captains believed in the bishop’s promise +and gave him as much corn as he asked. +And behold! when they came to deliver their +cargo to the owners, there was not a bag lacking.</p> + +<p>There are many stories told about the good +bishop. Like his Master, he ever went about +doing good; and when he died, there were a +great many legends told about him, for the +people loved to believe that their bishop still +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>188]</a></span> +cared for them and would come to their aid. +We do not know if all these legends are true, +but they show how much Saint Nicholas was +loved and honoured even after his death, and +how every one believed in his power to help +them.</p> + +<p>Here is one of the stories which all children +who love Saint Nicholas will like to hear.</p> + +<p>There was once a nobleman who had no +children and who longed for a son above +everything else in the world. Night and day +he prayed to Saint Nicholas that he would +grant him his request, and at last a son was +born. He was a beautiful child, and the +father was so delighted and so grateful to the +saint who had listened to his prayers that, +every year on the child’s birthday, he made a +great feast in honour of Saint Nicholas and a +grand service was held in the church.</p> + +<p>Now the Evil One grew angry each year +when this happened, for it made many people +go to church and honour the good saint, +neither of which things pleased the Evil One +at all. So each year he tried to think of some +plan that would put an end to these rejoicings, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>189]</a></span> +and he decided at last that if only he could do +some evil to the child the parents would blame +Saint Nicholas and all would be well.</p> + +<p>It happened just then to be the boy’s sixth +birthday and a greater feast than ever was being +held. It was late in the afternoon, and +the gardener and porter and all the servants +were away keeping holiday, too. So no one +noticed a curious-looking pilgrim who came +and sat close to the great iron gates which led +into the courtyard. He had on the ordinary +robe of a poor pilgrim, but the hood was +drawn so far over his face that nothing but a +dark shadow could be seen inside. And indeed +that was as well, for this pilgrim was a +demon in disguise, and his wicked, black face +would have frightened any one who saw it. +He could not enter the courtyard for the great +gates were always kept locked, and, as you +know, the porter was away that day, feasting +with all the other servants.</p> + +<p>But, before very long, the little boy grew +weary of his birthday feast, and, having had +all he wanted he begged to be allowed to go +to play in the garden. His parents knew that +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>190]</a></span> +the gardener always looked after him there, +so they told him he might go. They forgot +that the gardener was not there just then.</p> + +<p>The child played happily alone for some +time and then wandered into the courtyard, +and looking out of the gate saw a poor pilgrim +resting there.</p> + +<p>“What are you doing here?” asked the +child, “and why do you sit so still?”</p> + +<p>“I am a poor pilgrim,” answered the demon, +trying to make his harsh voice sound as gentle +as possible, “and I have come all the way +from Rome. I am resting here because I am +so weary and footsore and have had nothing to +eat all day.”</p> + +<p>“I will let you in, and take you to my +father,” said the child; “this is my birthday, +and no one must go hungry to-day.”</p> + +<p>But the demon pretended he was too weak +to walk, and begged the boy to bring some +food out to him.</p> + +<p>Then the child ran back to the banquet hall +in a great hurry and said to his father:</p> + +<p>“O father, there is a poor pilgrim from +Rome sitting outside our gate, and he is so +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>191]</a></span> +hungry, may I take him some of my birthday +feast?”</p> + +<p>The father was very pleased to think that +his little son should care for the poor and +wish to be kind, so he willingly gave his permission +and told one of the servants to give +the child all that he wanted.</p> + +<p>Then as the demon sat eating the good +things he began to question the boy and tried +to find out all that he could about him.</p> + +<p>“Do you often play in the garden?” he +asked.</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes,” said the child. “I play there +whenever I may, for in the midst of the lawn +there is a beautiful fountain, and the gardener +makes me boats to sail on the water.”</p> + +<p>“Will he make you one to-day?” asked the +demon quickly.</p> + +<p>“He is not here to-day,” answered the child, +“for this is a holiday for every one and I am +quite alone.”</p> + +<p>Then the demon rose to his feet slowly and +said he felt so much better after the good +food that he thought he could walk a little +and would like very much to come in and see +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>192]</a></span> +the beautiful garden and the fountain he had +heard about.</p> + +<p>So the child climbed up and with great +difficulty drew back the bolts. The great +gates swung open and the demon walked in.</p> + +<p>As they went along together towards the +fountain the child held out his little hand to +lead the pilgrim, but even the demon shrunk +from touching anything so pure and innocent, +and folded his arms under his robe, so that +the child could only hold by a fold of his +cloak.</p> + +<p>“What strange kind of feet you have,” said +the child as they walked along; “they look as +if they belonged to an animal.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, they are curious,” said the demon, +“but it is just the way they are made.”</p> + +<p>Then the child began to notice the demon’s +hands, which were even more curious than +his feet, and just like paws of a bear. But +he was too courteous to say anything about +them, when he had already mentioned the +feet.</p> + +<p>Just then they came to the fountain, and +with a sudden movement the demon threw +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>193]</a></span> +back his hood and showed his dreadful face. +And before the child could scream he was +seized by those hairy hands and thrown into +the water.</p> + +<p>But just at that moment the gardener was +returning to his work and saw from a distance +what had happened. He ran as fast as he +could, but he only got to the fountain in time +to see the demon vanish, while the child’s +body was floating on the water. Very quickly +he drew him out, and carried him, all dripping +wet, up to the castle, where they tried +to bring him back to life. But, alas! it all +seemed of no use; he neither moved nor +breathed, and the day that had begun with +such rejoicing, ended in the bitterest woe. +The poor parents were heart-broken, but they +did not quite lose hope and prayed earnestly +to Saint Nicholas who had given them the +child, that he would restore their boy to them +again.</p> + +<p>As they prayed by the side of the little bed +where the body of the child lay, they thought +something moved, and to their joy and +surprise the boy opened his eyes and sat +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>194]</a></span> +up, and in a short time was as well as ever.</p> + +<p>They asked him eagerly what had happened, +and he told them all about the pilgrim +with the queer feet and hands, who had gone +with him to the fountain and had then thrown +back his hood and shown his terrible face. +After that he could remember nothing until +he found himself in a beautiful garden, where +the loveliest flowers grew. There were lilies +like white stars, and roses far more beautiful +than any he had ever seen in his own garden, +and the leaves of the trees shone like silver +and gold. It was all so beautiful that for a +while he forgot his home, and when he did +remember and tried to find his way back, he +grew bewildered and did not know in what +direction to turn. As he was looking about, +an old man came down the garden path and +smiled so kindly upon him that he trusted him +at once. This old man was dressed in the +robes of a bishop, and had a long white beard +and the sweetest old face the child had ever +seen.</p> + +<p>“Art thou searching for the way home?” +the old man asked. “Dost thou wish to leave +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>195]</a></span> +this beautiful garden and go back to thy +father and mother?”</p> + +<p>“I want to go home,” said the child, with a +sob in his voice, “but I cannot find the way, +and I am, oh, so tired of searching for it.”</p> + +<p>Then the old man stooped down and lifted +him in his arms, and the child laid his head on +the old man’s shoulder, and, weary with his +wandering, fell fast asleep and remembered +nothing more till he woke up in his own little +bed.</p> + +<p>Then the parents knew that Saint Nicholas +had heard their prayers and had gone to fetch +the child from the Heavenly Garden and +brought him back to them.</p> + +<p>So they were more grateful to the good +saint than ever, and they loved and honoured +him even more than they had done before; +which was all the reward the demon got for +his wicked doings.</p> + +<p>That is one of the many stories told after +the death of Saint Nicholas, and it ever helped +and comforted his people to think that, +though they could no longer see him he would +love and protect them still.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>196]</a></span> +Young maidens in need of help remembered +the story of the golden bars and felt sure the +good saint would not let them want. Sailors +tossing on the stormy waves thought of that +storm which had sunk to rest at the prayer of +Saint Nicholas. Poor prisoners with no one +to take their part were comforted by the +thought of those other prisoners whom he had +saved. And little children perhaps have remembered +him most of all, for when the happy +Christmas time draws near, who is so much in +their thoughts as Saint Nicholas, or Santa +Claus, as they call him? Perhaps they are a +little inclined to think of him as some good +magician who comes to fill their stockings with +gifts, but they should never forget that he was +the kind bishop who, in olden days, loved to +make the little ones happy. There are some +who think that even now he watches over and +protects little children, and for that reason he +is called their patron saint.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>197]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="bk3chap11" id="bk3chap11"></a>CHRISTMAS BELLS</h3> + + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I heard the bells on Christmas Day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their old, familiar carols play,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And wild and sweet<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The words repeat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of peace on earth, good-will to men!<br /></span> +<span class="poet">Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>198]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="bk3chap12" id="bk3chap12"></a>A NIGHT WITH SANTA CLAUS</h3> + +<p class="center smcap">Anna R. Annan</p> + + +<p>Not very long ago, and not far from here, +lived a little boy named Bobby Morgan. Now +I must tell at once how Bobby looked, else +how will you know him if you meet him in +the street? Blue-eyed was Rob, and fair-haired, +and pug-nosed—just the sweetest trifle, +his mother said.</p> + +<p>Well, the day before Christmas, Rob +thought it would be a fine thing to run down +Main Street and see what was going on. +After dinner his mother put on his fur cap +and bright scarf, and filled his pockets with +crackers and cookies. She told him to be very +polite to Santa Claus if he should happen to +meet him.</p> + +<p>Off he trotted, merry as a cricket, with now +a skip and now a slide. At every corner he +held his breath, half expecting to run into +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>199]</a></span> +Santa himself. Nothing of the sort happened, +however, and he soon found himself before +the gay windows of a toy shop.</p> + +<p>There he saw a spring hobby-horse, as +large as a Shetland pony, all saddled and +bridled, too,—lacking nothing but a rider. +Rob pressed his nose against the glass, and +tried to imagine the feelings of a boy in that +saddle. He must have stood there all day, +had not a ragged little fellow pulled his coat. +“Wouldn’t you jist like that popgun?” he +piped.</p> + +<p>“Catch me looking at popguns!” said Rob +shortly. But when he saw how tattered the +boy’s jacket was he said more softly, “P’r’raps +you’d like a cooky.”</p> + +<p>“Try me wunst!” said the shrill little voice.</p> + +<p>There was a queer lump in Rob’s throat as +he emptied one pocket of its cakes and thrust +them into the dirty, eager hands. Then he +marched down the street without so much as +glancing at that glorious steed again.</p> + +<p>Brighter and brighter grew the windows, +more and more full of toys. At last our boy +stood, with open eyes and mouth, before a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>200]</a></span> +great store lighted from top to bottom, for it +was growing dark. Rob came near taking off +his cap and saying, “How do you do, sir?”</p> + +<p>To whom, you ask. Why, to an image of +Santa Claus, the size of life, holding a Christmas +tree filled with wonderful fruit.</p> + +<p>Soon a happy thought struck Rob. “Surely +this must be Santa Claus’s own store, where +he comes to fill his basket with toys! What if +I were to hide there and wait for him?”</p> + +<p>As I said, he was a brave little chap, and he +walked straight into the store with the stream +of big people. Everybody was busy. No one +had time to look at our mite of a Rob. He +tried in vain to find a quiet corner, till he +caught sight of some winding stairs that led +up to the next story. He crept up, scarcely +daring to breathe.</p> + +<p>What a fairyland! Toys everywhere! +Oceans of toys! Nothing but toys, excepting +one happy little boy. Think of fifty great +rocking-horses in a pile; of whole flocks of +woolly sheep and curly dogs with the real +bark in them; stacks of drums; regiments of +soldiers armed to the teeth; companies of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>201]</a></span> +firemen drawing their hose carts; no end of +wheelbarrows and velocipedes!</p> + +<p>Rob screwed his knuckles into his eyes, as a +gentle hint that they had better not play him +any tricks, and then stared with might and +main.</p> + +<p>Suddenly Rob thought he heard a footstep +on the stairs. Fearing to be caught, he hid +behind a baby-wagon. No one came, however, +and as he felt rather hungry, he took +out the remaining cakes and had a fine supper.</p> + +<p>Why didn’t Santa Claus come?</p> + +<p>Rob was really getting sleepy. He stretched +out his tired legs, and, turning one of the +woolly sheep on its side, pillowed his curly +head upon it. It was so nice to lie there, looking +up at the ceiling hung with toys, and with +the faint hum of voices in his ears. The blue +eyes grew more and more heavy. Rob was +fast asleep.</p> + +<p>Midnight! The bells rang loud and clear, +as if they had great news to tell the world. +What noise is that besides the bells? And +look, oh, look! Who is that striding up the +room with a great basket on his back? He +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>202]</a></span> +has stolen his coat from a polar bear, and his +cap, too, I declare! His boots are of red +leather and reach to his knees. His coat and +cap are trimmed with wreaths of holly, bright +with scarlet berries.</p> + +<p>Good sir, let us see your face—why! that +is the best part of him,—so round, and so +ruddy, such twinkling eyes, and such a merry +look about those dimples! But see his long +white beard; can he be old?</p> + +<p>Oh, very, very old. Over nineteen hundred +years. Is that not a long life, little ones? But +he has a young heart, this dear old man, and a +kind one. Can you guess his name? “Hurrah +for Santa Claus!” Right—the very one.</p> + +<p>He put his basket down near Robby, and +with his back turned to him shook the snow +from his fur coat. Some of the flakes fell on +Rob’s face and roused him from his sleep. +Opening his eyes, he saw the white figure, but +did not stir nor cry out, lest the vision should +vanish.</p> + +<p>But bless his big heart! He had no idea +of vanishing till his night’s work was done. +He took a large book from his pocket, opened +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>203]</a></span> +to the first page, and looked at it very closely.</p> + +<p>“Tommy Turner,” was written at the top, +and just below was a little map—yes, there was +Tommy’s heart mapped out like a country. +Part of the land was marked good, part of it +bad. Here and there were little flags to point +out places where battles had been fought during +the year. Some of them were black and +some white; wherever a good feeling had won +the fight there was a white one.</p> + +<p>“Tommy Turner,” said Santa Claus aloud, +“six white flags, three black ones. That leaves +only three presents for Tommy; but we must +see what can be done for him.”</p> + +<p>So he bustled among the toys, and soon had +a ball, a horse, and a Noah’s ark tied up in a +parcel, which he tossed into the basket.</p> + +<p>Name after name was read off, some of +them belonging to Rob’s playmates, and you +may be sure that the little boy listened with +his heart in his mouth.</p> + +<p>“Robby Morgan!” said Santa Claus.</p> + +<p>In his excitement that small lad nearly +upset the cart, but Santa did not notice it.</p> + +<p>“One, two, three, four, five, six, seven”—Rob’s +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>204]</a></span> +breath came very short—“whites!”</p> + +<p>He almost clapped his hands.</p> + +<p>“One, two, three, blacks! Now I wonder +what that little chap would like—here’s a +drum, a box of tools, a knife, a menagerie. If +he hadn’t run away from school that day and +then told a lie about it I’d give him a rocking-horse.”</p> + +<p>Rob groaned in anguish of spirit.</p> + +<p>“But, bless him! he’s a fine little fellow, +and perhaps he will do better next year if I +give him the horse.”</p> + +<p>That was too much for our boy. With a +“Hurrah!” he jumped up and turned a somersault +right at Santa Claus’s feet.</p> + +<p>“Stars and stripes!” cried Santa. “What’s +this?”</p> + +<p>“Come along, I’ll show you the one!” cried +Rob.</p> + +<p>Santa Claus allowed himself to be led off +to the pile of horses. You may believe that +Rob’s sharp eyes soon picked out the one with +the longest tail and the thickest mane.</p> + +<p>“Well, he beats all the boys that ever I saw! +What shall I do with the little spy?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>205]</a></span> +“Oh, dear Santa Claus,” cried Robby, hugging +the red boots, “do just take me along with +you. I’ll stick tight when you slide down the +chimney.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I guess you will stick tight—in the +chimney, my little man.”</p> + +<p>“I mean to your back,” half sobbed Rob.</p> + +<p>Santa Claus can’t bear to see little folks in +trouble, so he took the boy into his arms, and +asked where he wanted to go.</p> + +<p>“To Tommy Turner’s, and, oh, you know, +that boy in the awful old jacket that likes popguns,” +was the breathless reply.</p> + +<p>Of course he knew him, for he knows every +boy and girl in Christendom; so a popgun was +added to the medley of toys. Santa Claus then +strapped Rob and the basket on his back. He +next crept through an open window to a ladder +he had placed there, down which he ran as +nimbly as a squirrel. The reindeer before the +sledge were in a hurry to be off, and tinkled +their silver bells right merrily. An instant +more and they were snugly tucked up in the +white robes; an instant more and they were +flying like the wind over the snow.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>206]</a></span> +Ah! Tommy’s home. Santa Claus sprang +out, placed the light ladder against the house, +and before Rob could wink a good fair wink +they were on the roof, making for the chimney. +Whether it swallowed him, or he swallowed it, +is still a puzzle to Robby.</p> + +<p>Tommy lay sleeping in his little bed and +dreaming of a merry Christmas. His rosy +mouth was puckered into something between +a whistle and a smile. Rob longed to give him +a friendly punch, but Santa Claus shook his +head. They filled his stocking and hurried +away, for empty little stockings the +world over were waiting for that generous +hand.</p> + +<p>On they sped again, never stopping until +they came to a wretched little hovel. A black +pipe instead of a chimney was sticking through +the roof.</p> + +<p>Rob thought, “Now I guess he’ll have to +give it up.” But no, he softly pushed the +door open and stepped in.</p> + +<p>On a ragged cot lay the urchin to whom +Robby had given the cookies. One of them, +half eaten, was still clutched in his hand. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>207]</a></span> +Santa Claus gently opened the other little fist +and put the popgun into it.</p> + +<p>“Give him my drum,” whispered Rob, and +Santa Claus, without a word, placed it near +the rumpled head.</p> + +<p>How swiftly they flew under the bright +stars! How sweetly rang the bells!</p> + +<p>When Santa Claus reined up at Robby’s +door he found his little comrade fast asleep. +He laid him tenderly in his crib, and drew off +a stocking, which he filled with the smaller +toys. The rocking-horse he placed close to +the crib, that Rob might mount him on Christmas +morning.</p> + +<p>A kiss, and he was gone.</p> + +<p>P.S.—Rob’s mother says it was all a dream, +but he declares that “It’s true as Fourth of +July!” I prefer to take his word for it.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>208]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="bk3chap13" id="bk3chap13"></a>A CHILD’S THOUGHTS ABOUT SANTA CLAUS</h3> + + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">What do you think my grandmother said,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Telling Christmas stories to me<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To-night, when I went and coaxed and coaxed<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With my head and arms upon her knee?<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She thinks—she really told me so—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That good Mr. Santa Claus, long ago,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was as old and grey as he is to-day,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Going around with his loaded sleigh.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She thinks he’s driven through frost and snow<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For a hundred, yes, a thousand times or so,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With jingling bells and a bag of toys—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ho, ho! for good girls and boys,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With a carol gay,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Crying, “Clear the way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For a rollicking, merry Christmas day!”<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grandmother knows almost everything—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">All that I ask her she can tell;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rivers and towns in geography,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>209]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And the hardest words she can always spell.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But the wisest ones, sometimes, they say,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Mistake—and even grandmother may.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If Santa Claus never had been a boy<br /></span> +<span class="i1">How would he always know so well<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What all the boys are longing for<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On Christmas day? Can grandmother tell?<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Why does he take the shiny rings,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The baby houses, the dolls with curls,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The little lockets and other such things<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Never to boys, but always to girls?<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Why does he take the skates and all<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The bats and balls, and arrows and bows,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And trumpets and drums, and guns—hurrah!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To the boys? I wonder if grandmother knows?<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But there’s one thing that doesn’t seem right—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">If Santa Claus was a boy at play<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hung up his stocking on Christmas night,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Who filled it for him on Christmas day?<br /></span> +<span class="poet">Sydney Dayre.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>210]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="bk3chap14" id="bk3chap14"></a>CHARITY IN A COTTAGE</h3> + +<p class="center smcap">Jean Ingelow</p> + + +<p>The charity of the rich is much to be commended; +but how beautiful is the charity of +the poor!</p> + +<p>Call to mind the coldest day you ever experienced. +Think of the bitter wind and driving +snow; think how you shook and shivered—how +the sharp white particles were driven +up against your face—how, within doors, the +carpets were lifted like billows along the +floors, the wind howled and moaned in the +chimneys, windows cracked, doors rattled, and +every now and then heavy lumps of snow +came thundering down with a dull weight +from the roof.</p> + +<p>Now hear my story.</p> + +<p>In one of the broad, open plains of Lincolnshire, +there is a long reedy sheet of water, a +favourite resort of wild ducks. At its northern +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>211]</a></span> +extremity stand two mud cottages, old, and +out of repair.</p> + +<p>One bitter, bitter night, when the snow lay +three feet deep on the ground, and a cutting +east wind was driving it about, and whistling +in the dry frozen reeds by the water’s edge, +and swinging the bare willow trees till their +branches swept the ice, an old woman sat spinning +in one of these cottages before a moderately +cheerful fire. Her kettle was singing +on the coals, she had a reed candle, or home-made +rushlight, on her table, but the full moon +shone in, and was the brighter light of the +two. These two cottages were far from any +road, or any other habitation; the old woman +was, therefore, surprised, in an old northern +song, by a sudden knock at the door.</p> + +<p>It was loud and impatient, not like the +knock of her neighbours in the other cottage; +but the door was bolted, and the old woman +rose, and shuffling to the window, looked out +and saw a shivering figure, apparently that of +a youth.</p> + +<p>“Trampers!” said the old woman, sententiously, +“tramping folks be not wanted here.” +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>212]</a></span> +So saying she went back to the fire without +deigning to answer the door.</p> + +<p>The youth upon this tried the door, and +called to her to beg admittance. She heard +him rap the snow from his shoes against her +lintel, and again knock as if he thought she +was deaf, and he should surely gain admittance +if he could make her hear.</p> + +<p>The old woman, surprised at his audacity, +went to the casement and with all the pride of +possession, opened it and inquired his business.</p> + +<p>“Good woman,” the stranger began, “I only +want a seat at your fire.”</p> + +<p>“Nay,” said the old woman, giving effect to +her words by her uncouth dialect, “thou’ll get +no shelter here; I’ve nought to give to beggars—a +dirty, wet critter,” she continued +wrathfully, slamming to the window. “It’s a +wonder where he found any water, too, seeing +it freeze so hard a body can get none for +the kettle, saving what’s broken up with a +hatchet.”</p> + +<p>The stranger turned very hastily from her +door and waded through the deep snow +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>213]</a></span> +towards the other cottage. The bitter wind +helped to drive him towards it. It looked no +less poor than the first; and when he had tried +the door and found it bolted and fast, his +heart sank within him. His hand was so +numbed with cold that he had made scarcely +any noise; he tried again.</p> + +<p>A rush candle was burning within and a +matronly looking woman sat before the fire. +She held an infant in her arms and had +dropped asleep; but his third knock aroused +her, and wrapping her apron round the child, +she opened the door a very little way, and +demanded what he wanted.</p> + +<p>“Good woman,” the youth began, “I have +had the misfortune to fall in the water this +bitter night, and I am so numbed I can +scarcely walk.”</p> + +<p>The woman gave him a sudden earnest look +and then sighed.</p> + +<p>“Come in,” she said; “thou art so nigh the +size of my Jem, I thought at first it was him +come home from sea.”</p> + +<p>The youth stepped across the threshold, +trembling with cold and wet; and no wonder, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>214]</a></span> +for his clothes were completely encased in wet +mud, and the water dripped from them with +every step he took on the sanded floor.</p> + +<p>“Thou art in a sorry plight,” said the +woman, “and it be two miles to the nighest +house; come and kneel down afore the fire; +thy teeth chatter so pitifully I can scarce bear +to hear them.”</p> + +<p>She looked at him more attentively and +saw that he was a mere boy, not more than +sixteen years of age. Her motherly heart was +touched for him. “Art hungry?” she asked, +turning to the table. “Thou art wet to the +skin. What hast been doing?”</p> + +<p>“Shooting wild ducks,” said the boy.</p> + +<p>“Oh,” said the hostess, “thou art one of the +keeper’s boys, then, I reckon?”</p> + +<p>He followed the direction of her eyes, and +saw two portions of bread set upon the table, +with a small piece of bacon on each.</p> + +<p>“My master be very late,” she observed, for +charity did not make her use elegant language, +and by her master she meant her husband; +“but thou art welcome to my bit and +sup, for I was waiting for him. Maybe it +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>215]</a></span> +will put a little warmth in thee to eat and +drink.” So saying, she placed before him her +own share of the supper.</p> + +<p>“Thank you,” said the boy; “but I am so +wet I am making quite a pool before your fire +with the drippings from my clothes.”</p> + +<p>“Aye, they are wet indeed,” said the woman, +and rising again she went to an old box, in +which she began to search, and presently came +to the fire with a perfectly clean check shirt in +her hand and a tolerably good suit of clothes.</p> + +<p>“There,” said she, showing them with no +small pride, “these be my master’s Sunday +clothes, and if thou wilt be very careful of +them I’ll let thee wear them till thine be dry.” +She then explained that she was going to put +her “bairn” to bed, and proceeded up a ladder +into the room above, leaving the boy to array +himself in these respectable garments.</p> + +<p>When she had come down her guest had +dressed himself in the labourer’s clothes; he +had had time to warm himself, and he was +eating and drinking with hungry relish. He +had thrown his muddy clothes in a heap upon +the floor. As she looked at him she said:</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>216]</a></span> +“Ah, lad, lad, I doubt that head been under +water: thy poor mother would have been +sorely frightened if she could have seen thee +a while ago.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said the boy; and in imagination the +cottage dame saw this same mother, a careworn, +hard-working creature like herself; +while the youthful guest saw in imagination a +beautiful and courtly lady; and both saw the +same love, the same anxiety, the same terror, +at sight of a lonely boy struggling in the moonlight +through breaking ice, with no one to help +him, catching at the frozen reeds, and then +creeping up, shivering and benumbed, to a +cottage door.</p> + +<p>But, even as she stooped, the woman forgot +her imagination, for she had taken a waistcoat +into her hands, such as had never passed between +them before; a gold pencil-case +dropped from the pocket; and on the floor +amidst a heap of mud that covered the outer +garments, lay a white shirt sleeve, so white, +indeed, and so fine, that she thought it could +hardly be worn by a squire!</p> + +<p>She glanced from the clothes to the owner. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>217]</a></span> +He had thrown down his cap, and his fair +curly hair and broad forehead convinced her +that he was of gentle birth; but while she +hesitated to sit down, he placed a chair for +her, and said with boyish frankness:</p> + +<p>“I say, what a lonely place this is! If you +had not let me in, the water would have frozen +me before I reached home. Catch me duck-shooting +again by myself!”</p> + +<p>“It’s very cold sport that, sir,” said the +woman.</p> + +<p>The young gentleman assented most readily, +and asked if he might stir the fire.</p> + +<p>“And welcome, sir,” said the woman.</p> + +<p>She felt a curiosity to know who he was, +and he partly satisfied her by remarking that +he was staying at Deen Hall, a house about +five miles off, adding that in the morning he +had broken a hole in the ice very near the +decoy, but it iced over so fast, that in the dusk +he had missed it, and fallen in, for it would not +bear him. He had made some landmarks, and +taken every proper precaution, but he supposed +the sport had excited him so much that +in the moonlight he had passed them by.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>218]</a></span> +He then told her of his attempt to get shelter +in the other cottage.</p> + +<p>“Sir,” said the woman, “if you had said you +were a gentleman——”</p> + +<p>The boy laughed. “I don’t think I knew it, +my good woman,” he replied, “my senses were +so benumbed; for I was some time struggling +at the water’s edge among the broken ice, and +then I believe I was nearly an hour creeping +up to your cottage door. I remember it all +rather indistinctly, but as soon as I had felt +the fire and eaten something I was a different +creature.”</p> + +<p>As they still talked, the husband came in; +and while he was eating his supper it was +agreed that he should walk to Deen Hall, and +let its inmates know of the gentleman’s safety. +When he was gone the woman made up the +fire with all the coal that remained to the poor +household, and crept up to bed, leaving her +guest to lie down and rest before it.</p> + +<p>In the grey dawn the labourer returned, +with a servant leading a horse, and bringing +a fresh suit of clothes.</p> + +<p>The young man took his leave with many +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>219]</a></span> +thanks, slipping three half-crowns into the +woman’s hand, probably all the money he had +about him. And I must not forget to mention +that he kissed the baby; for when she +tells the story, the mother always adverts to +that circumstance with great pride, adding +that her child, being as “clean as wax, was +quite fit to be kissed by anybody.”</p> + +<p>“Misses,” said her husband, as they stood in +the doorway looking after their guest, “who +dost think that be?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know,” answered the misses.</p> + +<p>“Then I’ll just tell thee; that be young Lord +W——; so thou mayest be a proud woman; +thou sits and talks with lords, and then asks +them to supper—ha, ha!”</p> + +<p>So saying, her master shouldered his spade +and went his way, leaving her clinking the +three half-crowns in her hand, and considering +what she should do with them.</p> + +<p>Her neighbour from the other cottage presently +stepped in, and when she heard the tale +and saw the money her heart was ready to +break with envy and jealousy.</p> + +<p>“Oh, to think that good luck should have +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>220]</a></span> +come to her door, and she should have been so +foolish as to turn it away! Seven shillings and +sixpence for a morsel of food and a night’s +shelter—why it was nearly a week’s wages!”</p> + +<p>So there, as they both supposed, the matter +ended, and the next week the frost was sharper +than ever. Sheep were frozen in the fenny +field and poultry on their perches, but the +good woman had walked to the nearest town +and bought a blanket. It was a welcome addition +to their bed covering, and it was many a +long year since they had been so comfortable.</p> + +<p>But it chanced one day at noon that, looking +out at her casement she spied three young +gentlemen skating along the ice towards her +cottage. They sprang on to the bank, took +off their skates, and made for her door. The +young nobleman, for he was one of the three, +informed her that he had had such a severe +cold he could not come to see her before. “He +spoke as free and pleasantly,” she said, in telling +the story, “as if I had been a lady, and no +less, and then he brought a parcel out of his +pocket, saying, ‘I have been over to B—— +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>221]</a></span> +and brought you a book for a keepsake, and I +hope you will accept it;’ and then they all +talked as pretty as could be for a matter of ten +minutes, and went away. So I waited till my +master came home, and we opened the parcel, +and there was a fine Bible inside, all over +gold and red morocco, and my name and his +name written inside; and, bless him, a ten-pound +note doubled down over the names. +I’m sure, when I thought he was a poor forlorn +creature, he was kindly welcome. So +my master laid out part of the money in tools, +and we rented a garden; and he goes over on +market days to sell what we grow, so now, +thank God, we want for nothing.”</p> + +<p>This is how she generally concludes the +little history, never failing to add that the +young lord kissed her baby.</p> + +<p>But I have not yet told you what I thought +the best part of the story. When this poor +Christian woman was asked what had induced +her to take in a perfect stranger and trust him +with the best clothing her home afforded, she +answered simply, “Well, I saw him shivering +and shaking, so I thought, thou shalt come in +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>222]</a></span> +here, for the sake of Him that had not where +to lay His head.”</p> + +<p>The old woman in the other cottage may +open her door every night of her future life +to some forlorn beggar, but it is all but certain +that she will never open it to a nobleman +in disguise!</p> + +<p>Let us do good, not to receive more good +in return, but as evidence of gratitude for +what has been already bestowed. In a few +words, let it be “all for love and nothing for +reward.”</p> + +<p>“The most excellent gift is charity.”</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>223]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="bk3chap15" id="bk3chap15"></a>THE WAITS</h3> + + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">At the break of Christmas Day,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Through the frosty starlight ringing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Faint and sweet and far away,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Comes the sound of children, singing,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Chanting, singing,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">“Cease to mourn,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">For Christ is born,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Peace and joy to all men bringing!”<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Careless that the chill winds blow,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Growing stronger, sweeter, clearer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Noiseless footfalls in the snow<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Bring the happy voices nearer;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hear them singing,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">“Winter’s drear,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">But Christ is here,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mirth and gladness with Him bringing!”<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>224]</a></span> +<span class="i0">“Merry Christmas!” hear them say,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As the East is growing lighter;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">“May the joy of Christmas Day<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Make your whole year gladder, brighter!”<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Join their singing,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">“To each home<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Our Christ has come,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All love’s treasures with Him bringing!”<br /></span> +<span class="poet">Margaret Deland.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>225]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="bk3chap16" id="bk3chap16"></a>WHERE LOVE IS THERE GOD IS ALSO</h3> + +<p class="center smcap">Leo Tolstoi</p> + + +<p>Martuin, the shoemaker, lived in a city of +Russia. His house was a little basement room +with one window. Through this window he +used to watch the people walking past. He +was so far below the street that from his +bench he could see only the feet of the passers-by +but he knew them all by their boots. +Nearly every pair of boots in the neighbourhood +had been in his hands once and again. +Some he would half sole, and some he would +patch, some he would stitch around, and occasionally +he would also put on new uppers. +“Ah,” he would say to himself, “there goes +the baker. That was a fine piece of leather.” +Martuin always had plenty to do because he +was a faithful workman, used good materials, +and always finished an order as early as he +promised it.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>226]</a></span> +In the evening when his work was done he +would light his little oil lamp, take his book +down from the shelf and begin to read. He +had but one book, a Bible, and as he read he +thought of the wonderful Christ-child. “Ah,” +he cried one night, “if He would only come to +me and be my guest. If He should come, I +wonder how I should receive Him.” Martuin +rested his head upon his hands and dozed. +“Martuin,” a voice seemed suddenly to sound +in his ears.</p> + +<p>He started from his sleep. “Who is here?” +He looked around but there was no one.</p> + +<p>Again he fell into a doze. Suddenly he +plainly heard, “Martuin, ah, Martuin! Look +to-morrow on the street. I am coming.”</p> + +<p>At daybreak next morning Martuin woke, +said his prayer, put his cabbage soup and +gruel on to cook and sat down by the window +to work. He worked hard but all the time he +was thinking of the voice that he had heard. +“Was it a dream,” he said to himself, “or is +He coming? Shall I really see Him to-day?” +When anyone passed by in boots that he did +not know he would bend down close to the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>227]</a></span> +window so that he could see the face as well +as the boots.</p> + +<p>By and by an old, old man came along; he +carried a shovel. It was Stephanwitch. Martuin +knew him by his old felt boots. He was +very poor and helped the house porter with +all the hard work. Now he began to shovel +away the snow from in front of Martuin’s +window. Martuin looked up eagerly.</p> + +<p>“Pshaw,” said Martuin, “old Stephanwitch +is clearing away the snow and I imagined the +Christ-child was coming to see me.” He +looked again. How old and feeble Stephanwitch +looked.</p> + +<p>“He is cold and weary,” thought Martuin. +“I will call him in and give him a cup of tea, +the samovar must be boiling by now.”</p> + +<p>He laid down his awl, made the tea, and +tapped on the window. “Come in and warm +yourself,” he said.</p> + +<p>“May Christ reward you for this! My +bones ache,” said Stephanwitch.</p> + +<p>Stephanwitch shook off the snow and tried +to wipe his feet so as not to soil the floor, but +he staggered from cold and weariness.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>228]</a></span> +“Never mind that, I will clean it up. We +are used to such things. Sit down and drink +a cup of tea,” said Martuin heartily.</p> + +<p>Martuin filled two cups and handed one to +Stephanwitch who drank it eagerly, turned it +upside down, and began to express his thanks.</p> + +<p>“Have some more?” said Martuin, refilling +the cup.</p> + +<p>“Are you expecting anyone?” asked +Stephanwitch. “I see you keep turning to +look on the street.”</p> + +<p>“I am ashamed to tell you whom I expect. +I am, and I am not, expecting someone. You +see, brother, I was reading about the Christ +and how He walked on earth and I thought, +‘If He came to me, should I know how to +receive Him?’ and I heard a voice, ‘Be on the +watch, I shall come to-morrow.’ It is absurd, +yet would you believe it, I am expecting Him, +the Christ-child.”</p> + +<p>Stephanwitch shook his head but said nothing.</p> + +<p>Martuin filled his guest’s cup with hot tea +and continued, “You see I have an idea He +would come to the simple people. He picked +out His disciples from simple working people +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>229]</a></span> +like us. Come, brother, have some more +tea.”</p> + +<p>But Stephanwitch rose. “Thanks to you, +Martuin, for treating me kindly and warming +me, soul and body.”</p> + +<p>“You are welcome, brother, come again.”</p> + +<p>Stephanwitch departed. Martuin put away +the dishes and sat down by the window to +stitch on a patch. He kept looking out as he +stitched.</p> + +<p>Two soldiers passed by; one wore boots that +Martuin had made; then the master of the next +house; then a baker. Then there came a +woman in woolen stockings and wooden +shoes. Martuin looked up through the window. +He saw she was a stranger poorly clad +in shabby summer clothes. She had turned +her back to the wind and was trying to shelter +a little child who was crying.</p> + +<p>Martuin went to the door and called out, +“Why are you standing there in the cold? +Come into my room where it is warm.”</p> + +<p>The woman was astonished when she saw +the old, old man in his leather apron and big +spectacles beckoning and calling to her, but +she gladly followed him.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>230]</a></span> +“There,” said Martuin, “sit down near the +stove and warm yourself.” Then he brought +out bread, poured out cabbage soup, and took +up the pot with the gruel.</p> + +<p>“Eat, eat,” he said. “I will mind the little +one. Tell me, why are you out in this bitter +cold?”</p> + +<p>“I am a soldier’s wife, but my husband has +been sent far away. We have used up our +money and I went to-day for work but they +told me to come again.”</p> + +<p>Martuin sighed. “Have you no warm +clothes?”</p> + +<p>“Ah, this is the time to wear them, but +yesterday I sold my last warm shawl for +food.”</p> + +<p>Martuin sighed. He went to the little cupboard +and found an old coat. “Take it,” he +said. “It is a poor thing, yet it may help you.” +He slipped some money into her hand and +with this said, “Buy yourself a shawl and +food till work shall be found.”</p> + +<p>“May Christ bless you!” she cried. “He +must have sent me to you. It had grown so +cold my little child would have frozen to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>231]</a></span> +death, but He, the Christ-child, led you to +look through the window.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed He did,” said Martuin, smiling.</p> + +<p>The woman left. Martuin ate some sheki, +washed the dishes, and sat down again by the +window to work. A shadow darkened the +window. Martuin looked up eagerly. It was +only an acquaintance who lived a little further +down the street. Again the window +grew dark. This time Martuin saw that an +old apple woman had stopped right in front +of the window. She carried a basket with +apples and over her shoulder she had a bag +full of chips. One could see that the bag was +heavy. She lowered it to the sidewalk and +as she did so, she set the apples on a little post. +A little boy with a torn cap darted up, picked +an apple out of the basket and started to run +but the old woman caught him, knocked off his +cap, and seized him by the hair.</p> + +<p>Martuin ran out in the cold. “Let him go, +Babushka; forgive him for Christ’s sake.”</p> + +<p>“I will forgive him so that he won’t forget +it till the new broom grows! I am going to +take him to the police.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>232]</a></span> +“Let him go, Babushka, let him go for +Christ’s sake. He will never do it again.”</p> + +<p>The old woman let him loose. The boy +tried to run, but Martuin kept him back.</p> + +<p>“Ask Babushka’s forgiveness,” he said, “and +never do it again. I saw you take the apple.”</p> + +<p>With tears in his eyes the boy began to ask +forgiveness.</p> + +<p>“There, that’s all right,” said Martuin; +“take the apple. I will pay for it.”</p> + +<p>“You ruin the good-for-nothings,” said the +old woman. “He should be well punished. +He deserves it.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps,” answered Martuin, “but God +forgives us though we deserve it not.”</p> + +<p>“Well, well,” said the old woman, appeased, +“after all it was but a childish trick.” She +started to lift the bag upon her shoulder.</p> + +<p>“Let me take it,” said the boy. “It is on +my way.”</p> + +<p>Side by side they passed along the street, the +boy carrying the bag and chattering to the old +woman. Martuin turned and went back into +the little room.</p> + +<p>After sewing a little while it grew too dark +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>233]</a></span> +to see. He lighted his little lamp, finished his +piece of work, put it away, and took down his +Bible. Suddenly he seemed to hear someone +stepping around behind him. In the dark +corner there seemed to be people standing. +Then he heard a voice, “Martuin, ah, Martuin, +did you not know me?”</p> + +<p>“Who?” cried Martuin.</p> + +<p>“It is I,” replied the voice, and Stephanwitch +stepped forth from the dark corner, +smiled, and faded away like a little cloud.</p> + +<p>“And this is I!” said the voice again, and +from the dark corner stepped the woman and +the child. The woman smiled, the child +laughed, and then they, too, vanished.</p> + +<p>“And this is I!” and the old woman and +the boy stepped forward, smiled, and vanished. +Then a light filled the little room and +glowed about the figure of a Child and Martuin +heard the words:</p> + +<p>“For I was an hungered and ye gave me +meat; I was thirsty and ye gave me drink; I +was a stranger and ye took me in.” And Martuin +knew that the Christ-child had really +come to him that Christmas-tide. (<i>Adapted.</i>)</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>234]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="bk3chap17" id="bk3chap17"></a>GOD REST YE, MERRY GENTLEMEN</h3> + + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">God rest ye, merry gentlemen,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Let nothing you dismay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For Jesus Christ, our Saviour,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Was born upon this day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To save us all from Satan’s pow’r<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When we were gone astray.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O tidings of comfort and joy!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For Jesus Christ, our Saviour,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was born on Christmas Day.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Now to the Lord sing praises,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">All you within this place,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And with true love and brotherhood<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Each other now embrace;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This holy tide of Christmas<br /></span> +<span class="i1">All others doth deface.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O tidings of comfort and joy!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For Jesus Christ, our Saviour,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was born on Christmas Day.<br /></span> +<span class="poet">Dinah Mulock Craik.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235"><!-- no visible page number --></a></span></p> + +<h2 class="padtop"><a name="book4" id="book4"></a>THE GLAD NEW YEAR</h2> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>236]</a></span></p> + +<h3 class="padtop"><a name="bk4chap01" id="bk4chap01"></a>THE GLAD NEW YEAR</h3> + + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It’s coming, boys,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">It’s almost here.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It’s coming, girls,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The grand New Year.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A year to be glad in,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Not to be sad in;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A year to live in,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To gain and give in.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A year for trying,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And not for sighing;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A year for striving<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And healthy thriving.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It’s coming, boys,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">It’s almost here.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It’s coming, girls,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The grand New Year.<br /></span> +<span class="poet">Mary Mapes Dodge.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>237]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="bk4chap02" id="bk4chap02"></a>THE BAD LITTLE GOBLIN’S NEW YEAR</h3> + +<p class="center smcap">Mary Stewart</p> + + +<p>Come, children dear, let’s sit on the floor +around the fire, so, and watch those golden +flames dancing and leaping. You see that +very gay one just springing up the chimney? +I know a story about him, a New Year’s story. +Let’s snuggle up closer and look into the fire. +You see that piece of coal black wood, there +at the end? There was a horrid little goblin +once who was as black as that bit of wood. +His clothes were all black, his round cap +looked like a bit of coal, his pointed shoes were +jet black, and his face was dark with dirt and +an ugly scowling expression. Altogether he +was a horrid looking goblin, and he was just +as hateful as he looked. There wasn’t a single +person who liked him. The birds hated him +because he would wait after dark when all the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>238]</a></span> +baby birds were cuddled down in the nest, +fast asleep. Then he would pop up from +under the nest where he had been hiding and +cry, “Morning time, wake up!” and all the +babies would cry, “Chirp, chirp, Daddy bring +us our breakfast!” They opened their bills +so wide that it took a long time to shut them +and put the excited babies to sleep again. +Once Blackie, that was the goblin’s name, +dropped a bit of twig down into a baby’s open +bill and the poor bird coughed so hard that +he kept the birds in the nests around awake +all night. Blackie chuckled with glee and +went scurrying off on another prank.</p> + +<p>While the mother bunnies were asleep he +painted the tiny white flags they wear under +their tails with brown mud from the marsh. +When morning-time really did come and the +mother bunnies woke up and called to their +children to follow them, the little bunnies +couldn’t see any white flags on their mothers’ +tails to follow, and all got lost in the long +grass. It took the whole day to gather them +together, and still longer to get those flags +clean again.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>239]</a></span> +Blackie jumped for joy. The mother bunnies +would have liked to reach him with their +sharp claws, but he was too quick for them.</p> + +<p>Then Blackie found the holes where the +squirrels had hidden their nuts for the winter. +It had taken months to gather them, but +Blackie waited until they were out hunting +again, and he carried all the nuts away and hid +them in the roots of an old tree where they +would never think of looking!</p> + +<p>That wasn’t all! Blackie did one last thing +so terrible that I don’t like to tell you about it. +He waited until a robin’s nest was full of +lovely blue eggs and the father bird was off in +search of worms. Then he made such a rustling +in the next tree that the mother bird flew +off to see what it was, and while she was gone—Blackie +danced upon the eggs until they +were all broken!</p> + +<p>That filled the timid wood creatures with +fury. The birds, the rabbits, and the squirrels +rushed upon the goblin and drove him before +them. The birds pecked him with their +beaks, and the squirrels and rabbits hopped +after him with their claws outstretched. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>240]</a></span> +Away ran Blackie, really frightened at last, +faster and faster until he reached the darkest +part of the whole forest. There he jumped +into a hole in a tree, curling himself up so +tightly that his round cap touched his pointed +shoes, and while he trembled with fear he +heard the birds and bunnies and squirrels go +tearing past, thinking that the wicked little +goblin was still running ahead of them.</p> + +<p>When they had all gone, Blackie peeked out +of his hole. Oh, how terribly quiet it was! +Not a bird chirped, not a squirrel or a rabbit +or a woodchuck lived there. It was so quiet +and so dark and so lonely that Blackie began +to feel quite forlorn. “I would almost be +polite to a tree toad!” he thought, but not even +a croak or a buzz or a rustle broke the stillness. +The bad little goblin put his head down +upon his black knees and went to sleep; there +was nothing else to do!</p> + +<p>The first sound which woke him up was, +“Chop-chop!” He rubbed his eyes and +peeked out. He saw woodcutters cutting +down trees with their sharp axes. Then he +saw them coming toward the tree where he +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>241]</a></span> +was hiding. Shaking with terror, Blackie +curled himself up into a tight ball. Chop-chop-crash! +went the tree, and Blackie’s head +bumped hard against the top of his hole as, +still inside it, he felt the tree fall to the +ground. That was rather fun, and much excited +he peeked out of a crack and watched +the men fastening chains around the trees and +loading them on wheels. His own tree went, +too, and the next thing Blackie heard was saw-saw, +as the tree was sawed into logs at a lumber +yard. Again he rolled up tight, hoping +the knives wouldn’t cut him in two, and they +didn’t! He was still safe in his hole when his +log was thrown with others, right down into +a dark cellar. It was even drearier there than +in the forest and Blackie began to long for +some playfellows. “I wouldn’t tease them. I’d +just play with them nicely,” he sighed, and two +tears ran down his little black face, washing it +almost clean.</p> + +<p>Then Blackie heard a strange new sound. +It was gayer than a squirrel’s chatter, sweeter +than a bird’s song,—it was a child’s laughter! +Where did it come from? Blackie stopped +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>242]</a></span> +crying and listened. It came again and the +laughter of other children mingled with it. +Blackie peeked out. There was no one in the +cellar. He crept out and tiptoed up the +stairs, in search of those laughing voices. +Hiding in the shadows so that no one could see +him, he passed through the kitchen and on into +a room full of sunshine and children. He ran +in and hid behind a curtain, peeking out curiously. +In the center of the room stood a little +golden-haired girl, the one whose laughter he +had first heard. But as Blackie watched her +with delight he saw her pucker up her face as +though she were going to cry. “My dolly, +my dear dolly, I tan’t find her!” she wailed. +In a flash all the other boys and girls were +searching under chairs and tables for the runaway +dolly. They couldn’t find her, but +Blackie saw a pair of doll’s feet poking out +from under the sofa. He hopped swiftly +across the floor, pulled the doll out by one leg +and placed her on a chair beside the little girl.</p> + +<p>“Oh, see, my doll’s tum back!” she cried, +hugging her with joy. “She went for a walk +and tame back again!” and taking the doll’s +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>243]</a></span> +two hands in hers she danced with her around +the room. The other children danced, too, +and their laughter rang out again. “She went +for a walk and came back all herself!” they +cried.</p> + +<p>Blackie thought he had never seen or heard +anything so merry, it made him want to dance, +also. Poor little black goblin whom the maid, +if she had seen him, would have swept out of +the room, mistaking him for a bit of coal!</p> + +<p>But Blackie took care that no one did see +him. Except, perhaps, the children, I don’t +know whether anyone ever saw him or not. He +spent most of the time with them, and somehow +they seemed to know that he was there +and that he was their friend. Every evening +when they had their supper they put a bowl of +milk in front of the fire for him, and when +they came in to breakfast the bowl was always +empty. I don’t know how Blackie drank it +without being seen, for he still slept in his log +in the cellar and was asleep as soon as the children’s +heads touched their pillows. The children’s +mother was puzzled over that empty +bowl, but she might have guessed there was a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>244]</a></span> +friendly goblin in the house by the way lost +things were always turning up.</p> + +<p>“I can’t find my thimble!” the mother would +cry. “Come, children, and look for it!” On +the floor, under the rug, in the flower pots, and +on the tables hunted the children. But hiding +behind the curtain Blackie had seen a bit of +something gold shining through the tassels of +the sofa. Quick as a flash, he pulled it out +and placed it on the arm of the mother’s chair. +“Why, here it is!” she exclaimed. “How did +it get there?” The children laughed and +winked at each other, as though they understood, +but how could they explain about the +goblin to mother?</p> + +<p>Their father was always looking for his +spectacles. Mother, the children, and all the +maids would be called in to help search. Before +Blackie came they often searched for +hours, but he always found them in a twinkling, +in a book, perhaps, or under the fender, +and would place them right in front of +father. “Gracious, look here, there must be +some magic around!” he would cry, and the +children would jump up and down with glee! +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>245]</a></span> +They knew all about the magic. They guessed +that a little black goblin was also jumping +with delight behind the curtain!</p> + +<p>One morning,—it was New Year’s Day,—Blackie +slept longer than usual. He was +curled up inside his log, so sound asleep that +even the joggling of his home being carried +upstairs didn’t waken him. Then he was +turned upside down, and, opening his eyes, he +peeked out of the crack and found that the log +was about to be thrown onto the blazing fire! +Crash! it went. How very warm it was, and +then Blackie heard the children laughing. +He poked his head out and saw them all sitting +in front of the fire, watching the blaze. All +around Blackie red and yellow flames were +dancing, so gay, so golden, so happy that +Blackie forgot to be frightened. “I want to +be gay, too!” he cried. “I want to laugh with +the children and dance with the flames.” +His log caught fire, blazed up and out +sprang Blackie,—a little black goblin no +longer!</p> + +<p>Instead, he was the shiniest, most dancing +golden flame that you ever saw! For a few +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>246]</a></span> +moments he just danced up and down with delight, +then, waving and bowing to the children, +he cried, “Happy New Year! Happy New +Year!” and sprang up the chimney. The children’s +glad voices echoed after him.</p> + +<p>When he reached the top he saw a glorious +sight. The sun shining on the snow and ice +turned the world into a sparkling Fairy-land, +and the sky was as blue as forget-me-nots, or +Polly’s eyes, or the very bluest thing you have +ever seen. Blackie danced with the sunbeams +over the glittering ice until he almost ran into +a flock of little birds huddled down in the +snow, too cold to fly. Their feathers were ruffled +and they looked very miserable. “Come +play with me!” he cried, dancing around them. +He was so gay and so beautiful that they forgot +the cold, and flew in circles around him. +“Come and join us!” he cried to a group of +rabbits who were hunched up upon the snow, +half-frozen. They hopped along slowly toward +him and then—they, too, forgot the cold +while they played games with the golden goblin +and the birds, until they were all as merry +as the sunbeams. “Happy New Year! Happy +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>247]</a></span> +New Year!” they called to each other, and to +the twinkling flame goblin.</p> + +<p>Then Blackie saw some squirrels curled up +on the branches of a tree so miserable they +couldn’t even make-believe scamper. “What +is the matter; do you want some nuts?” he +cried. “Follow me!” And away he darted +to the roots of the tree where, as a naughty +little goblin, he had hidden their winter store. +The squirrels followed slowly, but when they +saw their treasure their eyes sparkled, their +teeth chattered with delight, and they scampered +back and forth from the tree root to +their own holes, their paws full of nuts. They +were as gay as Blackie himself. “Happy New +Year! Happy New Year!” they cried to their +gleaming friend, whom they never dreamed +was the bad little goblin they had chased away +the autumn before!</p> + +<p>So all day and for many days the goblin +danced and sang and helped people and birds +and the wood creatures. He twinkled as merrily +in the sunshine out of doors as he did when +he danced in the fire, warming the children +and singing them songs.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>248]</a></span> +“It’s like Happy New Year every day when +the goblin is here!” cried the children, dancing +as gayly on the hearth rug as the sprite was +dancing within the fire. “There he is now, do +you see him? He is dancing and crackling +and crying to all of us, ‘Happy New Year, +Happy New Year!’”</p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<a name="bk4chap03" id="bk4chap03"></a> +<span class="i0">Let others looke for Pearle and Gold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tissues, or Tabbies manifold;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One only lock of that sweet Hay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whereon the blessed Babie lay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or one poore Swadling-clout, shall be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The richest New-Yeere’s Gift to me.<br /></span> +<span class="poet">Robert Herrick.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>249]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="bk4chap04" id="bk4chap04"></a>THE QUEEN OF THE YEAR</h3> + + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When suns are low and nights are long<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And winds bring wild alarms,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through the darkness comes the Queen of the Year<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In all her peerless charms,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">December, fair and holly-crowned,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With the Christ-child in her arms.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The maiden months are a stately train,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Veiled in the spotless snow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or decked with the bloom of Paradise<br /></span> +<span class="i1">What time the roses blow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or wreathed with the vine and the yellow wheat<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When the noons of harvest glow.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But, oh, the joy of the rolling year,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The queen with peerless charms,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is she who comes through the waning light<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To keep the world from harms,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">December, fair and holly-crowned,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With the Christ-child in her arms.<br /></span> +<span class="poet">Edna Dean Proctor.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>250]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="bk4chap05" id="bk4chap05"></a>THE NEW YEAR’S BELL</h3> + +<p class="center smcap">Andrea Hofer Proudfoot</p> + + +<p>A-ring-a-ring, ring! A-ring-a-ring, ring!</p> + +<p>“Brother Carl, wake up! wake up! Don’t +you hear the great bell? Father is ringing the +New Year in, don’t you hear it, little Carl? +Wake up!”</p> + +<p>Tangled-haired little Carl sat up in bed, +rubbed his eyes, and after a few winks opened +them wide.</p> + +<p>“Is it the wind, brother Hans, that sings +so?”</p> + +<p>“No, no! It is the great bell; don’t you hear +it ring? It is ringing for the New Year.”</p> + +<p>“Is father drawing the rope?” asked the little +one.</p> + +<p>“Of course he is, little Carl; he is waking +up the whole world that every one may wish a +‘Happy New Year.’ Come, let us go to the +window.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>251]</a></span> +And the two little fellows crept out of their +warm nest onto the cold floor, and over to the +window in the gable.</p> + +<p>“Oh, see, there is father’s lantern in the +steeple window!” cried Carl.</p> + +<p>It threw its light into the frosty night; the +clear stars cut sharp holes in the sky, and the +air was so cold it made everything glisten.</p> + +<p>A-ring-a-ring, ring! clanged the great bell, +and little Hans and Carl knew their father’s +arms were making it ring. The strokes were +so strong that each one made little half-asleep +Carl wink; and the stars seemed to wink back +to him each time. He crept closer to Hans, +and the two stood still with their arms about +each other; the room was quite cold, but they +did not mind it, for with each stroke the great +bell seemed to ring more beautifully. It +seemed so near them, as if ringing right in +their ears, and the two little boys stood and +listened with beating hearts.</p> + +<p>“I saw dear father trim his lantern,” whispered +Hans. “He set it near the door before +we went to bed, all ready to light when the +clock struck twelve. Mother said to him as +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>252]</a></span> +he put the lantern there, ‘Ring the bell good +and strong, dear father, for who knows but +this year may bring the great blessing which +the Christ-child promised!’ We must watch +for it, little Carl.”</p> + +<p>And the old bell seemed to speak louder +and clearer to the little ones, as they eagerly +listened for what it was telling.</p> + +<p>“Father says the bell will never ring from +the old tower again, for the new one is being +built,” said Hans. “And what do you think, +brother Carl, our dear mother wept because +the old steeple must be broken down, and the +dear bell, that is even now a-ringing, must be +put into another great tower to ring.”</p> + +<p>“Does the great bell know it, brother?”</p> + +<p>“No, dear little Carl; but no matter where +it is put it will always ring, and be glad to +wake the village for the New Year.”</p> + +<p>“Will we go and say good-bye to the dear +old bell, brother Hans?” whispered little Carl.</p> + +<p>“Yes, brother mine; when it is day we will +go, for it has rung so many times for us.”</p> + +<p>They crept out of the cold into their snug +bed again, and the great strokes poured from +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>253]</a></span> +the tower window long after the little curly +heads were full of dreams.</p> + +<p>“Wake up, brother Hans! there is the +sun.”</p> + +<p>This time little Carl was the first to arise. +Quickly they were both dressed, and, opening +their door noiselessly, they went down the narrow +stairs on tiptoe, and then out into the open +air.</p> + +<p>A swift wind was blowing. It swept over +the bare bushes and whirled the snow into the +children’s faces, and filled their curly hair +with flakes. But the sun was smiling down on +them and said: “See what a beautiful day I +brought for a New Year’s gift to you!”</p> + +<p>And the little ones passed through the +church door, that was always open, and into +the belfry tower. They knew the way, for +father had so often taken them with him.</p> + +<p>They came to the long, dark ladder-way; +but they did not mind the dark—for they knew +the bell was at the top, and they bravely began +to climb.</p> + +<p>Hans had wooden shoes, so he left them at +the foot of the ladder. It is so much easier to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>254]</a></span> +climb a ladder with bare feet. Besides, he +hardly felt the cold he was such a quick and +lively little boy.</p> + +<p>Carl went ahead that brother Hans might +the more easily help him. They climbed, up +and up, and the brave big brother talked merrily +all the time, to keep little Carl from thinking +of the long, long way. Up and up they +went. It became darker and darker. Little +Carl led on and on, and he was glad that Hans +was behind him.</p> + +<p>All at once a bright gleam of light greeted +them from above, and they knew that soon +they would be with the dear old bell.</p> + +<p>Through the opening they crept, and there +the great bell hung and they stood beneath it. +Hans could just touch it, and he felt its long +tongue and saw the shining marks on its sides +where it had struck in clanging for many, +many years.</p> + +<p>It was very cold in the belfry. Little Carl +tucked his hands under his blouse and gazed +at the bell, while Hans explained to him what +made the music and the great tolling tones that +came from it.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>255]</a></span> +“The whole world loves the great bell, +brother Carl,” said Hans. “Mother thinks +that last night it rang in the great blessing +which the Christ-child had promised.”</p> + +<p>“What did the little Christ-child promise, +brother?”</p> + +<p>“Don’t you remember, little Carl? Mother +told us that the Christ-child would send little +children a beautiful gift; I think it must +be the New Year that he has sent, for that is +what the old bell brought to us last night.”</p> + +<p>And Hans lifted little Carl, and he kissed +the beautiful bell on its great round lip, and +the bell was still warm from its long ringing.</p> + +<p>And they stood and looked at the bell quietly +for a long time. And then they said, “Good-bye, +dear great bell,” and they went down the +dark ladder again.</p> + +<p>Hans put on his wooden shoes at the foot +of the ladder, and with flying feet they crossed +the church garden, and there stood the dear +mother in the door looking for them. She had +found their little bed empty, and was just starting +out to find them.</p> + +<p>“Dear Mother, we have been in the tower to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>256]</a></span> +thank the great bell for bringing the New +Year,” cried Hans.</p> + +<p>“Did the Christ-child send it, Mother?” +asked little Carl.</p> + +<p>The mother stooped and put her arms about +them and kissed them both. As she led them +into the room she said, “Yes, my little ones, the +Christ-child sends the New Year.”</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h3><a name="bk4chap06" id="bk4chap06"></a>THE NEW YEAR</h3> + + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Snow-wrapped and holly-decked it comes,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To richest and to poorest homes.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Twelve jeweled months all set with days<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of priceless opportunities.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A silver moon, a golden sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With diamond stars when day is done;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Over all a sapphire sky<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where pearly clouds go floating by.<br /></span> +<span class="i8">(<i>Selected.</i>)<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>257]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="bk4chap07" id="bk4chap07"></a>THE CHILD AND THE YEAR</h3> + + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Said the child to the youthful year:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">“What hast thou in store for me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O giver of beautiful gifts! what cheer,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">What joy dost thou bring with thee?”<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“My seasons four shall bring<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Their treasures: the winter’s snows,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The autumn’s store, and the flowers of spring,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the summer’s perfect rose.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“All these and more shall be thine,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Dear child—but the last and best<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thyself must earn by a strife divine,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">If thou wouldst be truly blest.”<br /></span> +<span class="poet">Celia Thaxter.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>258]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="bk4chap08" id="bk4chap08"></a>A MASQUE OF THE DAYS</h3> + +<p class="center smcap">Charles Lamb</p> + + +<p>The Old Year being dead, and the New Year +coming of age, which he does, by calendar law +as soon as the breath is out of the old gentleman’s +body, nothing would serve the young +spark, but he must give a dinner upon the occasion, +to which all the Days in the year were +invited. The Festivals, whom he deputed as +his stewards, were mightily taken with the notion. +They had been engaged time out of +mind, they said, in providing mirth and good +cheer for mortals below, and it was time they +should have a taste of their own bounty.</p> + +<p>It was stiffly debated among them whether +the Fasts should be admitted. Some said the +appearance of such lean, starved guests, with +their mortified faces, would pervert the ends +of the meeting. But the objection was overruled +by Christmas Day, who had a design +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>259]</a></span> +upon Ash Wednesday (as you shall hear), and +a mighty desire to see how the old Domine +would behave himself in his cups. Only the +Vigils were requested to come with their lanterns +to light the gentlefolk home at night.</p> + +<p>All the Days came. Covers were provided +for three hundred and sixty-five guests at the +principal table; with an occasional knife and +fork at the sideboard for the Twenty-ninth of +February.</p> + +<p>Cards of invitation had been issued. The +carriers were the Hours; twelve little, merry, +whirligig foot-pages that went all round and +found out the person invited, with the exception +of Easter Day, Shrove Tuesday, and a few +such movables, who had lately shifted their +quarters.</p> + +<p>Well, they all met at last, foul Days, fine +Days, all sorts of Days, and a rare din they +made of it. There was nothing but “Hail, fellow +Day! well met!” only Lady Day seemed +a little scornful. Yet some said Twelfth Day +cut her out, for she came all royal and glittering +and Epiphanous. The rest came in green, +some in white, but old Lent and his family +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>260]</a></span> +were not yet out of mourning. Rainy Days +came in dripping, and Sunshiny Days laughing. +Wedding Day was there in marriage +finery. Pay Day came late, and Doomsday +sent word he might be expected.</p> + +<p>April Fool took upon himself to marshal +the guests, and May Day, with that sweetness +peculiar to her, proposed the health of the +host. This being done, the lordly New Year, +from the upper end of the table, returned +thanks. Ash Wednesday, being now called +upon for a song, struck up a carol, which +Christmas Day had taught him. Shrovetide, +Lord Mayor’s Day, and April Fool next +joined in a glee, in which all the Days, chiming +in, made a merry burden.</p> + +<p>All this while Valentine’s Day kept courting +pretty May, who sat next him, slipping +amorous billet-doux under the table till the +Dog Days began to be jealous and to bark and +rage exceedingly.</p> + +<p>At last the Days called for their cloaks and +great-coats, and took their leave. Shortest +Day went off in a deep black fog that wrapped +the little gentleman all round. Two Vigils—so +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>261]</a></span> +watchmen are called in Heaven—saw +Christmas Day safe home; they had been used +to the business before. Another Vigil—a +stout, sturdy patrol, called the Eve of St. +Christopher—seeing Ash Wednesday in a condition +little better than he should be, e’en +whipt him over his shoulders, pick-a-pack +fashion, and he went floating home, singing:</p> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“On the bat’s back do I fly,”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>and a number of old snatches besides. Longest +Day set off westward in beautiful crimson +and gold; the rest, some in one fashion, some +in another; but Valentine and pretty May took +their departure together in one of the prettiest +silvery twilights a Lover’s Day could wish to +set in.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>262]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="bk4chap09" id="bk4chap09"></a>RING OUT, WILD BELLS</h3> + + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The flying cloud, the frosty light:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The year is dying in the night;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ring out the old, ring in the new,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ring, happy bells, across the snow:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The year is going, let him go;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ring out the false, ring in the true.<br /></span> +<span class="poet">Alfred Tennyson.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263"><!-- no visible page number --></a></span></p> + +<h2 class="padtop"><a name="book5" id="book5"></a>MIDWINTER</h2> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>264]</a></span></p> + +<h3 class="padtop"><a name="bk5chap01" id="bk5chap01"></a>THE BELLS</h3> + + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Hear the sledges with the bells—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Silver bells!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What a world of merriment their melody foretells!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">In the icy air of night!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">While the stars, that oversprinkle<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All the heavens, seem to twinkle<br /></span> +<span class="i3">With a crystalline delight;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Keeping time, time, time,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In a sort of Runic rhyme,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From the bells, bells, bells—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Bells, bells, bells—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.<br /></span> +<span class="poet">Edgar Allen Poe.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>265]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="bk5chap02" id="bk5chap02"></a>A JANUARY THAW</h3> + +<p class="center smcap">Dallas Lore Sharp</p> + + +<p>It was the twenty-first of January—the dead +of winter! The stubborn cold had had the +out of doors under lock and key since Thanksgiving +Day. We were having a hard winter, +and the novelty of the thing was beginning to +wear off—to us grown-ups anyhow, and to the +birds and wild things which for weeks had +found scant picking over the ice and snow. +But I was snug enough in my upstairs study, +when suddenly the door opened and four bebundled +boys stood before me, with an axe, +a long-handled shovel, a basket, and, evidently, +a big secret.</p> + +<p>“Come on, father,” they whispered (as if +she hadn’t heard them clomping with their +kit through the house!), “it’s mother’s birthday +to-morrow, and we’re going after the flowers.”</p> + +<p>“Going to chop them down with the axe or +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>266]</a></span> +dig them up with the shovel?” I asked. “Going +to give her a nice bunch of frost-flowers? +Better get the ice-saw then, for we’ll need a +big block of ice to stick their stems in.”</p> + +<p>“Hurry,” they answered, dropping my hip-boots +on the floor. “Here are your scuffs.”</p> + +<p>I hurried, and soon the five of us, in single +file were out on the meadow, the dry snow +squeaking under our feet, while the little +winds, capering spitefully about us, blew the +snow-dust into our faces or catching up the +thin drifts sent them whirling like waltzing +wraiths of dancers over the meadow’s glittering +floor.</p> + +<p>I was beginning to warm up a little, but it +was a numb, stiff world about us, and bleak +and stark, a world all black and white, for +there was not even blue overhead. The white +underfoot ran off to meet the black of the +woods, and the woods in turn stood dark +against a sky so heavy with snow that it +seemed to shut us into some vast snow cave. +A crow flapping over drew a black pencil line +across the picture—the one sign of life besides +ourselves that we could see. Only small boys +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>267]</a></span> +are likely to leave their firesides on such a day—only +small boys, and those men who can’t +grow up. Yet never before, perhaps, had even +they gone out on such a tramp with an axe, a +shovel, and a basket, to pick flowers!</p> + +<p>Suddenly one of the boys dashed off, crying: +“Let’s go see if the muskrats have gone to bed +yet!” and, trailing after him, we made for a +little mound that stood about three feet high +out in the meadow, more like a big ant hill or +a small, snow-piled haycock, than a lodge of +any sort. Only a practiced eye could have +seen it, and only a lover of bleak days would +have known what might be alive in there.</p> + +<p>We crept up softly and surrounded the +lodge; then with the axe we struck the frozen, +flinty roof several ringing blows. Instantly +one-two-three muffled, splashy “plunks” were +heard as three little muskrats, frightened out +of their naps and half out of their wits, +plunged into the open water of their doorways +from off their damp, but cosy couch.</p> + +<p>It was a mean thing to do—but not very +mean as wild animal life goes. And it did +warm me up so, in spite of the chilly plunge +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>268]</a></span> +the little sleepers took! Chilly to them? Not +at all and that is why it warmed me. To hear +the splash of water down under the two feet +of ice and snow that sealed the meadow like +a sheet of steel! To hear the sounds of stirring +life, and to picture that snug, steaming bed on +the top of a tough old tussock, with its open +water-doors leading into freedom and plenty +below! “Why, it won’t be long before the arbutus +is in bloom,” I began to think. I looked +at the axe and the shovel and said to myself, +“Well, the boys may know what they are +doing after all, though three muskrats do not +make a spring.”</p> + +<p>We had cut back to our path, but had not +gone ten paces along it before another boy was +off to the left in the direction of a piece of +maple swamp.</p> + +<p>“He’s going to see if ‘Hairy’ is in his hole,” +they informed me, and we all took after him. +The “hole” was almost twenty-five feet up in +a dead oak stub that had blown off and lodged +against a live tree. The meadow had been +bleak and wind-swept, but the swamp was +naked and dead, filled with ice and touched +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>269]</a></span> +with a most forbidding emptiness and stillness. +I was getting cold again, when the boy +ahead tapped lightly on the old stub, and at +the empty hole appeared a head—a fierce +black and white head, a sharp, long beak, a +flashing eye—as “Hairy” came forth to fight +for his castle. He was too wise a fighter to +tackle all of us, however, so, slipping out, he +spread his wings and galloped off with a loud, +wild call that set all the swamp to ringing.</p> + +<p>It was a thrilling, defiant challenge that set +my blood to leaping again. Black and white, +he was a part of the picture, but there was a +scarlet band at the nape of his neck that, like +his call, had fire in it and the warmth of life.</p> + +<p>As his woodpecker shout went booming +through the hollow halls of the swamp, it woke +a blue jay who squalled back from a clump of +pines, then wavering out into the open on curious +wings—flashing ice-blue and snow-white +wings—he dived into the covert of pines +again; and faint, as if from beyond the swamp, +the cheep of chickadees! Here a little troop +of them came to peep into the racket, curious +but not excited, discussing the disturbance of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>270]</a></span> +the solemn swamp in that desultory, sewing-bee +fashion of theirs, as if nipping off threads +and squinting through needle-eyes between +their running comment.</p> + +<p>They, too, were grey and black, grey as the +swamp beeches, black as the spotted bark of +the birches. And how tiny! But——</p> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Here was this atom in full breath<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hurling defiance at vast death—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This scrap of valour just for play<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fronts the north wind in waistcoat grey.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>And this, also, is what Emerson says he sings,</p> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Good day, good sir!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fine afternoon, old passenger!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Happy to meet you in these places<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where January brings few faces.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>And as I brought to mind the poet’s lines, I +forgot to shiver, and quite warmed up again +to the idea of flowers, especially as one of the +boys just then brought up a spray of green +holly with a burning red berry on it!</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>271]</a></span> +We were tacking again to get back on our +course, and had got into the edge of the swamp +among the pines when the boy with the shovel +began to study the ground and the trees with a +searching eye, moving forward and back as if +trying to find the location of something.</p> + +<p>“Here it is,” he said, and set in digging +through the snow at the foot of a big pine. I +knew what he was after. It was gold thread, +and here was the only spot, in all the woods +about, where we had ever found it—a spot not +larger than the top of a dining-room table.</p> + +<p>Soon we had a fistful of the delicate plants +with their evergreen leaflets and long, golden +thread-like roots, that mixed with the red and +green of the partridge berry in a finger-bowl +makes a cheerful little winter bouquet. And +here with the gold thread, about the butt of +the pine, was the partridge berry, too, the +dainty vines strung with the beads which +seemed to burn holes in the snow that had covered +and banked the tiny fires.</p> + +<p>For this is all that the ice and snow had +done. The winter had come with wind +enough to blow out every flame in the maple +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>272]</a></span> +tops, and with snow enough to smother every +little fire in the peat bogs of the swamp; but +peat fires are hard to put out, and here and +everywhere the winter had only banked the +fires of summer. Dig down through the snow +ashes anywhere and the smouldering fires of +life burst into blaze.</p> + +<p>But the boy with the axe had gone on ahead. +And we were off again after him, stopping to +get a great armful of black alder branches that +were literally aflame with red berries.</p> + +<p>We were climbing a piny knoll when almost +at our feet, jumping us nearly out of our skins, +and warming the very roots of our hair, was +a burrrr—burrrr—burrrr—burrrr—four big +partridges—as if four big snow mines had exploded +under us, hurling bunches of brown on +graceful scaling wings over the dip of the +hills!</p> + +<p>On we went up over the knoll and down into +a low bog where, in the summer, we gather +high-bush blueberries, the boy with the axe +leading the way and going straight across the +ice toward the middle of the bog.</p> + +<p>My eye was keen for signs, and soon I saw +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>273]</a></span> +he was heading for a sweet-pepper bush with +a broken branch. My eye took in another bush +off a little to the right with a broken branch. +The boy with the axe walked up to the broken +sweet-pepper bush and drew a line on the ice +between it and the bush off on the right, pacing +along this line till he got the middle; then +he started at right angles from it and paced off +a line to a clump of cat-tails sticking up +through the ice of the flooded bog. Halfway +back on this line he stopped, threw off his coat +and began to chop a hole about two feet square +in the ice. Removing the block while I looked +on, he rolled up his sleeve and reached down +the length of his arm through the icy water.</p> + +<p>“Give me the shovel,” he said, “it’s down +here,” and with a few deep, dexterous cuts +soon brought to the surface a beautiful cluster +of pitcher plants, the strange, almost uncanny +leaves filled with muddy water, but +every pitcher of them intact, shaped and +veined and tinted by a master potter’s hand.</p> + +<p>We wrapped it all carefully in newspapers, +and put it in the basket, starting back with our +bouquet as cheerful and as full of joy in the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>274]</a></span> +season as we could possibly have been in June.</p> + +<p>No, I did not say that we love January as +much as we love June. January here in New +England is a mixture of rheumatism, chillblains, +frozen water pipes, mittens, overshoes, +blocked trains, and automobile troubles by the +hoodsful, whereas any automobile will run in +June. I have not room in this essay to tell all +that June is; besides, this is a story of January.</p> + +<p>What I was saying is that we started home +all abloom with our pitcher plants, and gold +thread, and partridge berry, and holly, and +black alder, all aglow inside with our vigorous +tramp, with the grey, grave beauty of the +landscape, with the stern joy of meeting and +beating the cold, and with the signs of life—of +the cosy muskrats in their lodge beneath the +ice cap on the meadow; with the hairy woodpecker +in his deep, warm hole in the heart of +the tree; with the red-warm berries in our +basket; with the chirping, the conquering +chickadee accompanying us and singing—</p> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“For well the soul, if stout within,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Can arm impregnably the skin;<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>275]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And polar frost my form defied<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Made of the air that blows outside.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>And actually as we came over the bleak +meadow one of the boys said he thought he +heard a song sparrow singing; and I thought +the pussywillows by the brook had opened a +little since we passed them coming out; and +we all declared the weather had changed, and +that there were signs of a break-up. But the +thermometer stood at fifteen above zero when +we got home—one degree colder than when +we started! So we concluded that the January +thaw must have come off inside of us; +and if the colour of the four glowing faces is +any sign, that was the correct reading of the +weather.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>276]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="bk5chap03" id="bk5chap03"></a>THE SNOW MAN</h3> + +<p class="center smcap">Hans Christian Andersen</p> + + +<p>“It is so wonderfully cold that my whole body +crackles!” said the Snow Man. “This is a +kind of wind that can blow life into one; and +how the gleaming one up yonder is staring at +me.” That was the sun he meant, which was +just about to set. “It shall not make me wink—I +shall manage to keep the pieces.”</p> + +<p>He had two triangular pieces of tile in his +head instead of eyes. His mouth was made of +an old rake, and consequently was furnished +with teeth.</p> + +<p>He had been born amid the joyous shouts of +the boys, and welcomed by the sound of sledge +bells and the slashing of whips.</p> + +<p>The sun went down, and the full moon rose, +round, large, clear, and beautiful in the blue +air.</p> + +<p>“There it comes again from the other side,” +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>277]</a></span> +said the Snow Man. He intended to say the +sun is showing himself again.</p> + +<p>“Ah! I have cured him of staring. Now +let him hang up there and shine, that I may +see myself. If I only knew how I could manage +to move from this place, I should like so +much to move. If I could, I would slide along +yonder on the ice, just as I see the boys slide; +but I don’t understand it; I don’t know how to +run.”</p> + +<p>“Away! away!” barked the old Yard Dog. +He was quite hoarse, and could not pronounce +the genuine “Bow, wow.” He had got the +hoarseness from the time when he was an indoor +dog, and lay by the fire. “The sun will +teach you to run! I saw that last winter in +your predecessor, and before that in his predecessor. +Away! away! and away they all go.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t understand you, comrade,” said the +Snow Man.</p> + +<p>“That thing up yonder is to teach me to +run?” He meant the moon. “Yes, it comes +creeping from the other side.”</p> + +<p>“You know nothing at all,” retorted the +Yard Dog. “But then you’ve only just been +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>278]</a></span> +patched up. What you see yonder is the moon, +and the one that went before the sun. It will +come again to-morrow, and will teach you to +run down into the ditch by the wall. We +shall soon have a change of weather; I can feel +that in my left hind leg, for it pricks and pains +me; the weather is going to change.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t understand him,” said the Snow +Man; “but I have a feeling that he’s talking +about something disagreeable. The one who +stared so just now, and whom he called the +sun, is not my friend. I can feel that.”</p> + +<p>“Away! Away!” barked the Yard Dog. +“They told me I was a pretty little fellow: +then I used to lie in a chair covered with velvet, +up in master’s house, and sit in the lap of +the mistress of all. They used to kiss my nose, +and wipe my paws with an embroidered handkerchief. +I was called ‘Ami—dear Ami—sweet +Ami——.’ But afterward I grew too +big for them, and they gave me away to the +housekeeper. So I came to live in the basement +story. You can look into that from +where you are standing, and you can see into +the room where I was master; for I was master +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>279]</a></span> +at the housekeeper’s. It was certainly a +smaller place than upstairs, but I was more +comfortable and was not continually taken +hold of and pulled about by children as I had +been. I received just as much good food as +ever, and even better. I had my own cushion, +and there was a stove, the finest thing in the +world at this season. I went under the stove, +and could lie down quite beneath it. Ah! I +will sometimes dream of that stove. Away! +Away!”</p> + +<p>“Does a stove look so beautiful?” asked the +Snow Man. “Is it at all like me?”</p> + +<p>“It’s just the reverse of you. It’s as black as +a crow, and has a long neck and a brazen +drum. It eats firewood, so that the fire spurts +out of its mouth. One must keep at its side +or under it, and there one is very comfortable. +You can see it through the window from where +you stand.”</p> + +<p>And the Snow Man looked and saw a bright, +polished thing, with a brazen drum, and the +fire gleamed from the lower part of it. The +Snow Man felt quite strangely; an odd emotion +came over him; he knew not what it +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>280]</a></span> +meant, and could not account for it, but +all people who are not men know the feeling.</p> + +<p>“And why did you leave her?” asked the +Snow Man, for it seemed to him that the stove +must be of the female sex.</p> + +<p>“How could you quit such a comfortable +place?”</p> + +<p>“I was obliged,” replied the Yard Dog. +“They turned me out of doors, and chained +me up here. I had bitten the youngest young +master in the leg, because he kicked away the +bone I was gnawing. ‘Bone for bone,’ I +thought. They took that very much amiss, +and from that time I have been fastened to a +chain and have lost my voice. Don’t you hear +how hoarse I am? Away! away! I can’t talk +any more like other dogs. Away! away! That +was the end of the affair.”</p> + +<p>But the Snow Man was no longer listening +at him. He was looking in at the housekeeper’s +basement lodging, into the room where the +stove stood on its four legs, just the same size +as the Snow Man himself.</p> + +<p>“What a strange crackling within me!” he +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>281]</a></span> +said. “Shall I ever get in there? It is an innocent +wish, and our innocent wishes are certain +to be fulfilled. I must go in there and +lean against her, even if I have to break +through the window.”</p> + +<p>“You’ll never get in there,” said the Yard +Dog; “and if you approach the stove you’ll +melt away—away!”</p> + +<p>“I am as good as gone,” replied the Snow +Man. “I think I am breaking up.”</p> + +<p>The whole day the Snow Man stood looking +in through the window. In the twilight hour +the room became still more inviting; from the +stove came a mild gleam, not like the sun nor +like the moon; it was only as the stove can +glow when he has something to eat. When the +room door opened the flame started out of his +mouth; this was a habit the stove had. The +flame fell distinctly on the white face of the +Snow Man, and gleamed red upon his bosom.</p> + +<p>“I can endure it no longer,” said he. “How +beautiful it looks when it stretches out its +tongue!”</p> + +<p>The night was long; but it did not appear +long to the Snow Man, who stood there lost in +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>282]</a></span> +his own charming reflections, crackling with +the cold.</p> + +<p>In the morning the window-panes of the +basement lodging were covered with ice. +They bore the most beautiful ice flowers that +any snow man could desire; but they concealed +the stove, which he pictured to himself as a +lovely female. It crackled and whistled in +him and around him; it was just the kind of +frosty weather a snow man must thoroughly +enjoy.</p> + +<p>But he did not enjoy it; and, indeed, how +could he enjoy himself when he was stove-sick?</p> + +<p>“That’s a terrible disease for a Snow Man,” +said the Yard Dog. “I have suffered from it +myself, but I got over it. Away! away!” he +barked; and he added, “the weather is going to +change.”</p> + +<p>And the weather did change; it began to +thaw. The warmth increased, and the Snow +Man decreased. He made no complaint—and +that’s an infallible sign.</p> + +<p>One morning he broke down. And, behold, +where he had stood, something like a broomstick +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>283]</a></span> +remained sticking up out of the ground. +It was the pole around which the boys had +built him up.</p> + +<p>“Ah! now I can understand why he had such +an intense longing,” said the Yard Dog. +“Why, there’s a shovel for cleaning out the +stove-rake in his body, and that’s what moved +within him. Now he has got over that, too. +Away, away!”</p> + +<p>And soon they had got over the winter.</p> + +<p>“Away! away!” barked the hoarse Yard +Dog. And nobody thought any more of the +Snow Man.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>284]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="bk5chap04" id="bk5chap04"></a>THE HAPPY PRINCE</h3> + +<p class="center smcap">Oscar Wilde</p> + + +<p>High above the city, on a tall column, stood +the statue of the Happy Prince. He was +gilded all over with thin leaves of fine gold, +for eyes he had two bright sapphires, and a +large red ruby glowed on his sword-hilt. He +was very much admired, indeed.</p> + +<p>“He is as beautiful as a weathercock,” remarked +one of the Town Councillors who +wished to gain a reputation for having artistic +taste. “Only not quite so useful,” he added, +fearing lest people should think him unpractical, +which he really was not.</p> + +<p>“Why can’t you be like the Happy Prince?” +asked a sensible mother of her little boy who +was crying for the moon.</p> + +<p>“The Happy Prince never dreams of crying +for anything.”</p> + +<p>“I am glad there is some one in the world +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>285]</a></span> +who is quite happy,” muttered a disappointed +man, as he gazed at the wonderful statue.</p> + +<p>“He looks just like an angel,” said the charity +children, as they came out of the cathedral +in their bright scarlet cloaks and their clean +white pinafores.</p> + +<p>“How do you know?” said Mathematical +Master. “You have never seen one.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! but we have in our dreams,” answered +the children; and the Mathematical Master +frowned and looked very severe, for he did not +approve of children dreaming.</p> + +<p>One night there flew over the city a little +Swallow. His friends had gone away to +Egypt six weeks before, but he had stayed behind, +for he was in love with the most beautiful +Reed. He had met her early in the spring +as he was flying down the river after a big yellow +moth, and had been so attracted by her +slender waist that he had stopped to talk to +her.</p> + +<p>“Shall I love you?” said the Swallow, who +liked to come to the point at once, and the +Reed made him a low bow. So he flew round +and round her, touching the water with his +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>286]</a></span> +wings, and making silver ripples. This was +his courtship, and it lasted all through the +summer.</p> + +<p>“It is a ridiculous attachment,” twittered +the other Swallows, “she has no money, and +far too many relations”; and, indeed, the river +was quite full of Reeds. Then, when the autumn +came, they all flew away.</p> + +<p>After they had gone he felt lonely, and began +to tire of his lady-love. “She has no conversation,” +he said, “and I am afraid that she +is a coquette, for she is always flirting with the +wind.” And, certainly, whenever the wind +blew, the Reed made the most graceful curtsies.</p> + +<p>“I admit that she is domestic,” he continued, +“but I love traveling, and my wife, consequently, +should love traveling, also.”</p> + +<p>“Will you come away with me?” he said +finally to her; but the Reed shook her head, +she was so attached to her home.</p> + +<p>“You have been trifling with me,” he cried. +“I am off to the Pyramids. Good-bye!” and +he flew away.</p> + +<p>All day long he flew, and at night-time he +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>287]</a></span> +arrived at the city. “Where shall I put up?” +he said; “I hope the town has made preparations.”</p> + +<p>Then he saw the statue on the tall column. +“I will put up there,” he cried; “it is a fine +position with plenty of fresh air.” So he +alighted just between the feet of the Happy +Prince.</p> + +<p>“I have a golden bedroom,” he said softly +to himself, as he looked round, and he prepared +to go to sleep; but just as he was putting +his head under his wing a large drop of water +fell on him. “What a curious thing!” he cried, +“there is not a single cloud in the sky, +the stars are quite clear and bright, and yet it +is raining. The climate in the north of Europe +is really dreadful. The Reed used to like +the rain, but that was merely her selfishness.”</p> + +<p>Then another drop fell.</p> + +<p>“What is the use of a statue if it cannot keep +the rain off?” he said. “I must look for a +good chimney-pot,” and he determined to fly +away.</p> + +<p>But before he had opened his wings a third +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>288]</a></span> +drop fell, and he looked up, and saw—Ah! +what did he see?</p> + +<p>The eyes of the Happy Prince were filled +with tears, and tears were running down his +golden cheeks. His face was so beautiful in +the moonlight that the little Swallow was filled +with pity.</p> + +<p>“Who are you?” he said.</p> + +<p>“I am the Happy Prince.”</p> + +<p>“Why are you weeping then?” asked the +Swallow; “you have quite drenched me.”</p> + +<p>“When I was alive and had a human heart,” +answered the statue, “I did not know what +tears were, for I lived in the Palace of Sans-Souci, +where sorrow is not allowed to enter. +In the daytime I played with my companions +in the garden, and in the evening I led the +dance in the Great Hall. Round the garden +ran a very lofty wall, but I never cared to +ask what lay beyond it, everything about me +was so beautiful. My courtiers called me the +Happy Prince, and happy, indeed, I was, if +pleasure be happiness. So I lived, and so I +died. And now that I am dead they have set +me up here so high that I can see all the ugliness +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>289]</a></span> +and all the misery of my city, and though +my heart is made of lead, yet I cannot choose +but weep.”</p> + +<p>“What, is he not solid gold?” said the Swallow +to himself. He was too polite to make +any personal remarks out loud.</p> + +<p>“Far away,” continued the statue in a low, +musical voice, “far away in a little street there +is a poor house. One of the windows is open, +and through it I can see a woman seated at a +table. Her face is thin and worn, and she has +coarse, red hands, all pricked by the needle, +for she is a seamstress. She is embroidering +passion-flowers on a satin gown for the loveliest +of the Queen’s maids-of-honour to wear +at the next Court-ball. In a bed in the corner +of the room her little boy is lying ill. He has +a fever, and is asking for oranges. His mother +has nothing to give him but water, so he is crying. +Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow, will +you not bring her the ruby out of my sword-hilt? +My feet are fastened to this pedestal +and I cannot move.”</p> + +<p>“I am waited for in Egypt,” said the Swallow. +“My friends are flying up and down the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>290]</a></span> +Nile, and talking to the large lotus-flowers. +Soon they will go to sleep in the tomb of the +great King. The King is there himself in his +painted coffin. He is wrapped in yellow +linen and embalmed with spices. Round his +neck is a chain of pale green jade, and his +hands are like withered leaves.”</p> + +<p>“Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,” said +the Prince, “will you not stay with me for one +night, and be my messenger? The boy is so +thirsty and the mother so sad.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t think I like boys,” answered the +Swallow. “Last summer, when I was staying +on the river, there were two rude boys, the +miller’s sons, who were always throwing stones +at me. They never hit me, of course; we swallows +fly far too well for that, and, besides, I +come of a family famous for its agility; but +still, it was a mark of disrespect.”</p> + +<p>But the Happy Prince looked so sad that the +little Swallow was sorry. “It is very cold +here,” he said; “but I will stay with you for +one night, and be your messenger.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you, little Swallow,” said the +Prince.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>291]</a></span> +So the Swallow picked out the great ruby +from the Prince’s sword, and flew away with +it in his beak over the roofs of the town.</p> + +<p>He passed by the cathedral tower, where the +white marble angels were sculptured. He +passed by the palace and heard the sound of +dancing. A beautiful girl came out on the +balcony with her lover. “How wonderful the +stars are,” he said to her, “and how wonderful +is the power of love!” “I hope my dress will +be ready in time for the State-ball,” she answered. +“I have ordered passion-flowers to +be embroidered on it; but the seamstresses are +so lazy.”</p> + +<p>He passed over the river, and saw the lanterns +hanging to the masts of the ships. He +passed over the Ghetto, and saw the old Jews +bargaining with each other, and weighing out +money in copper scales. At last he came to the +poor house and looked in. The boy was tossing +feverishly on his bed, and the mother had +fallen asleep, she was so tired. In he hopped, +and laid the great ruby on the table beside the +woman’s thimble. Then he flew gently round +the bed, fanning the boy’s forehead with his +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>292]</a></span> +wings. “How cool I feel,” said the boy, “I +must be getting better,” and he sank into a delicious +slumber.</p> + +<p>Then the Swallow flew back to the Happy +Prince, and told him what he had done. “It +is curious,” he remarked, “but I feel quite +warm now, although it is so cold.”</p> + +<p>“That is because you have done a good action,” +said the Prince. And the little Swallow +began to think, and then he fell asleep. +Thinking always made him sleepy.</p> + +<p>When day broke he flew down to the river +and had a bath. “What a remarkable phenomenon,” +said the professor of Ornithology +as he was passing over the bridge. “A swallow +in winter!” And he wrote a long letter +about it to the local newspaper. Everyone +quoted it; it was full of so many words that +they could not understand.</p> + +<p>“To-night I go to Egypt,” said the Swallow, +and he was in high spirits at the prospect. +He visited all the public monuments, and sat +a long time on top of the church steeple. +Wherever he went, Sparrows chirruped, and +said to each other, “What a distinguished +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>293]</a></span> +stranger!” so he enjoyed himself very much.</p> + +<p>When the moon rose he flew back to the +Happy Prince. “Have you any commissions +for Egypt?” he cried. “I am just starting.”</p> + +<p>“Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,” said +the Prince, “will you not stay with me one +night longer?”</p> + +<p>“I am waited for in Egypt,” answered the +Swallow. “To-morrow my friends will fly +up to the Second Cataract. The river-horse +couches there among the bulrushes, and on a +great granite throne sits the God Memnon. +All night long he watches the stars, and when +the morning star shines he utters one cry of +joy, and then he is silent. At noon the yellow +lions came down to the water’s edge to drink. +They have eyes like green beryls, and their +roar is louder than the roar of the cataract.”</p> + +<p>“Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,” said +the Prince, “far away across the city I see a +young man in a garret. He is leaning over a +desk covered with papers, and in a tumbler by +his side there is a bunch of withered violets. +His hair is brown and crisp, and his lips are +red as pomegranate, and he has large and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>294]</a></span> +dreamy eyes. He is trying to finish a play for +the Director of the Theater, but he is too cold +to write any more. There is no fire in the +grate, and hunger has made him faint.”</p> + +<p>“I will wait with you one night longer,” +said the Swallow, who really had a good heart. +“Shall I take him another ruby?”</p> + +<p>“Alas! I have no ruby now,” said the +Prince; “my eyes are all that I have left. +They are made of rare sapphires, which were +brought out of India a thousand years ago.</p> + +<p>“Pluck out one of them and take it to him. +He will sell it to the jeweller, and buy food +and firewood, and finish his play.”</p> + +<p>“Dear Prince,” said the Swallow, “I cannot +do that.”</p> + +<p>“Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,” said +the Prince, “do as I command you.”</p> + +<p>So the Swallow plucked out the Prince’s +eye, and flew away to the student’s garret. It +was easy enough to get in, as there was a hole +in the roof. Through this he darted, and came +into the room. The young man had his head +buried in his hands, so he did not hear the +flutter of the bird’s wings, and when he looked +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>295]</a></span> +up he found the beautiful sapphire lying on +the withered violets.</p> + +<p>“I am beginning to be appreciated,” he +cried; “this is from some great admirer. Now +I can finish my play,” and he looked quite +happy.</p> + +<p>The next day the Swallow flew down to the +harbour. He sat on the mast of a large vessel +and watched the sailors hauling big chests out +of the hold with ropes. “Heave a-hoy!” they +shouted, as each chest came up: “I am going to +Egypt!” cried the Swallow, but nobody +minded, and when the moon rose he flew back +to the Happy Prince.</p> + +<p>“I am come to bid you good-bye,” he cried.</p> + +<p>“Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,” said +the Prince, “will you not stay with me one +night longer?”</p> + +<p>“It is winter,” answered the Swallow, “and +the chill snow will soon be here. In Egypt +the sun is warm on the green palm-trees, and +the crocodiles lie in the mud and look lazily +about them. My companions are building +a nest in the Temple of Baalbec, and the pink +and white doves are watching them, and cooing +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>296]</a></span> +to each other. Dear Prince, I must leave +you, but I will never forget you, and next +spring I will bring you back two beautiful +jewels in place of those you have given away. +The ruby shall be redder than a rose, and the +sapphire shall be as blue as the great sea.”</p> + +<p>“In the square below,” said the Happy +Prince, “there stands a little match-girl. She +has let her matches fall in the gutter, and they +are all spoiled. Her father will beat her if +she does not bring home some money, and she +is crying. She has no shoes or stockings, and +her little head is bare. Pluck out my other +eye, and give it to her, and her father will not +beat her.”</p> + +<p>“I will stay with you one night longer,” +said the Swallow, “but I cannot pluck out your +eye. You would be quite blind then.”</p> + +<p>“Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,” said +the Prince, “do as I command you.”</p> + +<p>So he plucked out the Prince’s other eye and +darted down with it. He swooped past the +match-girl, and slipped the jewel into the +palm of her hand. “What a lovely bit of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>297]</a></span> +glass,” cried the little girl; and she ran home, +laughing.</p> + +<p>Then the Swallow came back to the Prince. +“You are blind now,” he said, “so I will stay +with you always.”</p> + +<p>“No, little Swallow,” said the poor Prince, +“you must go away to Egypt.”</p> + +<p>“I will stay with you always,” said the Swallow, +and he slept at the Prince’s feet.</p> + +<p>All the next day he sat on the Prince’s shoulder, +and told him stories of what he had seen +in strange lands. He told him of the red ibises, +who stand in long rows on the banks of +the Nile and catch gold-fish in their beaks; +of the Sphinx, who is as old as the world itself, +and lives in the desert, and knows everything; +of the merchants, who walk slowly by +the side of their camels, and carry amber beads +in their hands; of the King of the Mountains +of the moon, who is as black as ebony, and +worships a large crystal; of the great, green +snake that sleeps in a palm-tree, and has twenty +priests to feed it with honey cakes; and of the +pygmies who sail over a big lake on large, flat +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>298]</a></span> +leaves, and are always at war with the butterflies.</p> + +<p>“Dear little Swallow,” said the Prince, “you +tell me of marvelous things, but more marvelous +than anything is the suffering of men and +women. There is no Mystery so great as Misery. +Fly over my city, little Swallow, and tell +me what you see there.”</p> + +<p>So the Swallow flew over the great city, and +saw the rich making merry in their beautiful +houses, while the beggars were sitting at the +gates. He flew into the dark lanes, and saw +the white faces of starving children looking +out listlessly at the black streets. Under the +archway of a bridge two little boys were lying +in one another’s arms to try and keep themselves +warm.</p> + +<p>“How hungry we are!” they said.</p> + +<p>“You must not lie here,” shouted the watchman, +and they wandered out into the rain.</p> + +<p>Then he flew back and told the Prince what +he had seen.</p> + +<p>“I am covered with fine gold!” said the +Prince, “you must take it off, leaf by leaf, and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>299]</a></span> +give it to my poor; the living always think +that gold can make them happy.”</p> + +<p>Leaf after leaf of the fine gold the Swallow +picked off, till the Happy Prince looked quite +dull and grey. Leaf after leaf of the gold he +brought to the poor, and the children’s faces +grew rosier, and they laughed and played +games in the street. “We have bread now!” +they cried.</p> + +<p>Then the snow came, and after the snow +came the frost. The streets looked as if they +were made of silver, they were so bright and +glistening; long icicles, like crystal daggers, +hung down from the eaves of the houses, +everybody went about in furs, and the little +boys wore scarlet caps and skated on the ice.</p> + +<p>The poor little Swallow grew colder and +colder, but he would not leave the Prince; he +loved him too well. He picked up crumbs outside +the baker’s door when the baker was not +looking, and tried to keep himself warm by +flapping his wings.</p> + +<p>But at last he knew he was going to die. He +had just strength to fly up to the Prince’s shoulder +once more.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>300]</a></span> +“Good-bye, dear Prince!” he murmured. +“Will you let me kiss your hand?”</p> + +<p>“I am glad that you are going to Egypt at +last, little Swallow,” said the Prince. “You +have stayed too long here; but you must kiss +me on the lips; for I love you.”</p> + +<p>“It is not to Egypt that I am going,” said +the Swallow. “I am going to the House of +Death. Death is the brother of Sleep, is he +not?”</p> + +<p>And he kissed the Happy Prince on the lips, +and fell down dead at his feet. At that moment +a curious crack sounded inside the statue +as if something had broken. The fact is that +the leaden heart had snapped right in two. +It certainly was a dreadfully hard frost.</p> + +<p>Early the next morning the Mayor was +walking in the square below in company with +the Town Councillors. As they passed the +column he looked up at the statue. “Dear me! +how shabby the Happy Prince looks!” he said.</p> + +<p>“How shabby, indeed!” cried the Town +Councillors, who always agreed with the +Mayor, and they went up to look at it.</p> + +<p>“The ruby has fallen out of his sword, his +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>301]</a></span> +eyes are gone, and he is golden no longer,” +said the Mayor; “in fact, he is little better than +a beggar!”</p> + +<p>“Little better than a beggar,” said the Town +Councillors. “And here is actually a dead +bird at his feet!” continued the Mayor. “We +must really issue a proclamation that birds are +not to be allowed to die here.” And the Town +Clerk made a note of the suggestion.</p> + +<p>So they pulled down the statue of the Happy +Prince. “As he is no longer beautiful, he is +no longer useful,” said the Art Professor at +the University.</p> + +<p>Then they melted the statue in a furnace, +and the Mayor held a meeting of the Corporation +to decide what was to be done with the +metal. “We must have another statue, of +course,” he said, “and it shall be a statue of +myself.”</p> + +<p>“Of myself,” said each of the Town Councillors, +and they quarreled.</p> + +<p>“What a strange thing!” said the overseer +of the workmen at the foundry. “This broken +lead heart will not melt in the furnace. We +must throw it away.” So they threw it on a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>302]</a></span> +dust-heap where the dead swallow was also +lying.</p> + +<p>“Bring me the two most precious things in +the city,” said God to one of His angels; and +the angel brought Him the leaden heart and +the dead bird.</p> + +<p>“You have rightly chosen,” said God, “for +in my garden of Paradise this little bird shall +sing for evermore, and in my city of gold the +Happy Prince shall praise me.”</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>303]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="bk5chap05" id="bk5chap05"></a>THE LEGEND OF KING WENCESLAUS</h3> + +<p class="center smcap">(A Legend of Mercy)</p> + + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Good King Wenceslaus looked out<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On the Feast of Saint Stephen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the snow lay round about,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Deep and crisp and even.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>King Wenceslaus sat in his palace. He had +been watching from the narrow window of the +turret chamber where he was, the sunset as its +glory hung for a moment in the western +clouds, and then died away over the blue hills. +Calm and cold was the brightness. A freezing +haze came over the face of the land. The +moon brightened towards the southwest and +the leafless trees in the castle gardens and the +quaint turret and spires of the castle itself +threw clear dark shadows on the unspotted +snow.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>304]</a></span> +Still the king looked out upon the scene before +him. The ground sloped down from the +castle towards the forest. Here and there on +the side of the hill a few bushes grey with +moss broke the unvaried sheet of white. And +as the king turned his eye in that direction a +poor man came up to these bushes and pulled +something from them.</p> + +<p>“Come hither, page,” called the king. One +of the servants of the palace entered in answer +to the king’s call. “Come, my good Otto; +come stand by me. Do you see yonder poor +man on the hillside? Step down to him and +learn who he is and where he dwells and what +he is doing. Bring me word at once.”</p> + +<p>Otto went forth on his errand while the +good king watched him go down the hill. +Meanwhile, the frost grew more and more +intense and an east wind blew from the black +mountains. The snow became more crisp and +the air more clear. In a few moments the +messenger was back.</p> + +<p>“Well, who is he?”</p> + +<p>“Sire,” said Otto, “it is Rudolph, the swineherd,—he +that lives down by the Brunweis. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>305]</a></span> +Fire he has none, nor food, and he was gathering +a few sticks where he might find them, +lest, as he says, all his family perish with the +cold. It is a most bitter night, Sire.”</p> + +<p>“This should have been better looked to,” +said the king. “A grievous fault it is that it +has not been done. But it shall be amended +now. Go to the ewery, Otto, and fetch some +provisions of the best.</p> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Bring me flesh and bring me wine,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Bring me pine logs hither;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou and I will see him dine,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When we bear them hither.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>“Is your Majesty going forth?” asked +Otto in surprise.</p> + +<p>“Yes, to the Brunweis, and you shall go +with me. When you have everything ready +meet me at the wood-stacks by the little chapel. +Come, be speedy.”</p> + +<p>“I pray you, Sire, do not venture out yourself. +Let some of the men-at-arms go forth. +It is a freezing wind and the place is a good +league hence.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>306]</a></span> +“Nevertheless, I go,” said the king. “Go +with me, if you will, Otto; if not, stay. I can +carry the food myself.”</p> + +<p>“God forbid, Sire, that I should let you go +alone. But I pray you be persuaded.”</p> + +<p>“Not in this,” said King Wenceslaus. +“Meet me then where I said, and not a word to +any one besides.”</p> + +<p>The noblemen of the court were in the palace +hall, where a mighty fire went roaring up +the chimney and the shadows played and +danced on the steep sides of the dark roof. +Gayly they laughed and lightly they talked. +And as they threw fresh logs into the great +chimney-place one said to another that so bitter +a wind had never before been known in +the land. But in the midst of that freezing +night the king went forth.</p> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Page and Monarch forth they went,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Forth they went together;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through the rude wind’s wild lament,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the bitter weather.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>The king had put on no extra clothing to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>307]</a></span> +shelter himself from the nipping air; for he +would feel with the poor that he might feel +for them. On his shoulders he bore a heap of +logs for the swineherd’s fire. He stepped +briskly on while Otto followed with the provisions. +He had imitated his master and had +gone out in his common garments. On the +two trudged together, over the crisp snow, +across fields, by lanes where the hedge trees +were heavy with their white burden, past the +pool, over the stile where the rime clustered +thick by the wood, and on out upon the moor +where the snow lay yet more unbroken and +where the wind seemed to nip one’s very +heart.</p> + +<p>Still King Wenceslaus went on and still +Otto followed. The king thought it but little +to go forth into the frost and snow, remembering +Him who came into the cold night of +this world of ours; he disdained not, a king, +to go to the beggar, for had not the King of +King’s visited slaves? He grudged not, a king, +to carry logs on his shoulders, for had not the +Kings of Kings borne heavier burdens for his +sake?</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>308]</a></span> +But at each step Otto’s courage and zeal +failed. He tried to hold out with a good +heart. For very shame he did not wish to do +less than his master. How could he turn back, +while the king held on his way? But when +they came forth on the white, bleak moor, he +cried out with a faint heart:</p> + +<p>“My liege, I cannot go on. The wind +freezes my very blood. Pray you, let us +return.”</p> + +<p>“Seems it so much?” asked the king. “Follow +me on still. Only tread in my footsteps +and you will proceed more easily.”</p> + +<p>The servant knew that his master spoke not +at random. He carefully looked for the footsteps +of the king. He set his own feet in the +print of his master’s.</p> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“In the master’s steps he trod,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Where the snow lay dinted;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heat was in the very sod<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Which the saint had printed.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>And so great was the fire of love that kindled +in the heart of the king that, as the servant +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>309]</a></span> +trod in his steps, he gained life and heat. +Otto felt not the wind; he heeded not the +frost; for the master’s footprints glowed as +with holy fire and zealously he followed the +king on his errand of mercy.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>310]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="bk5chap06" id="bk5chap06"></a>MIDWINTER</h3> + + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The speckled sky is dim with snow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The light flakes falter and fall slow;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Athwart the hill-top, rapt and pale,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Silently drops a silvery veil;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all the valley is shut in<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By flickering curtains grey and thin.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But cheerily the chickadee<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Singeth to me on fence and tree;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The snow sails round him as he sings,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">White as the down of angels’ wings.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I watch the snowflakes as they fall<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On bank and briar and broken wall;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Over the orchard, waste and brown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All noiselessly they settle down,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tipping the apple-boughs, and each<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Light quivering twig of plum and peach.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>311]</a></span> +<span class="i0">On turf and curb and bower-roof<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The snowstorm spreads its ivory woof;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It paves with pearl the garden walk;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lovingly round tattered stalk<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And shivering stem, its magic weaves<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A mantle fair as lily-leaves.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The hooded beehive small and low,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stands like a maiden in the snow;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the old door-slab is half hid<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Under an alabaster lid.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">All day it snows; the sheeted post<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gleams in the dimness like a ghost;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All day the blasted oak has stood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A muffled wizard of the wood;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Garland and airy cap adorn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sumach and the wayside thorn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And clustering spangles lodge and shine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the dark tresses of the pine.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The ragged bramble dwarfed and old,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shrinks like a beggar in the cold;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In surplice white the cedar stands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And blesses him with priestly hands.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>312]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Still cheerily the chickadee<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Singeth to me on fence and tree:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But in my inmost ear is heard<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The music of a holier bird;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And heavenly thoughts as soft and white<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As snowflakes on my soul alight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Clothing with love my lonely heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Healing with peace each bruiséd part,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till all my being seems to be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Transfigured by their purity.<br /></span> +<span class="poet">John Townsend Trowbridge.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313"><!-- no visible page number --></a></span></p> + +<h2 class="padtop"><a name="book6" id="book6"></a>WHEN WINTER AND SPRING MET</h2> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>314]</a></span></p> + +<h3 class="padtop"><a name="bk6chap01" id="bk6chap01"></a>OLD WINTER</h3> + + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Old Winter sad, in snow yclad<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Is making a doleful din;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But let him howl till he crack his jowl,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">We will not let him in.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ay, let him lift from the billowy drift<br /></span> +<span class="i1">His hoary, haggard form,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And scowling stand, with his wrinkled hand<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Outstretching to the storm.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And let his weird and sleety beard<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Stream loose upon the blast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, rustling, chime to the tinkling rime<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From his bald head falling fast.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Let his baleful breath shed blight and death<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On herb and flower and tree;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And brooks and ponds in crystal bonds<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Bind fast, but what care we?<br /></span> +<span class="poet">Thomas Noel.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>315]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="bk6chap02" id="bk6chap02"></a>THE SNOWBALL THAT DIDN’T MELT</h3> + +<p class="center smcap">Jay T. Stocking</p> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem itals"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Biff!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flick!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Swat!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Smack!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Biff, biff!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flick, flick!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Swat, swat!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Smack, smack!”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>It was a fine day in midwinter. The sun was +just warm and bright enough to make the +snow pack easily. The boys in the neighbourhood +were having the liveliest kind of a snowball +fight. So that is why there was this—</p> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem itals"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Biff!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flick!<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>316]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Swat!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Smack!”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>And this—</p> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem itals"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Biff, biff!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flick, flick!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Swat, swat!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Smack, smack!”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>Everything ends some time. So this snowball +fight did. One side or the other won,—I +have forgotten which. The boys at the little +brown-shingled house, where the fight took +place, became very busy making balls for the +next day’s battle. You could hear the “pat—pat, +pat—pat,” as they rounded and packed +the snowballs in their cold, red hands.</p> + +<p>When they became quite satisfied that they +had enough on hand for a lively battle they +piled the balls up in a neat pyramid just under +the edge of the veranda and went off to look +for something new to do.</p> + +<p>Then the snowballs fell to talking,—<em>if it is +true</em> that snowballs talk.</p> + +<p>“I wonder what they are going to do with +us,” said the top one. “I know what I’d <em>like</em> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>317]</a></span> +to do. I’d like to hit the nose of that rough, +freckle-faced boy who hit the nose of the boy +who made me.”</p> + +<p>“I know what I’d like,” said the second. +“I’d like to go right through the window of +Old Grampy’s house. Wouldn’t he sputter!”</p> + +<p>“Oh! What’s the fun in teasing a poor old +man?” said another. “I’ll tell you what <em>I’d</em> +like. <em>I’d</em> like to hit the minister right in the +middle of the back and see what he would +do.”</p> + +<p>“Hit the minister in the back!” said a lively-looking +chap down in the middle of the pile. +“Be a sport! I’d like to knock the policeman’s +hat off and see him chase the boy that +threw me. That would be fun.”</p> + +<p>It was, you see, a very bold and mischievous +lot of balls, if one may judge from their big +talk. And so it was probably well for the +peace of the neighbourhood that the evening +had scarcely fallen when, through a sudden +change in the weather, snow, too, began to +fall. All night long the snow fell, thicker and +faster, thicker and faster. The wind rose and +piled it in stacks. The house was banked to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>318]</a></span> +the windows, the veranda was heaped up high. +The snowballs were buried deep,—so deep +that the boys forgot them. It was spring before +the thick covering of snow was melted +enough so that they could see the light of day.</p> + +<p>It was a long time after this, when there +came a day which meant much for at least +one of that heap of snowballs.</p> + +<p>The sun was bright and hot; the grass was +beginning to show green. The snow had all +gone except in a few places on the cold side of +the houses and under veranda edges. The +snowballs were still piled neatly in the pyramid +but they looked as if they might tumble +down almost any minute. Although it was +cool in their shady spot, every one of them was +perspiring and several of them looked thin +and pale. I fancy they had felt the heat, for +all their lives they had been accustomed to a +cooler climate.</p> + +<p>As they were busy mopping their brows +and sighing for cooler weather they heard a +sound, between a sigh and a faint moan. They +heard it again and again. It was above their +heads, out on the lawn, and not far away. It +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>319]</a></span> +seemed to be in or around a shrub or bush, +with a tall slender stem and a branching top.</p> + +<p>“What’s that?” asked several of the balls at +once.</p> + +<p>They stopped talking, and sighing, and +listened. And as they did so, they could hear +words very distinctly, though they were not +nearly so loud as a whisper.</p> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem itals"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Snowball, Snowball, come up here!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My head is hot, my throat feels queer:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I’m going to faint, I surely fear.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Won’t some cool snowball come up here?”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>“Who are you?” asked Snowball Number +One, who sat at the tiptop of the pile. “Where +are you and what is your name?”</p> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem itals"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“I’m Life-of-the-Bush,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the bush I dwell;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I know not my name,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And so I can’t tell.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>“I can’t see you,” said Number One, as he +looked intently up at the branches.</p> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem itals"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>320]</a></span> +<span class="i0">“You can’t?” said the Bush,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">“Then you must be blind.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I’m right up here,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But never mind.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>The voice trailed off weakly; then they +heard it again:</p> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem itals"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“I’m going to faint, I really fear.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Won’t some kind snowball come up here?”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>“But you are up so high. How can one get +there? We have neither a ladder nor wings +and we do not know how to climb.” Number +One did most of the talking; he was nearest +the bush.</p> + +<p>“I’ll tell you how,” said Life-of-the-Bush, +stopping his rhyme and talking plainly and +simply and sensibly. “Just roll down the +slope on the lawn to the foot of this bush. +Make yourself as small as small can be, creep +down into the ground, and take an elevator, +which is always running, and you will come +directly up to me.” The talking ceased, and +the snowballs began to look at each other +rather uneasily.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>321]</a></span> +“I can’t go,” said Number Two, who was +in the second row from the top. “I always +tan terribly in the sun. It’s a long way down +to the foot of the bush, and I should be brown +as a berry before I got half way.”</p> + +<p>“I can’t go, either,” said Number Three, +by his side. “I don’t tan, but I freckle, and +freckles look dreadful on my fair complexion.”</p> + +<p>“I’m sorry I can’t go,” said Number Four, +from his place in the corner of the third row. +“But I feel the heat terribly. My clothes are +all sticking to me now.”</p> + +<p>“It’s simply out of the question for me,” +said a big fat snowball down near the ground. +“I know I’d melt before I got there. There +isn’t much left of me now.”</p> + +<p>Number One was one of the fairest snowballs +of the bunch, but he was not afraid of +freckles or tan. He was also one of the smallest +of the lot. He looked down to the foot of +the bush. It seemed a long way. The sun +was certainly burning hot. He was not at all +sure that he would live long enough in that +sun to reach the bush. But some one should +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>322]</a></span> +keep Life-of-the-Bush from fainting and he +would try.</p> + +<p>He turned a quick somersault off the pile +down to the ground.</p> + +<p>At just that moment something disturbed +the whole pile and every ball in it tumbled +down and out into the sun.</p> + +<p>As soon as Number One touched the +ground, he began to roll over, and over, and +over, as fast as ever he could. It didn’t take +him more than a minute to reach the foot of +the bush. He remembered what Life-of-the-Bush +had said, made himself just as small as +small could be, crept down into the ground +close to the stem and took the elevator, which +seemed to be running all the time.</p> + +<p>It took quite a while to go up, but finally +the elevator paused just long enough for him +to get out. He found himself in a cool, rambling +house, that seemed to be almost all long, +narrow halls. They ran this way and that +way and every—which—way. At one end of +each hall, where the buds were opening, there +were windows with green shades. Everything +was very clean and sweet. Right in the middle +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>323]</a></span> +of the house he found Life-of-the-Bush. +He gave her a drink of water, which he had +carried in his water-proof pocket and not only +kept her from fainting but made her as lively +and well and happy as ever.</p> + +<p>Life-of-the-Bush thanked the snowball a +thousand times and gave him the freedom of +her beautiful house.</p> + +<p>“Now that you are here,” she said, “perhaps +you will stay a while and help me build +my house a little bigger. I must build leaves, +and buds and branches and bark. I need your +help.”</p> + +<p>The snowball stayed and helped. He +found it very exciting work. He worked all +day and all night, ran here and there, and +never stopped for meals. He packed buds +and unfolded them; he pushed out the leaves +and built out the ends of branches; he made +bark, pressed it till it was hard and coloured +it grey.</p> + +<p>Day after day he worked at his tasks as if +they gave him the greatest joy in the world. +But now and then Life-of-the-Bush saw him +gazing out of the window, as if he were a bit +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>324]</a></span> +homesick, to get out of doors again.</p> + +<p>“Stay with me a little longer,” she said, “to +help me build my blossoms, and then I will +send you out of doors on a beautiful errand +to stay as long as your heart desires.”</p> + +<p>So Snowball stayed and helped Life-of-the-Bush +build her blossoms. Basket after basket +of white stuff, as white as snowflakes but ever +so much smaller, he carried out to the ends of +the branches. Jar after jar of perfume he +carried, too, until the blossoms were quite +complete.</p> + +<p>Then one evening—it was the last of +May, or early June—Life-of-the-Bush called +him.</p> + +<p>“To-morrow,” she said, “there is to be a +great Garden Festival. A prize is to be given +for the most original and beautiful blossom. +All the flowers of the season will be here in +the garden. You have been a good friend and +a faithful helper. For reward, you may go to +the Festival and stay as long as your heart +desires.”</p> + +<p>“But how shall I go?” queried the snowball.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>325]</a></span> +“Right out through the end of one of my +branches,” said Life-of-the-Bush.</p> + +<p>“But I shall fall off,” said the snowball.</p> + +<p>“I’ll tie you on with a stout string, so that +not even the wind can blow you off.”</p> + +<p>“But it’s hot outside. I shall melt.”</p> + +<p>“O, no. I’ve changed you so the hottest +sun cannot melt you.”</p> + +<p>“But how can I get out through the end +of the branch?” asked the snowball, who could +not get it through his head that he could +really get out to the end of a branch and stay +there all day and not fall off or melt.</p> + +<p>“Make yourself very small, just as small as +when you came up to me and you can go out +as easily as you run along these halls,” said +Life-of-the-Bush.</p> + +<p>The snowball became quite excited. The +Festival was to begin very early in the morning. +Besides he wanted to see, if he could, +what had become of the other snowballs. So +he decided that he would go out on the branch +that night, while it was dark, and be there +for the whole day’s fun.</p> + +<p>So he made himself very small, ran along +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>326]</a></span> +the hall, crept out through a tiny green door +and found himself tied securely to a swaying +branch. The air was cool and sweet. He +didn’t melt, as he half-feared he might, and +he didn’t fall off. He looked around. Yes, +this was the very bush he had seen before, +but it was greener now. Morning came and +the great Festival. The garden was full of +flowers and folks.</p> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem itals"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There were lilacs and lilies of shades manifold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There were daisies, and daffodils, yellow as gold.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There were pansies, and peonies, red, white and pink,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And every such flower of which you can think.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You ought to have heard the “Ah’s!” and the “Oh’s!”<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of all the fine people in all their fine clothes.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You ought to have seen that wonderful sight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For no rhyme of mine can describe it half right.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>People went from bush to bush and from +flower to flower. They could not for the life +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>327]</a></span> +of them tell which blossom they thought +most beautiful and original.</p> + +<p>The judges wandered about uncertainly +with the ribbons in their pockets not knowing +to what plant or bush to tie them.</p> + +<p>The snowball grew very much interested, +not to say excited, to see what blossom would +finally win the prize.</p> + +<p>He noticed that groups of people continually +stopped before the bush on which he +hung. Apparently they admired it. He soon +discovered that they were looking at him and +was quite embarrassed.</p> + +<p>“Look!” he kept hearing them say. “See +this snowball,—and it doesn’t melt! Why, +it’s growing on the bush; it’s a blossom!” +That was the first that <em>he</em> knew that Life-of-the-Bush +had changed him from a snowball +into a flower snowball. Of course he became +very happy and twice as excited.</p> + +<p>Indeed, he could hardly breathe from +excitement, when the judges came over, in a +group, to where he grew. They looked at +him and at the bush. Apparently they had +never seen blossoms of this kind before.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>328]</a></span> +“I never saw such a big, round, white +blossom before,” he heard one of them say, +as he drew a blue ribbon from his pocket and +tied it to the stem on which he hung. He +knew and soon, of course, everybody knew +that the “Snowball Bush” had won the prize. +His heart beat so fast that he thought he was +growing red in the face. <em>Perhaps he was +melting!</em> But he wasn’t, for he heard a girl +say just then, as she passed, “How white and +cool it looks!”</p> + +<p>Snowball Number One had often wondered +what had happened to his friends, the +other snowballs. One reason why he had been +anxious to get out of the bush was to find out, +if he could, what had become of them all. +But the doings of the day had driven all +thought of them out of his busy head.</p> + +<p>Now, as the people began to leave the garden, +and excitement grew less, he remembered +and looked about him. Here was the yard in +which the boys made him. There was the +very place under the edge of the veranda +where he had spent the winter and where they +had all stood that spring morning when +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>329]</a></span> +Life-of-the-Bush called to them. There was the +place, almost under him, where he knew they +had all tumbled down the moment he left +them. But not a trace of a snowball could be +seen.</p> + +<p>Of course not! They had all disappeared +long ago, the very day, indeed, in which they +tumbled down. Before noon the hot sun had +melted them, every one, and carried them +away, tan and freckles and all, and no one +ever heard of them again.</p> + +<p>Number One, who ran right out into the +sun, was the only snowball that didn’t melt.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>330]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="bk6chap03" id="bk6chap03"></a>GAU-WI-DI-NE AND GO-HAY, WINTER AND SPRING</h3> + +<p class="center smcap">(Iroquois Legend)</p> + + +<p>The snow mountain lifted its head close to +the sky; the clouds wrapped around it their +floating drifts which held the winter’s hail +and snowfalls, and with scorn it defied the +sunlight which crept over its height, slow +and shivering on its way to the valleys.</p> + +<p>Close at the foot of the mountain, an old +man had built him a lodge “for a time,” said +he, as he packed it around with great blocks +of ice. Within he stored piles of wood and +corn and dried meat and fish. No person, +animal, nor bird could enter this lodge, only +North Wind, the only friend the old man had. +Whenever strong and lusty North Wind +passed the lodge he would scream “ugh-e-e-e, +ugh-e-e-e,” as with a blast of his blusterings +he passed over the earth.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>331]</a></span> +But North Wind came only seldom to the +lodge. He was too busy searching the corners +of the earth and driving the snow and +the hail, but when he had wandered far and +was in need of advice, he would visit the +lodge to smoke and counsel with the old man +about the next snowfall, before journeying to +his home in the north sky; and they would sit +by the fire which blazed and glowed yet could +not warm them.</p> + +<p>The old man’s bushy whiskers were heavy +with the icicles which clung to them, and +when the blazing fire flared its lights, illuminating +them with the warm hues of the summer +sunset, he would rave as he struck them +down, and glare with rage as they fell snapping +and crackling at his feet.</p> + +<p>One night, as together they sat smoking and +dozing before the fire, a strange feeling of fear +came over them, the air seemed growing +warmer and the ice began to melt. Said +North Wind:</p> + +<p>“I wonder what warm thing is coming, the +snow seems vanishing and sinking lower in +the earth.” But the old man cared not, and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>332]</a></span> +was silent. He knew his lodge was strong, +and he chuckled with scorn as he bade North +Wind abandon his fears and depart for his +home. But North Wind went drifting the +fast-falling snow higher on the mountain +until it groaned under its heavy burden, and +scolding and blasting, his voice gradually +died away. Still the old man remained silent +and moved not, but, lost in thought, sat looking +into the fire, when there came a loud +knock at his door. “Some foolish breath of +North Wind is wandering,” thought he, and +he heeded it not.</p> + +<p>Again came the rapping, but swifter and +louder, and a pleading voice begged to come +in.</p> + +<p>Still the old man remained silent, and, +drawing nearer to the fire, quieted himself for +sleep; but the rapping continued, louder, +fiercer, and increased his anger. “Who dares +approach the door of my lodge?” he shrieked. +“You are not North Wind, who alone can +enter here. Begone! no refuge here for +trifling winds; go back to your home in the +sky.” But, as he spoke, the strong bar securing +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>333]</a></span> +the door fell from its fastening, the door +swung open and a stalwart young warrior +stood before him shaking the snow from his +shoulders as he noiselessly closed the door.</p> + +<p>Safe within the lodge, the warrior heeded +not the old man’s anger, but with a cheerful +greeting drew close to the fire, extending his +hands to its ruddy blaze, when a glow as of +summer illumined the lodge. But the kindly +greeting and the glowing light served only to +incense the old man, and rising in rage, he +ordered the warrior to depart.</p> + +<p>“Go!” he exclaimed. “I know you not. +You have entered my lodge and you bring a +strange light. Why have you forced my lodge +door? You are young, and youth has no need +of my fire. When I enter my lodge, all the +earth sleeps. You are strong, with the glow +of sunshine on your face. Long ago I buried +the sunshine beneath the snowdrifts. Go! you +have no place here.</p> + +<p>“Your eyes bear the gleam of the summer +stars. North Wind blew out the summer star-lights +moons ago. Your eyes dazzle my lodge, +your breath does not smoke in chill vapour, but +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>334]</a></span> +comes from your lips soft and warm; it will +melt my lodge. You have no place here.</p> + +<p>“Your hair so soft and fine, streaming back +like the night shades, will weave my lodge +into tangles. You have no place here.</p> + +<p>“Your shoulders are bare and white as the +snowdrifts. You have no furs to cover them; +depart from my lodge. See, as you sit by my +fire, how it draws away from you. Depart, +I say, from my lodge!”</p> + +<p>But the young warrior only smiled, and +asked that he might remain to fill his pipe; +and they sat down by the fire. Then the old +man became garrulous and began to boast of +his great powers.</p> + +<p>“I am powerful and strong,” said he. “I +send North Wind to blow all over the earth +and its waters stop to listen to his voice as he +freezes them fast asleep. When I touch the +sky the snow hurries down and the hunters +hide by their lodge fires; the birds fly scared, +and the animals creep to their caves. When +I lay my hand on the land, I harden it still as +the rocks; nothing can forbid me nor loosen +my fetters. You, young warrior, though you +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>335]</a></span> +shine like the Sun, you have no power. Go! +I give you a chance to escape me, but I could +blow my breath and fold around you a mist +which would turn you to ice forever!</p> + +<p>“I am not a friend to the Sun, who grows +pale and cold and flees to the Southland when +I come; yet I see his glance in your face, +where no winter shadows hide. My North +Wind will soon return; he hates the summer +and will bind fast its hands. You fear me not, +and smile because you know me not. Young +man, listen. I am Gau-wi-di-ne, Winter! +Now fear me and depart. Pass from my +lodge and go out to the wind.”</p> + +<p>But the young warrior moved not; he only +smiled as he refilled the pipe for the trembling +old man, saying, “Here, take your pipe; +it will soothe you and make you stronger for +a little while longer;” and he packed the +o-yan-kwa<a name="FNanchor_A_1" id="FNanchor_A_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_A_1" class="fnanchor">[A]</a> deep and hard in the pipe.</p> + +<div class="footnote"> +<p><a name="Footnote_A_1" id="Footnote_A_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_A_1"><span class="label">[A]</span></a> +Indian tobacco.</p> +</div> + +<p>Said the warrior, “Now you must smoke for +me, smoke for Youth and Spring! I fear not +your boasting; you are aged and slow while I +am young and strong. I hear the voice of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>336]</a></span> +South Wind. Your North Wind hears, and +Spirit of the Winds is hurrying him back to +his home. Wrap you up warm while yet the +snowdrifts cover the earth path, and flee to +your lodge in the north sky. I am here now, +and you shall know me. I, too, am powerful!</p> + +<p>“When I lift my hand, the sky opens wide +and I waken the sleeping Sun, which follows +me warm and glad. I touch the earth and it +grows soft and gentle, and breathes strong and +swift as my South Wind ploughs under the +snows to loosen your grasp. The trees in the +forest welcome my voice and send out their +buds to my hand. When my breezes blow my +long hair to the clouds, they send down gentle +showers that whisper to the grasses to grow.</p> + +<p>“I came not to tarry long in my peace talk +with you, but to smoke with you and warn +you that the sun is waiting for me to open its +door. You and the North Wind have built +your lodge strong, but each wind, the North +and the East, and the West, and the South, has +its time for the earth. Now South Wind is +calling me; return you to your big lodge in +the sky. Travel quick on your way that you +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>337]</a></span> +may not fall in the path of the Sun. See! It +is now sending down its arrows broad and +strong!”</p> + +<p>The old man saw and trembled. He seemed +fading smaller, and grown too weak to speak, +could only whisper, “Young warrior, who are +you?”</p> + +<p>In a voice that breathed soft as the breath +of wild blossoms, he answered: “I am Go-hay, +Spring! I have come to rule, and my +lodge now covers the earth! I have talked +to your mountain and it has heard; I have +called the South Wind and it is near; the Sun +is awake from its winter sleep and summons +me quick and loud. Your North Wind has +fled to his north sky; you are late in following. +You have lingered too long over your +peace pipe and its smoke now floats far away. +Haste while yet there is time that you may +lose not your trail.”</p> + +<p>And Go-hay began singing the Sun song as +he opened the door of the lodge. Hovering +above it was a great bird, whose wings seemed +blown by a strong wind, and while Go-hay +continued to sing, it flew down to the lodge +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>338]</a></span> +and folding Gau-wi-di-ne to its breast, slowly +winged away to the north, and when the Sun +lifted its head in the east it beheld the bird +disappearing behind the far-away sky. The +Sun glanced down where Gau-wi-di-ne had +built his lodge, whose fire had burned but +could not warm, and a bed of young blossoms +lifted their heads to the touch of its beams.</p> + +<p>Where the wood and the corn and the dried +meat and fish had been heaped, a young tree +was leafing, and a blue bird was trying its +wings for a nest. And the great ice mountain +had melted to a swift running river which +sped through the valley bearing its message of +the springtime.</p> + +<p>Gau-wi-di-ne had passed his time, and Go-hay +reigned over the earth!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>339]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="bk6chap04" id="bk6chap04"></a>NAMING THE WINDS</h3> + +<p class="center smcap">(Indian Legend)</p> + + +<p>Ga-oh the great master of the winds decided +to choose his helpers from the animals of the +earth. He blew a strong blast that shook the +rocks and hills and when his reverberating +call had ceased its thunderous echoes he +opened the north gate wide across the sky and +called Ya-o-gah, the Bear.</p> + +<p>Lumbering over the mountains as he pushed +them from his path, Ya-o-gah, the bulky bear, +who had battled the boisterous winds as he +came, took his place at Ga-oh’s gate and +waited the mission of his call. Said Ga-oh, +“Ya-o-gah, you are strong; you can freeze the +waters with your cold breath; in your broad +arms you can carry the wild tempests, and +clasp the whole earth when I bid you destroy. +I will place you in my far North, there to +watch the herd of my winter winds when I +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>340]</a></span> +loose them in the sky. You shall be North +Wind. Enter your home.” And the bear +lowered his head for the leash with which +Ga-oh bound him, and submissively took his +place in the north sky.</p> + +<p>In a gentler voice Ga-oh called Ne-o-ga, +the Fawn, and a soft breeze as of the summer +crept over the sky; the air grew fragrant with +the odour of flowers, and there were voices as +of babbling brooks telling the secrets of the +summer to the tune of birds, as Ne-o-ga came +proudly lifting her head.</p> + +<p>Said Ga-oh, “You walk with the summer +sun, and know all its paths; you are gentle, +and kind as the sunbeam, and will rule my +flock of the summer winds in peace. You +shall be the South Wind. Bend your head +while I leash you to the sky, for you are swift, +and might return from me to the earth.” And +the gentle Fawn followed Ga-oh to his great +gate which opens the south sky.</p> + +<p>Again Ga-oh trumpeted a shrill blast, and +all the sky seemed threatening; an ugly darkness +crept into the clouds that sent them whirling +in circles of confusion. A quarrelsome, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>341]</a></span> +shrieking voice snarled through the air, and +with a sound as of great claws tearing the +heavens into rifts, Da-jo-ji, the Panther, +sprang to the gate.</p> + +<p>Said Ga-oh, “You are ugly, and fierce, and +can fight the strong storms; you can climb the +high mountains, and tear down the forests; +you can carry the whirlwind on your strong +back, and toss the great sea waves high in the +air, and snarl at the tempests if they stray +from my gate. You shall be the West Wind. +Go to the west sky, where even the Sun will +hurry to hide when you howl your warning to +the night.” And Da-jo-ji, dragging his leash +as he stealthily crept along, followed Ga-oh to +the furthermost west sky.</p> + +<p>Yet Ga-oh rested not. The earth was flat, +and in each of its four corners he must have +an assistant. One corner yet remained, and +again Ga-oh’s strong blast shook the earth. +And there arose a moan like the calling of a +lost mate; the sky shivered in a cold rain; the +whole earth clouded in mist; a crackling +sound as of great horns crashing through the +forest trees dinned the air, and O-yan-do-ne, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>342]</a></span> +the Moose, stood stamping his hoofs at the +gate.</p> + +<p>Said Ga-oh, as he strung a strong leash +around his neck, “Your breath blows the +mist, and can lead the cold rains; your horns +spread wide, and can push back the forests to +widen the path for my storms as with your +swift hoofs you race with my winds. You +shall be the East Wind, and blow your breath +to chill the young clouds as they float through +the sky.” Said Ga-oh as he led him to the east +sky, “Here you shall dwell forevermore.”</p> + +<p>Thus, with his assistants, does Ga-oh control +his storms. And although he must ever +remain in his sky lodge, his will is supreme, +and his faithful assistants will obey!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>343]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="bk6chap05" id="bk6chap05"></a>NORTH WIND’S FROLIC</h3> + + +<p>In a large, airy castle on the borders of a +country far away, lived the King of the Winds +with his four children, North Wind, South +Wind, East Wind, and West Wind. They +were a happy family, for the four children +were always making merry with the old Wind +King.</p> + +<p>North Wind, however, was a boisterous +fellow, forever causing disorder even in their +play.</p> + +<p>One summer day North Wind said that he +was going out of the castle for a frolic.</p> + +<p>“Go,” called out the King, “but be careful, +North Wind, what you do. Your pranks are +all very well while you are in the castle here, +but out in the world they may do great harm.”</p> + +<p>“Woo—oo—oo——,” was all the King heard +in answer, and away blustered North Wind +out of the castle to the garden near by.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>344]</a></span> +The roses and lilies were just in bloom, and +the ripe peaches hung on the trees ready to be +picked.</p> + +<p>“Woo—oo—oo——,” cried the North Wind +in his loudest voice, and in a moment the rose +petals were scattered all over the ground, the +lilies were broken from their stems, and the +ripe peaches dropped down right into the +mud.</p> + +<p>In the fields he caused even greater damage. +He broke the wheat stems, threw the +unripe apples about. He tore the leaves from +their branches and tossed them about in the +air in all directions. Indeed, one old tree he +completely uprooted.</p> + +<p>The people could stand it no longer. They +went to the King of the Winds, who, in his +castle had control over the coming and going +of all the Winds, and told him what the +wicked North Wind had done and how the +garden and fields had suffered from the +misery he had caused them.</p> + +<p>“I will summon North Wind,” said his +father. “He shall answer for all this.”</p> + +<p>When North Wind appeared, the King +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>345]</a></span> +repeated what the people had said. “Is this +true, North Wind?” he asked.</p> + +<p>North Wind could not deny it, for the +devastated garden and fields lay before every +one’s eyes.</p> + +<p>“Why did you do it?” asked the King.</p> + +<p>“Oh,” answered North Wind, “I didn’t +mean it wickedly. I wanted to play with the +roses and the lilies and the peaches—and all +the rest. I didn’t think I would do them any +harm.”</p> + +<p>“I see,” said the King. “If you are such a +clumsy fellow, then I do not dare to let you +out for a frolic again. I must keep you a +prisoner in the castle the whole summer. In +the winter, when there are no more flowers +and fruit, you may go out and be as boisterous +as you like. I see you are fit only for the +time of ice and snow and not for flowers and +fruit.”</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>346]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="bk6chap06" id="bk6chap06"></a>THE MONTHS: A PAGEANT</h3> + +<p class="center smcap">Christina Rossetti</p> + + +<div class="centered"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="List of characters"> + <tr> + <td class="tdc"><i>Boys</i></td> + <td class="tdc"> </td> + <td class="tdc"><i>Girls</i></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">January</td> + <td class="tdlp"> </td> + <td class="tdl">February</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">March</td> + <td class="tdlp"> </td> + <td class="tdl">April</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">July</td> + <td class="tdlp"> </td> + <td class="tdl">May</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">August</td> + <td class="tdlp"> </td> + <td class="tdl">June</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">October</td> + <td class="tdlp"> </td> + <td class="tdl">September</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">December</td> + <td class="tdlp"> </td> + <td class="tdl">November</td> + </tr> +</table> +</div> + + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="hang">Robin Redbreast; Lambs and Sheep; Nightingale +and Nestlings; various Flowers, +Fruits, etc.</p> + +<p class="hang">SCENE:—<i>A Cottage with its grounds.</i></p> + +<p class="hang">(<i>A room in a large comfortable cottage; a fire +burning on the hearth; a table on which +the breakfast things have been left standing. +<span class="smcap">January</span> discovered seated by the +fire.</i>)</p> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>347]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center smcap">January</p> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Cold the day and cold the drifted snow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dim the day until the cold dark night.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>(<i>Stirs the fire</i>)</p> +</div> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Crackle, sparkle, faggot; embers glow:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some one may be plodding through the snow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Longing for a light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the light that you and I can show.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If no one else should come,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here Robin Redbreast’s welcome to a crumb,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And never troublesome:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Robin, why don’t you come and fetch your crumb?<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Here’s butter for my hunch of bread,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And sugar for your crumb;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here’s room upon the hearthrug,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">If you’ll only come.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In your scarlet waistcoat,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With your keen bright eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where are you loitering?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Wings were made to fly!<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>348]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Make haste to breakfast,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Come and fetch your crumb,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For I’m as glad to see you<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As you are glad to come.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>(<i>Two Robin Redbreasts are seen tapping +with their beaks at the lattice, which <span class="smcap">January</span> +opens. The birds flutter in, hop about the +floor, and peck up the crumbs and sugar +thrown to them. They have scarcely finished +their meal when a knock is heard at the door. +<span class="smcap">January</span> hangs a guard in front of the fire, +and opens to <span class="smcap">February</span>, who appears with a +bunch of snowdrops in her hand.</i>)</p> +</div> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Good-morrow, sister.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="center smcap">February</p> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i7">Brother, joy to you!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I’ve brought some snowdrops; only just a few,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But quite enough to prove the world awake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cheerful and hopeful in the frosty dew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And for the pale sun’s sake.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>349]</a></span> +(<i>She hands a few of her snowdrops to <span class="smcap">January</span>, +who retires into the background. +While <span class="smcap">February</span> stands arranging the remaining +snowdrops in a glass of water on the +window-sill, a soft butting and bleating are +heard outside. She opens the door, and sees +one foremost lamb with other sheep and lambs +bleating and crowding towards her.</i>)</p> +</div> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O you, you little wonder, come—come in,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You wonderful, you woolly soft white lamb:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You panting mother ewe, come too,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lead that tottering twin<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Safe in:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bring all your bleating kith and kin,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Except the horny ram.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>(<i><span class="smcap">February</span> opens a second door in the background, +and the little flock files through into +a warm and sheltered compartment out of +sight.</i>)</p> +</div> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The lambkin tottering in its walk<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With just a fleece to wear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The snowdrop drooping on its stalk<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So slender,—<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>350]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Snowdrop and lamb, a pretty pair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Braving the cold for our delight,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Both white<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Both tender.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>(<i>A rattling of doors and windows; branches +seen without, tossing violently to and fro.</i>)</p> +</div> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How the doors rattle, and the branches sway!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here brother March comes whirling on his way<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With winds that eddy and sing:—<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>(<i>She turns the handle of the door, which +bursts open, and discloses <span class="smcap">March</span> hastening +up, both hands full of violets and anemones.</i>)</p> +</div> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Come, show me what you bring;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For I have said my say, fulfilled my day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And must away.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="center smcap">March</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>(<i>Stopping short on the threshold</i>)</p> +</div> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">I blow an arouse<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Through the world’s wide house<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To quicken the torpid earth;<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>351]</a></span> +<span class="i1">Grappling I fling<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Each feeble thing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But bring strong life to the birth.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I wrestle and frown,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And topple down;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I wrench, I rend, I uproot;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Yet the violet<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Is born where I set<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sole of my flying foot.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>(<i>Hands violet and anemones to <span class="smcap">February</span>, +who retires into the background.</i>)</p> +</div> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">And in my wake<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Frail wind-flowers quake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the catkins promise fruit.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I drive ocean ashore<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With rush and roar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he cannot say me nay:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">My harpstrings all<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Are the forests tall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Making music when I play.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>(<i>Before <span class="smcap">March</span> has done speaking, a voice +is heard approaching accompanied by a twittering +of birds. <span class="smcap">April</span> comes along singing, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>352]</a></span> +and stands outside and out of sight to finish +her song.</i>)</p> +</div> + +<p class="center smcap">April</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>(<i>Outside</i>)</p> +</div> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Pretty little three<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sparrows in a tree,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Light upon the wing;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Though you cannot sing<br /></span> +<span class="i1">You can chirp of Spring:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Chirp of Spring to me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sparrows, from your tree.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Never mind the showers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Chirp about the flowers<br /></span> +<span class="i1">While you build a nest:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Straws from east and west,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Feathers from your breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Make the snuggest bowers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In a world of flowers.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>(<i>Appearing at the open door</i>)</p> +</div> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Good-morrow and good-bye: if others fly,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of all the flying months you’re the most flying.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>353]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center smcap">March</p> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You’re hope and sweetness, April.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="center smcap">April</p> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I’ve a rainbow in my showers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a lapful of flowers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And these dear nestlings aged three hours;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And here’s their mother sitting;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Their father’s merely flitting<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To find their breakfast somewhere in my bowers.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>(<i>As she speaks <span class="smcap">April</span> shows <span class="smcap">March</span> her +apron full of flowers and nest full of birds. +<span class="smcap">March</span> wanders away into the grounds. +<span class="smcap">April</span>, without entering the cottage, hangs +over the hungry nestlings watching them. +<span class="smcap">May</span> arrives unperceived by <span class="smcap">April</span>, and gives +her a kiss. <span class="smcap">April</span> starts and looks round.</i>)</p> +</div> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ah, May, good-morrow, May, and so good-bye.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>354]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center smcap">May</p> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">That’s just your way, sweet April, smile and sigh:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your sorrow’s half in fun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Begun and done<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And turned to joy while twenty seconds run.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I’ve gathered flowers all as I came along,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At every step a flower<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fed by your last bright shower,—<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>(<i>She divides an armful of all sorts of flowers +with <span class="smcap">April</span>, who strolls away through the +garden.</i>)</p> +</div> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And gathering flowers I listened to the song<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of every bird in bower.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Here are my buds of lily and rose,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And here’s my namesake blossom may;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And from a watery spot<br /></span> +<span class="i2">See here forget-me-not,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With all that blows<br /></span> +<span class="i3">To-day.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>355]</a></span> +(<i><span class="smcap">June</span> appears at the further end of the +garden, coming slowly towards <span class="smcap">May</span>, who, +seeing her, exclaims:</i>)</p> +</div> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Surely you’re come too early, sister June.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="center smcap">June</p> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Indeed I feel as if I came too soon<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To round your young May moon<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And set the world a-gasping at my noon.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet come I must. So here are strawberries<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sun-flushed and sweet, as many as you please;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And here are full-blown roses by the score,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More roses, and yet more.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>(<i><span class="smcap">May</span>, eating strawberries, withdraws +among the flower beds. <span class="smcap">June</span> seats herself +in the shadow of a laburnum.</i>)</p> +</div> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Or if I’m lulled by note of bird and bee,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Or lulled by noontide’s silence deep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I need but nestle down beneath my tree<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And drop asleep.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>356]</a></span> +(<i><span class="smcap">June</span> falls asleep; and is not awakened by +the voice of <span class="smcap">July</span>, who, behind the scenes, is +heard, half singing, half calling.</i>)</p> +</div> + +<p class="center smcap">July</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>(<i>Behind the scenes</i>)</p> +</div> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Blue flags, yellow flags, flags all freckled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which will you take? yellow, blue, speckled!<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Take which you will, speckled, blue, yellow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each in its way has not a fellow.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>(<i>Enter <span class="smcap">July</span>, a basket of many-coloured +irises slung upon his shoulders, a bunch of +ripe grass in one hand, and a plate piled full +of peaches balanced upon the other. He +steals up to <span class="smcap">June</span>, and tickles her with the +grass. She wakes.</i>)</p> +</div> + +<p class="center smcap">June</p> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">What, here already?<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>357]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center smcap">July</p> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">Nay, my tryst is kept;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The longest day slipped by you while you slept.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I’ve brought you one curved pyramid of bloom,<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>(<i>Hands her the plate</i>)</p> +</div> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Not flowers but peaches, gathered where the bees,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As downy, bask and boom<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In sunshine and in gloom of trees.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But get you in, a storm is at my heels;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The whirlwind whistles and wheels,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lightning flashes and thunder peals,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flying and following hard upon my heels.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>(<i><span class="smcap">June</span> takes shelter in a thickly-woven arbour</i>)</p> +</div> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The roar of a storm sweeps up<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From the east to the lurid west,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The darkening sky, like a cup,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Is filled with rain to the brink;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sky is purple and fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Blackness and noise and unrest;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The earth, parched with desire<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Opens her mouth to drink.<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>358]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Have done with thunder and fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O sky with the rainbow crest;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O earth, have done with desire,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Drink, and drink deep, and rest.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>(<i>Enter <span class="smcap">August</span>, carrying a sheaf made up +of different kinds of grain.</i>)</p> +</div> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Hail, brother August, flushed and warm<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And scathless from my storm,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your hands are full of corn, I see,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As full as hands can be:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And earth and air both smell as sweet as balm<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In their recovered calm,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And that they owe to me.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>(<i><span class="smcap">July</span> retires into a shrubbery</i>)</p> +</div> + +<p class="center smcap">August</p> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Wheat sways heavy, oats are airy,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Barley bows a graceful head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Short and small shoots up canary,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Each of these is some one’s bread;<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>359]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Bread for man or bread for beast,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or, at very least,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A bird’s savoury feast.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>(<i><span class="smcap">August</span> descries <span class="smcap">September</span> toiling across +the lawn</i>)</p> +</div> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My harvest home is ended; and I spy<br /></span> +<span class="i0">September drawing nigh,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the first thought of Autumn in her eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the first sigh<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Autumn wind among her locks that fly.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>(<i><span class="smcap">September</span> arrives, carrying upon her head +a basket heaped high with fruit</i>)</p> +</div> + +<p class="center smcap">September</p> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Unload me, brother. I have brought a few<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Plums and these pears for you,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A dozen kinds of apples, one or two<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Melons, some figs all bursting through<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their skins, and pearled with dew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These damsons violet-blue.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>360]</a></span> +(<i>While <span class="smcap">September</span> is speaking, <span class="smcap">August</span> +lifts the basket to the ground, selects various +fruits, and withdraws slowly along the gravel +walk, eating a pear as he goes.</i>)</p> +</div> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">My song is half a sigh<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Because my green leaves die;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sweet are my fruits, but all my leaves are dying;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And well may Autumn sigh,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And well may I<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who watch the sere leaves flying.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>(<i><span class="smcap">October</span> enters briskly, some leafy twigs +bearing different sorts of nuts in one hand, +and a long ripe hop-bine trailing after him +from the other. A dahlia is stuck in his buttonhole.</i>)</p> +</div> + +<p class="center smcap">October</p> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Nay, cheer up, sister. Life is not quite over,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Even if the year has done with corn and clover,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>361]</a></span> +<span class="i0">With flowers and leaves; besides, in fact, it’s true<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some leaves remain and some flowers too.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For me and you.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now see my crops:<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>(<i>Offering his produce to <span class="smcap">September</span></i>)</p> +</div> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I’ve brought you nuts and hops;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when the leaf drops, why, the walnut drops.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>(<i><span class="smcap">October</span> wreathes the hop-bine about +<span class="smcap">September’s</span> neck, and gives her the nut +twigs. They enter the cottage together, but +without shutting the door. She steps into the +background; he advances to the hearth, removes +the guard, stirs up the smouldering fire, +and arranges several chestnuts ready to roast.</i>)</p> +</div> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Crack your first nut and light your first fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Roast your first chestnut crisp on the bar;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Make the logs sparkle, stir the blaze higher,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Logs are cheery as sun or as star,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Logs we can find wherever we are.<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>362]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Spring one soft day will open the leaves,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Spring one bright day will lure back the flowers;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Never fancy my whistling wind grieves,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Never fancy I’ve tears in my showers:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Dance, nights and days! and dance on, my hours!<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>(<i>Sees <span class="smcap">November</span> approaching</i>)</p> +</div> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Here comes my youngest sister, looking dim<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And grim<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With dismal ways.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What cheer, November?<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="center smcap">November</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>(<i>Entering and shutting the door</i>)</p> +</div> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Nought have I to bring,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tramping a-chill and shivering,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Except these pine cones for a blaze,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Except a fog which follows,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And stuffs up all the hollows,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Except a hoar frost here and there,—<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>363]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Except some shooting stars<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which dart their luminous cars<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Trackless and noiseless through the keen night air.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>(<i><span class="smcap">October</span>, shrugging his shoulders, withdraws +into the background, while <span class="smcap">November</span> +throws her pine cones on the fire, and sits +down listlessly.</i>)</p> +</div> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The earth lies asleep, grown tired<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of all that’s high or deep;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There’s nought desired and nought required<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Save a sleep.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I rock the cradle of the earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I lull her with a sigh;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And know that she will wake to mirth<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By and by.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>(<i>Through the window <span class="smcap">December</span> is seen +running and leaping in the direction of the +door. He knocks.</i>)</p> +</div> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ah, here’s my youngest brother come at last:<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>(<i>Calls out without rising.</i>)</p> +</div> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>364]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Come in, December.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>(<i>He opens the door and enters, loaded with +evergreens in berry, etc.</i>)</p> +</div> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Come, and shut the door,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For now it’s snowing fast;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It snows, and will snow more and more;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Don’t let it drift in on the floor.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But you, you’re all aglow; how can you be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rosy and warm and smiling in the cold?<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="center smcap">December</p> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Nay, no closed doors for me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But open doors and open hearts and glee<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To welcome young and old.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Dimmest and brightest month am I;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My short days end, my lengthening days begin;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What matters more or less sun in the sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When all is sun within?<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>(<i>He begins making a wreath as he sings</i>)</p> +</div> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>365]</a></span> +<span class="i2">Ivy and privet dark as night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I weave with hips and haws a cheerful show,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And holly for a beauty and delight,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And milky mistletoe.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">While high above them all I set<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yew twigs and Christmas roses pure and pale;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then Spring her snowdrop and her violet<br /></span> +<span class="i2">May keep, so sweet and frail;<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">May keep each merry singing bird,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of all her happy birds that singing build:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For I’ve a carol which some shepherds heard<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Once in a wintry field.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>(<i>While <span class="smcap">December</span> concludes his song all +the other Months troop in from the garden, +or advance out of the background. The +Twelve join hands in a circle, and begin dancing +round to a stately measure as the curtain +falls.</i>) (<i>Abridged.</i>)</p> +</div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>366]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="bk6chap07" id="bk6chap07"></a>PRINCE WINTER</h3> + +<p class="center smcap">Carl Ewald</p> + + +<p>The Prince of Winter sat on the mountains: +an old man with white hair and beard. His +naked breast was shaggy, shaggy his legs and +hands. He looked strong and wild with cold +stern eyes.</p> + +<p>But he was not angry as when Spring drove +him from the valley and when Autumn did +not go quickly enough. He looked out over +the kingdom calmly for he knew that it was +his. And, when he found anything dead or +empty or desolate, he plucked at his great +white beard and gave a harsh and satisfied +laugh.</p> + +<p>But all that lived in the land was struck +with terror when it looked into his cold eyes.</p> + +<p>The trees shook in their thick bark, and +the bushes struck their branches together in +consternation. The mouse became quite +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>367]</a></span> +snow-blind, when she peeped outside the +door; the stag looked mournfully over the +white meadow.</p> + +<p>“My muzzle can still break thro’ the ice, +when I drink,” he said. “I can still scrape the +snow to one side and find a tuft of grass. But, +if things go on like this for another week, +then it’s all up with me.”</p> + +<p>The crow and the chaffinch and the sparrow +and the tit had quite lost their voices. They +thought of the other birds, who had departed +in time, and they who remained knew not +where to turn in their distress. At last they +set out in a row to carry their humble greeting +to the new lord of the land.</p> + +<p>“Here come your birds, O mightiest of all +Princes!” said the crow and stood and marked +time in the white snow. “The others left the +country as soon as you announced your coming, +but we have remained to submit us to +your sway. Now be a gracious lord to us +and grant us food.”</p> + +<p>“We bow before Your Highness!” said the +chaffinch.</p> + +<p>“We have so longed for you,” said +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_368" id="Page_368">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>368]</a></span> +the tit, and he put his head on one side.</p> + +<p>And the sparrow said the same as the others, +in a tone of deep respect.</p> + +<p>But the Prince of Winter laughed at them +disdainfully.</p> + +<p>“Ha, you time-serving birds! In Summer’s +time you amused yourselves merrily, in Autumn’s, +you ate yourselves stout and fat; and +as soon as Spring strikes up you will dance to +his piping like the others. I hate you and +your screaming and squalling and the trees +you hop about in. You are all here to defy +me and I shall do for you if I can.” Then he +rose in all his strength.</p> + +<p>“I have my own birds and now you shall +see them.”</p> + +<p>He clapped his hands and sang:</p> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Wee snow-birds, white snow-birds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">White snow-birds, wee snow-birds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through fields skim along!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To jubilant Spring I grudge music of no birds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To Summer, no song.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_369" id="Page_369">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>369]</a></span> +<span class="i0">“Come, Winter’s mute messengers,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Swift birds and slow birds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">White snow-birds, wee snow-birds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till the valley be soft as down for your nestling<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of numberless ice-eggs by frosty rims spanned!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now rushing, now resting,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">White snow-birds, wee snow-birds,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Skim soft thro’ the land!”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>And Winter’s birds came.</p> + +<p>Suddenly, it darkened, and the air became +full of little black specks, which descended +and turned into great white snow-flakes.</p> + +<p>They fell over the ground in an endless multitude. +There was now not a blade of grass, +nor yet a stone to be seen: everything was +smooth and soft and white. Only the trees +stood out high in the air and the river flowed +black thro’ the meadow.</p> + +<p>“I know how to crush you,” said the Prince +of Winter.</p> + +<p>And, when evening came, he told the wind +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_370" id="Page_370">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>370]</a></span> +to go down. Then the waves became small +and still, Winter stared at them with his cold +eyes, and the ice built its bridge from bank +to bank. In vain the waves tried to hum +Spring’s song. There was no strength in their +voices.</p> + +<p>Next morning there was nothing left to the +river but a narrow channel; and, when one +more night had passed, the bridge was finished. +Again the Prince of Winter called for +his white birds; and soon the carpet was +drawn over the river till it was no longer possible +to see where land began or water ended.</p> + +<p>But the trees stood boldly out of the deep +snow, the firs had kept all their leaves and +were so green that it was quite shocking to +behold. Wherever they stood, they were a +protection against the frost and a shelter +against the snow; and the chaffinch and the +other small birds found refuge under their +roofs.</p> + +<p>The Prince of Winter looked at them +angrily.</p> + +<p>“If I could but break you!” he said. “You +stand in the midst of my kingdom keeping +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_371" id="Page_371">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>371]</a></span> +guard for Summer and you give shelter to the +birds who disturb the peace of my land. If +only I had snow enough to bury you!”</p> + +<p>But the trees stood strong under Winter’s +wrath and waved their long branches.</p> + +<p>“You have taken from us what you can,” +they said. “Farther than that you cannot go. +We will wait calmly for better times.”</p> + +<p>When they had said this Winter suddenly +set eyes upon tiny little buds round about the +twigs. He saw the little brown mice trip out +for a run in the snow and disappear again into +their snug parlours before his eyes. He heard +the hedgehog snoring in the hedge; and the +crows kept on screaming in his ears. Through +his own ice he saw the noses of the frogs +stick up from the bottom of the pond.</p> + +<p>“Am I the master or not?” he shouted. He +tore at his beard with both hands.</p> + +<p>He heard the anemones breathe peacefully +and lightly in the mould; he heard thousands +of grubs bore deep into the wood of the trees +as cheerfully as though Summer were in the +land. He saw the bees crawl about in their +busy hive and share the honey they had +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_372" id="Page_372">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>372]</a></span> +collected in summer, and have a happy time. He +saw the bat in the hollow tree, the worm deep +in the ground; and, wherever he turned, he +saw millions of eggs and grubs and chrysalides, +well guarded and waiting confidently +for him to go away.</p> + +<p>He stamped on the ground and shouted in +his loud, hoarse voice:</p> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Roar forth, mine anger, roar, and rouse,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What breathes below earth’s girder!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By thousands slay them!”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>He shouted it over the land.</p> + +<p>The ice broke and split into long cracks. It +sounded like thunder from the bottom of the +river.</p> + +<p>Then the storm broke loose. The gale +roared so that you could hear the trees fall +crashing in the forest. The ice was split in +two and the huge floes heaped up into towering +icebergs. The snow fell and drifted over +meadow and hill; sky and earth were blended +into one. It was piercingly cold, and where +the snow had been blown away the ground was +hard as stone.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_373" id="Page_373">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>373]</a></span> +The Prince of Winter stood in the valley +and looked upon all this with content. He +went into the forest, where the snow was +frozen to windward right up to the tips of the +smooth beech-trunks; but in the boughs of the +fir-trees it lay so thick that they were weighted +right down to the ground.</p> + +<p>“You may be Summer’s servants,” he said, +“but still you have to resign yourselves to +wearing my livery. And now the sun shall +shine on you; and I will have a glorious +day.”</p> + +<p>He bade the sun come out and he came.</p> + +<p>He rode over a bright blue sky, and all that +was still alive in the valley raised itself +towards him for warmth.</p> + +<p>“Call Spring back to the valleys! Give us +Summer again!”</p> + +<p>The sun gleamed upon the hoar-frost but +could not melt it; he stared down at the snow, +but could not thaw it. The valley lay silent.</p> + +<p>“That’s how I like to see the land,” said +Winter.</p> + +<p>The Prince of Winter sat on his mountain +throne again and surveyed his kingdom and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_374" id="Page_374">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>374]</a></span> +was glad. His great cold eyes stared, while +he growled in his beard.</p> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Proud of speed and hard of hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A cruel lord to follow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Winter locks up sea and land,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Blocks up every hollow.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Summer coaxes, sweet and bland,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Flowers in soft vigour,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At Winter’s harsh and grim command<br /></span> +<span class="i1">They die of ruthless rigour.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Short and cold is Winter’s Day,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Long and worse night’s hours,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Few birds languish in his pay<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And yet fewer flowers.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>The days wore on and Winter reigned over +the land.</p> + +<p>The little brown mice had eaten their last +nut; the hedgehog was hungry and the crows +were nearly giving in.</p> + +<p>Then suddenly there came the sound of +singing.</p> + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_375" id="Page_375">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>375]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Play up! Play soon,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Keep time! Keep time!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ye wavelets blue and tender,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Keep time! Keep time!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Burst ice and rime<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In equinoctial splendor.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>Up leaped Winter and stared with his +hands over his brows.</p> + +<p>Down below in the valley stood the Prince +of Spring, young and straight in his green +garb, with the lute slung over his shoulder. +His long hair waved in the wind and his face +was soft and round, his mouth was ever smiling +and his eyes were dreamy and moist.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_376" id="Page_376">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>376]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="bk6chap08" id="bk6chap08"></a>HOW SPRING AND WINTER MET</h3> + + +<div class="cpoem"> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Winter and the Spring were met:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Winter threw a fleecy net,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And caught the young Spring over night.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He put to sleep the budding tree<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Within a cloister dim and white;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the little golden crocus flower,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That comes too early for the bee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He hid away from sunrise hour.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The brook was conscious of his power<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lost its trick of babbling words.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But Spring awoke, despite his craft,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And out of windows looked and laughed.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">At first he set to sing all birds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With twittering voices small and clear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bade them say they felt no grief<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To find the snow and mildewed leaf<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heaped up in nests they built last year.<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_377" id="Page_377">[<span class="hidden">Pg </span>377]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Then found a crystal alcove high<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bluebird carolled to the sky.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The robin whistled cheer, good cheer!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sparrow rung his matin bells,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And far away in reedy dells<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The quail a friendly greeting sent.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then was the stifled pine not loth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To shuffle off the dull white sloth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then leaped the brook by icy stair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And snapped his fetters as he went;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sun shone out most full and fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Winter rose and struck his tent.<br /></span> +<span class="poet">Edith M. Thomas.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + + + +<div class="bbox"> +<p><b>Transcriber's Note</b></p> + +<p>On pp. <a href="#Page_13">13-14</a> the text reads, "The king took up the sack nearest to him, +their surprise, when out rushed a great heap of brown leaves, which flew +all over the floor and half choked them with dust!" It appears there may +be some missing text between "nearest to him" and "their surprise"; there +does not appear to be any damage or obscured text in the original book, and +the line count matches that of other pages, so it may be that a line was omitted +during typesetting. The transcriber was unable to locate an alternative printing +of the story, so, as it is impossible to determine what that text may be, the +omission is preserved as printed.</p> + +<p>Poe is referred to in this text as Edgar Allen Poe, rather than the more +usual Edgar Allan Poe. This is preserved as printed.</p> + +<p>Although authors and translators are listed in the Table of Contents, their +names are not always included with their prose in the main text. This +convention is retained here to match the original book.</p> + +<p>Minor punctuation errors have been repaired.</p> + +<p>Hyphenation and capitalisation has been made consistent within individual +pieces in the book.</p> + +<p>The following amendments have been made:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>First page of <a href="#acknowledgments">Acknowledgments</a>—Edinburg amended to +Edinburgh—"To T. C. and E. C. Jack of Edinburgh ..."</p> + +<p>Second page of <a href="#acknowledgments">Acknowledgments</a>—Procter amended to Proctor—"... James Russell +Lowell, Edna Dean Proctor, ..."</p> + +<p>Second page of <a href="#contents">Contents</a>—Horatio amended to Horatia—"... <i>Juliana Horatia +Ewing</i> ..."</p> + +<p>Third page of <a href="#contents">Contents</a>—Spring and Winter reversed—"How Spring and +Winter Met ..."</p> + +<p>Page <a href="#Page_19">19</a>—Parain amended to Parian—"... On coop or kennel he hangs Parian +wreaths; ..."</p> + +<p>Page <a href="#Page_52">52</a>—truely amended to truly—"I have told you truly who she is."</p> + +<p>Page <a href="#Page_75">75</a>—place amended to placed—"... they are placed alternately on each +side ..."</p> + +<p>Page <a href="#Page_279">279</a>—stone amended to stove—"I went under the stove and could lie down ..."</p> + +<p>Page <a href="#Page_360">360</a>—hop-vine amended to hop-bine—"... and a long ripe hop-bine trailing +after him ..."</p> +</div> +</div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Pearl Story Book, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PEARL STORY BOOK *** + +***** This file should be named 34571-h.htm or 34571-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/4/5/7/34571/ + +Produced by David Edwards, Sam W. and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +http://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at http://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit http://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + + +</pre> + +</body> +</html> diff --git a/34571-h/images/psb01.jpg b/34571-h/images/psb01.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..3a1922e --- /dev/null +++ b/34571-h/images/psb01.jpg diff --git a/34571-h/images/psb02.jpg b/34571-h/images/psb02.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..8d560ac --- /dev/null +++ b/34571-h/images/psb02.jpg |
