{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_34571/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_34571","id":"gutenberg_34571","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/34571","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Short Stories","Children's stories","Christmas","Christmas stories","New Year"],"text":"\n\n\n\nProduced by David Edwards, Sam W. and the Online Distributed\nProofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was\nproduced from images generously made available by The\nInternet Archive)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n THE\n PEARL STORY BOOK\n\n _Stories and Legends of\n Winter, Christmas, and New Year's Day_\n\n\n COMPILED BY\n\n ADA M. SKINNER\n AND\n ELEANOR L. SKINNER\n\n _Editors of \"The Emerald Story Book,\"\n \"The Topaz Story Book,\" \"The Turquoise\n Story Book,\" \"Children's Plays,\" Etc._\n\n\n [Decoration]\n\n\n NEW YORK\n DUFFIELD & COMPANY\n 1919\n\n\n Copyright 1910 by\n DUFFIELD & COMPANY\n\n\n [Illustration: {Three shepherds look up at the sky, amazed}\n _Drawn by Maxfield Parrish_]\n\n\n\n\nACKNOWLEDGMENTS\n\n\nThe editors' thanks are due to the following authors and publishers\nfor the use of valuable material in this book:\n\nTo T. C. and E. C. Jack of Edinburgh for permission to use \"Holly\" and\nthe legend of the \"Yew\" from \"Shown to the Children Series\"; to\nFrederick A. Stokes Company for \"The Voice of the Pine Trees,\" from\n\"Myths and Legends of Japan\"; to the Wessels Company for \"The First\nWinter\" by W. W. Canfield; to Julia Dodge for permission to use two\npoems by Mary Mapes Dodge; to the Christian Herald for a poem by\nMargaret E. Sangster, Jr.; to Lothrop, Lee and Shepherd for \"The Pine\nand the Flax\" by Albrekt Segerstedt; to the Outlook Company for a\nstory by Mine Morishima; to the Independent for the poem \"Who Loves\nthe Trees Best?\"; to Laura E. Richards for her story \"Christmas\nGifts\"; to George Putnam and Sons for \"Silver Bells\" by Hamish Hendry,\nand \"The Happy Prince\" by Oscar Wilde; to the Churchman for a story\nby John P. Peters; to Dodd, Mead and Company for the story \"Holly\"\nfrom the \"Story Hour\"; and \"Prince Winter\" from \"The Four Seasons\" by\nCarl Ewald; to George Jacobs for \"A Legend of St. Nicholas\" from \"In\nGod's Garden\" by Amy Steedman; to A. Flanagan Company for \"The New\nYear's Bell\" from \"Christ-Child Tales\" by Andrea Hofer Proudfoot; to\nJay T. Stocking and the Pilgrims Press for \"The Snowball That Didn't\nMelt\" from \"The Golden Goblet\"; to the New York State Museum for\npermission to use two stories contained in Bulletin 125, by Mrs. H. M.\nConverse; to Small, Maynard and Company for \"A Song of the Snow,\" from\n\"Complete Works of Madison Cawein.\"\n\nThe selections from James Russell Lowell, Edna Dean Proctor, Celia\nThaxter, Nathaniel Hawthorne, Edith M. Thomas, Margaret Deland, John\nTownsend Trowbridge, and Frank Dempster Sherman are used by permission\nof, and by special arrangement with, Houghton, Mifflin Company,\nauthorized publishers of their works.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n INTRODUCTION\n\n\n WINTER STORIES AND LEGENDS\n\n PAGE\n\n Winter (selection) _James Russell Lowell_ 2\n\n The Ice King (Indian legend) _Eleanor L. Skinner_ 3\n\n A Song of the Snow (poem) _Madison Cawein_ 9\n\n King Frost and King Winter\n (adapted) _Margaret T. Canby_ 11\n\n The Snowstorm (poem) _Ralph Waldo Emerson_ 18\n\n The First Winter (Iroquois\n legend) _W. W. Canfield_ 20\n\n Snow Song (poem) _Frank Dempster Sherman_ 24\n\n The Snow Maiden (Russian\n legend. Translated from\n the French) _Eleanor L. Skinner_ 25\n\n The Frost King (poem) _Mary Mapes Dodge_ 30\n\n King Winter's Harvest _Selected_ 32\n\n Old King Winter (poem) _Anna E. Skinner_ 36\n\n Sheltering Wings _Harriet Louise Jerome_ 37\n\n Snowflakes (selection) _Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_ 41\n\n The Snow-Image _Nathaniel Hawthorne_ 42\n\n\n WINTER WOODS\n\n The First Snow-Fall _James Russell Lowell_ 62\n\n The Voice of the Pine Trees\n (Japanese legend) _Frank Hadland Davis_ 63\n\n The Pine Tree Maiden (Indian\n legend) _Ada M. Skinner_ 68\n\n The Holly _Janet Harvey Kelman_ 73\n\n The Fable of the Three\n Elms (poem) _Margaret E. Sangster, Jr._ 79\n\n The Pine and the Willow _Mine Morishima_ 82\n\n Why the Wild Rabbits Are\n White in Winter\n (Algonquin legend retold) _Eleanor L. Skinner_ 86\n\n The Yew _Janet Harvey Kelman_ 93\n\n How the Pine Tree Did\n Some Good _Samuel W. Duffield_ 95\n\n A Wonderful Weaver (poem) _George Cooper_ 105\n\n The Pine and the Flax _Albrekt Segerstedt_ 107\n\n The Fir Tree (poem) _Edith M. Thomas_ 110\n\n Why Bruin Has a Stumpy Tail\n (Norwegian legend) _Eleanor L. Skinner_ 111\n\n Pines and Firs _Mrs. Dyson_ 116\n\n Who Loves the Trees Best?\n (poem) _Selected_ 131\n\n\n CHRISTMAS EVERYWHERE\n\n A Christmas Song _Phillips Brooks_ 134\n\n The Shepherd Maiden's Gift\n (Eastern legend) _Eleanor L. Skinner_ 135\n\n Christmas Gifts _Laura E. Richards_ 141\n\n Silver Bells (poem) _Hamish Hendry_ 146\n\n The Animals' Christmas Tree _John P. Peters_ 147\n\n A Christmas Carol _Christina Rossetti_ 162\n\n Holly _Ada M. Marzials_ 164\n\n The Willow Man (poem) _Juliana Horatia Ewing_ 175\n\n The Ivy Green (selection) _Charles Dickens_ 178\n\n Legend of St. Nicholas _Amy Steedman_ 179\n\n Christmas Bells (selection) _Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_ 197\n\n A Night With Santa Claus _Anna R. Annan_ 198\n\n A Child's Thought About\n Santa Claus (poem) _Sydney Dayre_ 208\n\n Charity in a Cottage _Jean Ingelow_ 210\n\n The Waits (poem) _Margaret Deland_ 223\n\n Where Love Is There God\n Is Also (adapted) _Leo Tolstoi_ 225\n\n God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen _Dinah Mulock Craik_ 234\n\n\n THE GLAD NEW YEAR\n\n The Glad New Year (poem) _Mary Mapes Dodge_ 236\n\n The Bad Little Goblin's\n New Year _Mary Stewart_ 237\n\n Selection _Robert Herrick_ 248\n\n The Queen of the Year (poem) _Edna Dean Proctor_ 249\n\n The New Year's Bell _Andrea Hofer Proudfoot_ 250\n\n The New Year _Selected_ 256\n\n The Child and the Year (poem) _Celia Thaxter_ 257\n\n A Masque of the Days _Charles Lamb_ 258\n\n Ring Out, Wild Bells (poem) _Alfred Tennyson_ 262\n\n\n MIDWINTER\n\n The Bells (selection) _Edgar Allen Poe_ 264\n\n A January Thaw _Dallas Lore Sharp_ 265\n\n The Snow Man _Hans Christian Andersen_ 276\n\n The Happy Prince _Oscar Wilde_ 284\n\n The Legend of King Wenceslaus\n (adapted) _John Mason Neale_ 303\n\n Midwinter (poem) _John Townsend Trowbridge_ 310\n\n\n WHEN WINTER AND SPRING MET\n\n Old Winter (poem) _Thomas Noel_ 314\n\n The Snowball That Didn't Melt _Jay T. Stocking_ 315\n\n Gau-wi-di-ne and Go-hay\n (Iroquois legend retold) _Eleanor L. Skinner_ 330\n\n Naming the Winds (Indian\n legend retold) _Ada M. Skinner_ 339\n\n North Wind's Frolic\n (translated) _Montgomery Maze_ 343\n\n The Months: A Pageant\n (adapted) _Christina Rossetti_ 346\n\n Prince Winter _Carl Ewald_ 366\n\n How Spring and Winter\n Met (poem) _Edith M. Thomas_ 376\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\n\n\"Once upon a time,\" in the winter season suggests happy, young faces\ngrouped about a blazing fire. A heavy snowstorm promises plenty of\nsport for tomorrow, but at present the cosiness indoors is very\nattractive, especially now that the evening story hour is at hand. And\nwhile the story-teller is slowly choosing his subjects he hears the\nchildren's impatient whispers of \"The Snow Man,\" \"Prince Winter,\" \"The\nLegend of Holly,\" \"The Animals' Christmas Tree.\"\n\nSilence! The story-teller turns his eyes from the glowing fire to the\nfaces of his eager audience. He is ready to begin.\n\nEach season of the year opens a treasury of suggestion for stories. In\nthe beauty and wonder of nature are excellent themes for tales which\nquicken children's interest in the promise of joyous springtime, in\nthe rich pageantry of ripening summer, in the blessings of generous\nautumn, and in the merry cheer of grim old winter.\n\nThe Pearl Story Book is the fourth volume in a series of nature books\neach of which emphasizes the interest and beauty characteristic of a\nparticular season. The central theme of this volume is winter,\n\"snow-wrapped and holly-decked.\"\n\n\n\n\nWINTER STORIES AND LEGENDS\n\n\n\n\nWINTER\n\n\n Down swept the chill wind from the mountain peak,\n From the snow five thousand summers old;\n On open wold and hill-top bleak\n It had gathered all the cold,\n And whirled it like sleet on the wanderer's cheek.\n It carried a shiver everywhere\n From the unleafed boughs and pastures bare;\n The little brook heard it and built a roof\n 'Neath which he could house him winter-proof;\n All night by the white stars' frosty gleams\n He groined his arches and matched his beams;\n Slender and clear were his crystal spars\n As the lashes of light that trim the stars:\n He sculptured every summer delight\n In his halls and chambers out of sight.\n\n James Russell Lowell.\n\n\n\n\nTHE ICE KING\n\n(Indian Legend)\n\n\nOnce upon a time there was an Indian village built on the bank of a\nwide river. During the spring, summer, and autumn the people were very\nhappy. There was plenty of fuel and game in the deep woods; the river\nafforded excellent fish. But the Indians dreaded the months when the\nIce King reigned.\n\nOne winter the weather was terribly cold and the people suffered\nseverely. The Ice King called forth the keen wind from the northern\nsky, and piled the snowdrifts so high in the forests that it was most\ndifficult to supply the wigwams with game. He covered the river with\nice so thick that the Indians feared it would never melt.\n\n\"When will the Ice King leave us?\" they asked each other. \"We shall\nall perish if he continues his cruel reign.\"\n\nAt last signs of spring encouraged the stricken people. The great\nsnowdrifts in the forests disappeared and the ice on the river broke\ninto large pieces. All of these floated downstream except one huge\ncake which lodged on the bank very near the village. And when the\nIndians saw that the spring sunshine did not melt this great mass of\nice they were puzzled and anxious.\n\n\"It is the roof of the Ice King's lodge,\" they said. \"We shall never\nenjoy warm weather while he dwells near us. Have we no brave who is\nwilling to do battle with this winter tyrant?\"\n\nAt last, a courageous young hunter armed himself with a huge club and\nwent forth to see if he could shatter the glittering frozen mass and\nrid the village of the giant who dwelt beneath it. With all his\nstrength he struck the ice roof blow upon blow, crying out, \"Begone, O\ncruel Ice King! Your time is past! Begone!\"\n\nFinally, there was a deafening noise like the crashing of forest trees\nwhen the lightning strikes, and the huge ice cake split into several\npieces.\n\n\"Begone!\" cried the young brave, as he struggled with each great lump\nof ice until he pushed it from the bank and tumbled it into the river\nbelow.\n\nAnd when the mighty task was finished the white figure of the Ice King\nstood before the Indian brave.\n\n\"You have ruined my lodge,\" said the giant.\n\n\"The winter season is past,\" answered the brave. \"Begone!\"\n\n\"After several moons I shall return to stay,\" threatened the Ice King.\nThen he stalked away toward the North.\n\nThe people were very happy when they knew that the young brave had\nconquered the giant; but their joy was somewhat dampened when they\nheard about the threatened return of the Ice King.\n\n\"I shall prepare for his return and do battle with him again,\"\ndeclared the Indian conqueror.\n\nThis promise comforted the people somewhat, but still they thought of\nthe coming winter with dread.\n\nDuring the autumn the hunter built near the river a strong wigwam and\nstored therein abundant fuel and dried game. He filled many bags made\nof skin, with oil, which he procured from the animals he killed. Also,\nhe was well supplied with fur rugs, blankets, and warm clothes.\n\nAt last the winter season came. The cold north wind blew unceasingly,\nthe snow piled high around the wigwams; ice several feet thick covered\nthe river.\n\n\"The Ice King has come,\" said the Indians. \"If he keeps his threat to\nstay among us we shall surely perish.\"\n\nOne bitter cold day the young Indian who had prepared well for the\nsevere weather sat in his wigwam near a blazing fire. Suddenly, a\nstrong gust of wind tore aside the bear skin which protected the\ndoorway and into the lodge stalked the Ice King. His freezing breath\nfilled the place and dampened the fire. He took a seat opposite the\nIndian brave who said, \"Welcome, Ice King.\"\n\n\"I've come to stay,\" answered the giant.\n\nThe Indian shivered with cold at the sudden change of temperature in\nhis wigwam, but he rose and brought more logs to the fire. Also, he\nopened one of his bags of oil and poured the contents on the great\npieces of wood. The flames soon caught the oil-soaked logs and a\nroaring fire crackled and blazed in the wigwam. More and more fuel the\nyoung brave piled on his fire until finally the frosty cold air was\nchanged to summer heat.\n\nThe Ice King shifted his seat away from the glowing fire. Farther and\nfarther away he pushed until he sat with his back against the wall of\nthe wigwam. As he moved he seemed to grow smaller and weaker. The icy\nfeathers of his headgear drooped about his forehead and great drops of\nsweat covered his face. But still the Indian brave piled fuel on the\nblazing fire.\n\n\"Spare me, O hunter,\" cried the Ice King.\n\nBut to the words of the giant the young Indian was deaf. He opened\nanother bag of oil and poured it on the logs.\n\n\"Have mercy, I beg you!\" pleaded the Ice King. He rose and staggered\ntoward the door.\n\n\"You have conquered me,\" he said in a weak voice. \"I will depart.\nTwice you have won a victory over me. I give up my hope of reigning\ncontinually among your people. My season shall last during three\nmoons, only.\"\n\nHe staggered out of the wigwam and stalked wearily away. Since that\nday the giant Ice King has not tried to reign throughout the year.\n\n\n\n\nA SONG OF THE SNOW\n\n\n Sing, Ho, a song of the winter dawn,\n When the air is still and the clouds are gone,\n And the snow lies deep on hill and lawn,\n And the old clock ticks, \"'Tis time! 'Tis time!\"\n And the household rises with many a yawn\n Sing, Ho, a song of the winter dawn!\n Sing, Ho!\n\n Sing, Ho, a song of the winter sky\n When the last star closes its icy eye\n And deep in the road the snow-drifts lie,\n And the old clock ticks, \"'Tis late! 'Tis late!\"\n And the flame on the hearth leaps red--leaps high\n Sing, Ho, a song of the winter sky!\n Sing, Ho!\n\n Sing, Ho, a song of the winter morn\n When the snow makes ghostly the wayside thorn,\n And hills of pearl are the shocks of corn,\n And the old clock ticks, \"Tick-tock; tick-tock;\"\n And the goodman bustles about the barn\n Sing, Ho, a song of the winter morn!\n Sing, Ho!\n\n Sing, Ho, a song of the winter day,\n When ermine capped are the stocks of hay,\n And the wood-smoke pillars the air with gray,\n And the old clock ticks, \"To work! To work!\"\n And the goodwife sings as she churns away\n Sing, Ho, a song of the winter day!\n Sing, Ho!\n\n Madison Cawein.\n\n\n\n\nKING FROST AND KING WINTER\n\nMargaret T. Canby\n\n\nKing Winter lives in a very strong palace near the cold North Pole; it\nis built of great blocks of thick ice, and all around it stand high,\npointed icebergs, and cross, white bears keep guard at the gate. He\nhas many little fairy servants to do his bidding and they are like\ntheir master, cross and spiteful, and seldom do any kind actions, so\nthat few are found who love them. King Winter is rich and powerful,\nbut he keeps all his wealth so tightly locked up that it does no one\nany good; and what is worse, he often tries to get the treasures of\nother persons, to add to the store in his money chests.\n\nOne day when this selfish old king was walking through the woods he\nsaw the leaves thickly covered with gold and precious stones, which\nhad been spread upon them by King Frost, to make the trees more\nbeautiful and give pleasure to all who saw them. But looking at them\ndid not satisfy King Winter; he wanted to have the gold for his own,\nand he made up his mind to get it, somehow. Back he went to his palace\nto call his servants home to do this new work. As soon as he reached\nthe gate, he blew a loud, shrill note on his horn and in a few minutes\nhis odd little fairies came flying in at the windows and doors and\nstood before him quietly waiting their commands. The king ordered some\nto go out into the forest, at nightfall, armed with canes and clubs,\nand beat off all the gold and ruby leaves; and he told others to take\nstrong bags, and gather up all the treasure, and bring it to him.\n\n\"If that silly King Frost does not think any more of gold and precious\nstones than to waste them on trees I shall teach him better,\" said the\nold king.\n\nThe fairies promised to obey him, and as soon as night came, off they\nrushed to the forest, and a terrible noise they made, flying from one\nbeautiful tree to another, banging and beating the leaves off.\nBranches were cracking and falling on all sides, and leaves were\nflying about, while the sound of shouting and laughing and screaming\ntold all who heard it that the spiteful winter fairies were at some\nmischief. The other fairies followed, and gathered up the poor\nshattered leaves, cramming them into the great bags they had brought,\nand taking them to King Winter's palace as fast as they were filled.\n\nThis work was kept up nearly all night and when morning came, the\nmagic forest of many-colored leaves was changed into a dreary place.\nBare trees stretched their long brown branches around and seemed to\nshiver in the cold wind and to sigh for the beautiful dress of shining\nleaves so rudely torn from them.\n\nKing Winter was very much pleased, as one great sack after another was\ntugged in by the fairies and when morning came he called his servants\ntogether and said, \"You have all worked well, my fairies, and have\nsaved much treasure from being wasted; I will now open these bags and\nshow you the gold. Each of you shall have a share.\"\n\nThe king took up the sack nearest to him, their surprise, when out\nrushed a great heap of brown leaves, which flew all over the floor and\nhalf choked them with dust! When the king saw this he growled with\nrage and looked at the fairies with a dark frown on his face. They\nbegged him to look at the next sack, but when he did so, it, too, was\nfull of brown leaves, instead of gold and precious stones. This was\ntoo much for King Winter's patience. He tossed the bags one by one out\nof the palace window, and would have tossed the unlucky fairies after\nthem, had not some of the bravest ones knelt down and asked for mercy,\ntelling him they had obeyed his orders, and, if King Frost had taken\nback his treasure, they were not to blame.\n\nThis turned their master's anger against King Frost, and very angry\nand fierce he was. He gnashed his great teeth with rage and rushed up\nand down in his palace, until it shook again. At last he made up his\nmind to go out that night, break down King Frost's beautiful palace,\nand take away all his riches.\n\nWhen night came, he started out with all his fairies. Some were armed\nwith the clubs they had beaten off the leaves with, and others had\nlumps of ice to throw at their enemy; but the king had been so angry\nall day that he had not told them what to do; also, he had left their\nsharp spears locked up. He wrapped himself in his great white cloak of\nswan's down in order that he might look very grand, and so they went\non their way.\n\nKing Frost lived on the other side of the wood, and he had heard all\nthe noise made by the winter fairies in spoiling the trees and had\nseen the next morning the mischief they had done. It made him very\nsorry to find the beautiful leaves all knocked off and taken away, and\nhe determined to punish King Winter by going to attack _his_ palace\nthat night. He spent the day making ready and dressing himself and his\nservants in shining coats of ice-armour and giving each one several\nspears and darts of ice tipped with sharp diamond points. They looked\nlike brave little soldiers.\n\nThe two groups of fairies met in the midst of the great wood. After\nsome words between the kings, their servants fell to blows and a\ngreat battle they had. The winter fairies fought with their clubs and\nthrew lumps of ice at the frost fairies; but their clubs were weak\nfrom being used so roughly the night before and soon broke; and when\ntheir ice-balls were all thrown away they could find no more. But King\nFrost had armed his servants well, and they threw their icy darts\namong the winter fairies. The trees, too, seemed to fight on the Frost\nKing's side. The bare twigs pulled their hair and the branches ripped\ntheir ice clothes wherever they could. So the winter fairies had the\nworst of it and at last started off at full speed and rushed through\nthe woods, never stopping till they reached the palace, and shut\nthemselves in--leaving their king, who was too proud to run, all alone\nwith King Frost and his fairies. You may be sure they were not very\nmerciful to him. They began to pull his cloak, calling out, \"Give us\nyour cloak to keep our trees warm. You stole their pretty leaves; you\nmust give us your cloak.\"\n\nNow this was a magic cloak and had been given to King Winter by the\nQueen of the fairies, so when he felt them pulling at it, he wrapped\nit tightly about him, and began to run. After him flew the frost\nfairies, pulling and plucking at his great white cloak, snatching out\na bit here and a bit there and laughing and shouting while King Winter\nhowled and roared and rushed along, not knowing where he went. On they\nflew up and down the wood in and out among the trees,--their way\nmarked by the scattered bits of white down from King Winter's cloak.\nWhen day began King Winter found himself near his own palace. He\ndashed his tattered cloak to the ground and rushed through the gate,\nshaking his fist at King Frost.\n\nHe and his fairies took the cloak. As they went home through the woods\nthey hung beautiful wreaths of white down on all the trees and also\ntrimmed the branches with their broken spears and darts, which shone\nlike silver in the sunlight, and made the woods look as bright almost,\nas before it had been robbed of its golden and ruby leaves. Even the\nground was covered with shining darts and white feathers. Every one\nthought it very beautiful, and no one could tell how it happened.\n(_Adapted._)\n\n\n\n\nTHE SNOWSTORM\n\n\n Announced by all the trumpets of the sky,\n Arrives the snow, and, driving o'er the fields,\n Seems nowhere to alight: the whited air\n Hides hills and woods, and river, and the heaven,\n And veils the farmhouse at the garden's end,\n The sled and traveler stopped, the courier's feet\n Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit\n Around the radiant fireplace, inclosed\n In a tumultuous privacy of storm.\n\n Come, see the north wind's masonry.\n Out of an unseen quarry evermore\n Furnished with tile, the fierce artificer\n Curves his white bastions with projected roof\n Round every windward stake, or tree, or door.\n Speeding, the myriad-handed, his wild work\n So fanciful, so savage, naught cares he\n For number or proportion. Mockingly,\n On coop or kennel he hangs Parian wreaths;\n A swanlike form invests the hidden thorn;\n Fills up the farmer's lane from wall to wall,\n Mauger the farmer's sighs; and at the gate\n A tapering turret overtops the work.\n And when his hours are numbered, and the world\n Is all his own, retiring, as he were not,\n Leaves, when the sun appears, astonished Art\n To mimic in slow structures, stone by stone--\n Built in an age, the mad wind's night work,\n The frolic architecture of the snow.\n\n Ralph Waldo Emerson.\n\n\n\n\nTHE FIRST WINTER\n\n(Iroquois Legend)\n\n\nThere was a time when the days were always of the same length, and it\nwas always summer. The red men lived continually in the smile of the\nGreat Spirit and were happy. But there arose a chief who was so\npowerful that he at last declared himself mightier than the Great\nSpirit, and taught his brothers to go forth to the plain and mock him.\nThey would call upon the Great Spirit to come and fight with them or\nwould challenge him to take away the crop of growing corn or drive the\ngame from the woods. They would say he was an unkind father to keep\nhimself and their dead brothers in the Happy Hunting Grounds, where\nthe red men could hunt forever without weariness.\n\nThey laughed at their old men who had feared for so many moons to\nreproach the Great Spirit for his unfair treatment of the Indians who\nwere compelled to hunt and fish for game for their wives and children,\nwhile their own women had to plant the corn and harvest it.\n\n\"In the Happy Hunting Grounds,\" they said, \"the Great Spirit feeds our\nbrothers and their wives and does not let any foes or dangers come\nupon them, but here he lets us go hungry many times. If he is as great\nas you have said, why does he not take care of his children here?\"\n\nThen the Great Spirit told them he would turn his smiling face away\nfrom them, so that they should have no more light and warmth and they\nmust build fires in the forest if they would see.\n\nBut the red men laughed and taunted him, telling him that he had\nfollowed one trail so long that he could not get out of it, but would\nhave to come every day and give them light and heat as usual. Then\nthey would dance and make faces at him and taunt him with his\nhelplessness.\n\nIn a few days the quick eyes of some of the red men saw in the morning\nthe face of the Great Spirit appear where it was not wont to appear,\nbut they were silent, fearing the jibes of their brothers. Finally,\nduller eyes noticed the change, and alarm and consternation spread\namong the people. Each day brought less and less of the Great Spirit's\nsmile and his countenance was often hidden by dark clouds, while\nterrible storms beat upon the frightened faces turned in appeal toward\nthe heavens. The strong braves and warriors became as women; the old\nmen covered their heads with skins and starved in the forests; while\nthe women in their lodges crooned the low, mournful wail of the death\nsong. Frosts and snows came upon an unsheltered and stricken race, and\nmany of them perished.\n\nThen the Great Spirit, who had almost removed his face from the sight\nof men, had pity and told them he would come back. Day after day the\nfew that remained alive watched with joy the return of the sun. They\nsang in praise of the approaching summer and once more hailed with\nthankfulness the first blades of growing corn as it burst from the\nground. The Great Spirit told his children that every year, as a\npunishment for the insults they had given their Father, they should\nfeel for a season the might of the power they had mocked; and they\nmurmured not, but bowed their heads in meekness.\n\n\n\n\nSNOW SONG\n\n\n Over valley, over hill,\n Hark, the shepherd piping shrill,\n Driving all the white flock forth,\n From the far folds of the north.\n\n Blow, wind, blow,\n Weird melodies you play,\n Following your flocks that go\n Across the world today.\n\n Hither, thither, up and down,\n Every highway of the town,\n Huddling close the white flocks all\n Gather at the shepherd's call.\n\n Blow, wind, blow,\n Upon your pipes of joy,\n All your sheep the flakes of snow\n And you their shepherd boy.\n\n Frank Dempster Sherman.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SNOW MAIDEN\n\n(Russian Legend)\n\n\nOnce upon a time there lived a peasant named Ivan and his wife, Marie.\nThey were very sad because they had no children. One cold winter day\nthe peasant and his wife sat near a window in their cottage and\nwatched the village children playing in the snow. The little ones were\nbusily at work making a beautiful snow maiden.\n\nIvan turned to his wife and said, \"What a good time the children are\nhaving. See, they are making a beautiful snow maiden. Come, let us go\ninto the garden and amuse ourselves in the same way. We will make a\npretty little snow image.\"\n\nThey went into the garden which lay back of their cottage.\n\n\"My husband,\" said Marie, \"we have no children, what do you say to\nour making for ourselves a child of snow?\"\n\n\"A very good idea!\" said the husband. And he at once began to mold the\nform of a little body, with tiny feet and hands. His wife made a small\nhead and set it upon the shoulders of the snow image.\n\nA man who passed by the garden stopped for a moment and looked at the\npeasants who were so strangely occupied. After a moment's silence he\nsaid to them, \"May God help you.\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" said Ivan.\n\n\"God's blessing, indeed, is always good,\" nodded Marie.\n\n\"What are you making?\" asked the stranger.\n\nIvan looked up and said, \"We are making a little snow maiden.\" Then he\nwent on with his work, forming the nose, chin, and eyes.\n\nIn a few moments the snow child was finished, and Ivan looked at her\nin great admiration. Suddenly, he noticed that the mouth and eyes\nopened, the cheeks and lips took on a rosy hue, and in a few moments\nthe astonished peasant saw standing before him a living child.\n\n\"Who are you?\" he asked, filled with wonder at seeing a little girl\ninstead of a snow image.\n\n\"I am Snow White, your little daughter,\" said the child. Then she\nthrew her arms lovingly around the man and his wife, who both began to\ncry for joy.\n\nThe delighted parents took Snow White into the cottage, and before\nlong the news ran through the village that a little daughter had come\nto live with Ivan and Marie.\n\nOf course the village children came to play with Snow White. She was\nsuch a charming little girl, with a very white skin, eyes as blue as\nthe sky, and lovely golden hair. To be sure, her cheeks were not so\nrosy as those of her companions, but she was so bright and gentle that\neveryone loved her very much indeed.\n\nThe winter passed very quickly and Snow White grew so fast that by the\ntime the trees were veiled in the green buds of spring she was as tall\nas a girl of twelve or thirteen years.\n\nDuring the winter months the snow maiden had been very joyous and\nhappy, but when the mild, warm days of spring came she seemed sad and\nlow-spirited. Her mother, Marie, noticed the change and said to her,\n\"My dear little girl, why are you sad? Tell me, are you ill?\"\n\n\"No, mother, dear, I am not ill,\" said Snow White. But she no longer\nseemed to enjoy playing out of doors with the other children; she\nstayed very quietly in the cottage.\n\nOne lovely spring day the village children came to the cottage and\ncalled out, \"Come, Snow White! Come! We are going into the woods to\ngather wild flowers. Come with us.\"\n\n\"Yes, do go, my dear!\" said mother Marie. \"Go with your little friends\nand gather spring flowers. I'm sure you'll enjoy the outing.\"\n\nAway went the happy children to the woods. They gathered the lovely\nwild flowers and made them into bouquets and coronets, and when the\nafternoon sun began to sink in the western sky they built a big\nbonfire. Gayly they sang little songs, merrily dancing around the\nbright, crackling blaze.\n\n\"Let each one dance alone,\" called out one of the little girls.\n\n\"Snow White, watch us for a little while, and then you, too, will\nknow how to dance alone.\"\n\nAway whirled the happy little children, dancing freely round and round\nthe bonfire. In a little while Snow White joined them.\n\nWhen the gay little people were out of breath and the dancing grew\nslower and slower, some one called out, \"Where is Snow White?\"\n\n\"Snow White, where are you?\" shouted the other children, but nowhere\ncould they find their little companion.\n\nThey ran home and told Ivan and Marie that Snow White had disappeared\nwhile dancing round the bonfire. The villagers made a thorough search\nfor the little maiden, but they never found her, for while she was\ndancing around the bonfire she had slowly changed into a little white\nvapour and had flown away toward the sky, where she changed into a\ndelicate snowflake.\n\n\n\n\nTHE FROST KING\n\n\n Oho! have you seen the Frost King,\n A-marching up the hill?\n His hoary face is stern and pale,\n His touch is icy chill.\n He sends the birdlings to the South,\n He bids the brooks be still;\n Yet not in wrath or cruelty\n He marches up the hill.\n\n He will often rest at noontime,\n To see the sunbeams play;\n And flash his spears of icicles,\n Or let them melt away.\n He'll toss the snowflakes in the air,\n Nor let them go nor stay;\n Then hold his breath while swift they fall,\n That coasting boys may play.\n\n He'll touch the brooks and rivers wide,\n That skating crowds may shout;\n He'll make the people far and near\n Remember he's about.\n He'll send his nimble, frosty Jack--\n Without a shade of doubt--\n To do all kinds of merry pranks,\n And call the children out;\n\n He'll sit upon the whitened fields,\n And reach his icy hand\n O'er houses where the sudden cold\n Folks cannot understand.\n The very moon, that ventures forth\n From clouds so soft and grand,\n Will stare to see the stiffened look\n That settles o'er the land.\n\n And so the Frost King o'er the hills,\n And o'er the startled plain,\n Will come and go from year to year\n Till Earth grows young again--\n Till Time himself shall cease to be,\n Till gone are hill and plain:\n Whenever Winter comes to stay,\n The hoary King shall reign.\n\n Mary Mapes Dodge.\n\n\n\n\nKING WINTER'S HARVEST\n\n\nKing Winter sat upon his iceberg throne, and waving his scepter, a\nhuge icicle, called for all the Snow Fairies and Frost Fairies to draw\nnear, as he wished to see them.\n\n\"Tell me, Snow Fairies,\" said King Winter, \"what have you been doing\nof late; have you made anybody happy by your work?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes,\" they all said at once, \"we had the jolliest time last night\nputting white dresses on the trees, white spreads over the grasses,\nwhite caps on all the fence posts, and making things look so strange\nthat when the children came out in the morning they just shouted and\nlaughed, and soon threw so much snow over each other that they were\ndressed in white, too, and seemed Snow Fairies like ourselves. They,\ntoo, wanted to make curious canes, castles, and other things with the\nsnow as we had done. Sleds were brought out and when the sleighbells\ncommenced their music it seemed that everybody was made glad by our\nwork.\"\n\n\"Well done,\" said King Winter, \"now away to your work again.\"\n\nIn a twinkling the Snow Fairies were up in a purple cloud-boat\nthrowing a shower of snowflake kisses down to King Winter to thank him\nfor giving them work to do.\n\n\"Now, Frost Fairies,\" said King Winter, turning to a glittering band\nwho wore some of his own jewels, \"what have you done to make anybody\nglad?\"\n\n\"We have made pictures upon the windows and hung your jewels upon the\ntrees for the people to look at, and covered the skating ponds,\" said\nJack Frost, the leader.\n\n\"That is good,\" said King Winter. \"You and the Snow Fairies seem to be\nmaking the world glad now, but pretty soon we must leave the work, and\nthe good sunbeams will put our things away; they will hide the\nsnowballs, and crack the skating ponds so that the ice may float\ndownstream. Now I would like to make something that will keep long\nafter we are gone away. Queen Summer is gone but her harvest of hay\nand grain is in the barns. Queen Autumn is gone but her harvest of\napples and potatoes is in the cellars; now I want to leave a harvest,\ntoo.\"\n\n\"But the sunbeams are away most of the time now,\" said Jack Frost.\n\"Can anything grow without them?\"\n\n\"My harvest will grow best without them,\" said King Winter, \"and I'll\njust hang up a thick cloud curtain and ask them to play upon the other\nside while my harvest grows. Mr. North Wind will help, and if all you\nFrost Fairies do your liveliest work my harvest will soon be ready.\"\n\nNorth Wind soon came with bags of cold air which he scattered hither\nand thither, while the Frost Fairies carried it into every track and\ncorner, wondering all the while what the harvest would be. But after\ntwo days' work they found out; for horses were hitched to sleds and\nmen started for the lakes and rivers, saying, \"The ice has frozen so\nthick that it is a fine time to fill the ice-houses.\" Saws and poles\nwere carried along, and soon huge blocks of ice were finding places\nupon the sleds ready for a ride to some ice-house where they would be\npacked so securely in sawdust that King Winter's harvest would keep\nthrough the very hottest weather.\n\n\"Then the ice-men can play that they are we,\" said a Frost Fairy,\n\"scattering cold all about to make people glad.\"\n\n\n\n\nOLD KING WINTER\n\n\n Old King Winter's on his throne\n In robes of ermine white;\n The crown of jewels on his head\n Now glitters bright with light.\n\n The little flakes of snow and hail,\n And tiny pearls of sleet,\n Are with the wild winds dancing\n All round his magic feet.\n\n His beard is white, his cheeks are red,\n His heart is filled with cheer;\n His season's best some people say;\n The _best_ of all the year.\n\n Anna E. Skinner.\n\n\n\n\nSHELTERING WINGS\n\nHarriet Louise Jerome\n\n\nIt was intensely cold. Heavy sleds creaked as they scraped over the\njeweled sounding board of dry, unyielding snow; the signs above shop\ndoors shrieked and groaned as they swung helplessly to and fro; and\nthe clear, keen air seemed frozen into sharp little crystalline\nneedles that stabbed every living thing that must be out in it. The\nstreets were almost forsaken in mid-afternoon. Business men hurried\nfrom shelter to shelter; every dog remained at home; not a bird was to\nbe seen or heard. The sparrows had been forced to hide themselves in\ncrevices and holes; the doves found protected corners and huddled\ntogether as best they could; many birds were frozen to death.\n\nA dozen or more doves were gathered close under the cornice of the\npiazza of a certain house, trying with little success to keep warm.\nSome small sparrows, disturbed and driven from the cozy place they had\nchosen, saw the doves and came flying across the piazza.\n\n\"Dear doves,\" chirped the sparrows, \"won't you let us nestle near you?\nYour bodies look so large and warm.\"\n\n\"But your coats are frosted with cold. We cannot let you come near us,\nfor we are almost frozen now,\" murmured the doves sadly.\n\n\"But we are perishing.\"\n\n\"So are we.\"\n\n\"It looks so warm near your broad wings, gentle doves. Oh, let us\ncome! We are so little, and so very, very cold!\"\n\n\"Come,\" cooed a dove at last, and a trembling little sparrow fluttered\nclose and nestled under the broad white wing.\n\n\"Come,\" cooed another dove, and another little sparrow found comfort.\n\n\"Come! Come!\" echoed another warm-hearted bird, and another, until at\nlast more than half the doves were sheltering small, shivering\nsparrows beneath their own half-frozen wings.\n\n\"My sisters, you are very foolish,\" said the other doves. \"You mean\nwell, but why do you risk your own beautiful lives to give life to\nworthless sparrows?\"\n\n\"Ah! they were so small, and so very, very cold,\" murmured the doves.\n\"Many of us will perish this cruel night; while we have life let us\nshare its meager warmth with those in bitter need.\"\n\nColder and colder grew the day. The sun went down behind the clouds\nsuffused with soft and radiant beauty, but more fiercely and\nrelentlessly swept the wind around the house where the doves and\nsparrows waited for death.\n\nAn hour after sunset a man came up to the house and strode across the\npiazza. As the door of the house closed heavily behind him, a little\nchild watching from the window saw something jarred from the cornice\nfall heavily to the piazza floor.\n\n\"Oh, papa,\" she cried in surprise, \"a poor frozen dove has fallen on\nour porch!\"\n\nWhen he stepped out to pick up the fallen dove the father saw the\nothers under the cornice. They were no longer able to move or to\nutter a cry, so he brought them in and placed them in a room where\nthey might slowly revive. Soon more than half of the doves could coo\ngratefully, and raise their stiffened wings. Then out from beneath the\nwing of each revived dove fluttered a living sparrow.\n\n\"Look, papa!\" cried the child. \"Each dove that has come to life was\nholding a poor little sparrow close to her heart.\"\n\nThey gently raised the wings of the doves that could not be revived.\nNot one had a sparrow beneath it.\n\nColder and fiercer swept the wind without, cutting and more piercing\ngrew the frozen, crystalline needles of air, but each dove that had\nsheltered a frost-coated sparrow beneath her own shivering wings lived\nto rejoice in the glowing gladsome sunshine of the days to come.\n\n\n\n\nSNOWFLAKES\n\n\n Out of the Bosom of the Air,\n Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken,\n Over the woodlands brown and bare,\n Over the harvest-fields forsaken,\n Silent, and soft, and slow,\n Descends the snow.\n\n Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SNOW-IMAGE\n\nNathaniel Hawthorne\n\n\nOne afternoon of a cold winter's day, when the sun shone forth with\nchilly brightness, after a long storm, two children asked leave of\ntheir mother to run out and play in the new-fallen snow.\n\nThe elder child was a little girl, whom, because she was of a tender\nand modest disposition, and was thought to be very beautiful, her\nparents, and other people who were familiar with her, used to call\nViolet.\n\nBut her brother was known by the title of Peony, on account of the\nruddiness of his broad and round little phiz, which made everybody\nthink of sunshine and great scarlet flowers.\n\n\"Yes, Violet--yes, my little Peony,\" said their kind mother; \"you may\ngo out and play in the new snow.\"\n\nForth sallied the two children, with a hop-skip-and-jump, that\ncarried them at once into the very heart of a huge snow-drift, whence\nViolet emerged like a snow bunting, while little Peony floundered out\nwith his round face in full bloom.\n\nThen what a merry time they had! To look at them, frolicking in the\nwintry garden, you would have thought that the dark and pitiless storm\nhad been sent for no other purpose but to provide a new plaything for\nViolet and Peony; and that they themselves had been created, as the\nsnowbirds were, to take delight only in the tempest and in the white\nmantle which it spread over the earth.\n\nAt last, when they had frosted one another all over with handfuls of\nsnow, Violet, after laughing heartily at little Peony's figure, was\nstruck with a new idea.\n\n\"You look exactly like a snow-image, Peony,\" said she, \"if your cheeks\nwere not so red. And that puts me in mind! Let us make an image out of\nsnow--an image of a little girl--and it shall be our sister, and shall\nrun about and play with us all winter long. Won't it be nice?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes!\" cried Peony, as plainly as he could speak, for he was but\na little boy. \"That will be nice! And mamma shall see it.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" answered Violet; \"mamma shall see the new little girl. But she\nmust not make her come into the warm parlour, for, you know, our\nlittle snow-sister will not love the warmth.\"\n\nAnd forthwith the children began this great business of making a\nsnow-image that should run about; while their mother, who was knitting\nat the window and overheard some of their talk, could not help smiling\nat the gravity with which they set about it. They really seemed to\nimagine that there would be no difficulty whatever in creating a live\nlittle girl out of the snow.\n\nIndeed, it was an exceedingly pleasant sight--those bright little\nsouls at their task! Moreover, it was really wonderful to observe how\nknowingly and skillfully they managed the matter. Violet assumed the\nchief direction, and told Peony what to do, while, with her own\ndelicate fingers, she shaped out all the nicer parts of the\nsnow-figure.\n\nIt seemed, in fact, not so much to be made by the children, as to\ngrow up under their hands, while they were playing and prattling about\nit. Their mother was quite surprised at this, and the longer she\nlooked, the more and more surprised she grew.\n\nNow, for a few moments, there was a busy and earnest but indistinct\nhum of the two children's voices, as Violet and Peony wrought together\nwith one happy consent. Violet still seemed to be the guiding spirit,\nwhile Peony acted rather as a labourer and brought her the snow from\nfar and near. And yet the little urchin evidently had a proper\nunderstanding of the matter, too.\n\n\"Peony, Peony!\" cried Violet; for her brother was at the other side of\nthe garden. \"Bring me those light wreaths of snow that have rested on\nthe lower branches of the pear-tree. You can clamber on the\nsnow-drift, Peony, and reach them easily. I must have them to make\nsome ringlets for our snow-sister's head!\"\n\n\"Here they are, Violet!\" answered the little boy. \"Take care you do\nnot break them. Well done! Well done! How pretty!\"\n\n\"Does she not look sweet?\" said Violet, with a very satisfied tone;\n\"and now we must have some little shining bits of ice to make the\nbrightness of her eyes. She is not finished yet. Mamma will see how\nvery beautiful she is; but papa will say, 'Tush! nonsense! come in out\nof the cold!'\"\n\n\"Let us call mamma to look out,\" said Peony; and then he shouted,\n\"Mamma! mamma!! mamma!!! Look out and see what a nice 'ittle girl we\nare making!\"\n\n\"What a nice playmate she will be for us all winter long!\" said\nViolet. \"I hope papa will not be afraid of her giving us a cold!\nSha'n't you love her dearly, Peony?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes!\" cried Peony. \"And I will hug her and she shall sit down\nclose by me and drink some of my warm milk.\"\n\n\"Oh, no, Peony!\" answered Violet, with grave wisdom. \"That will not do\nat all. Warm milk will not be wholesome for our little snow-sister.\nLittle snow-people like her eat nothing but icicles. No, no, Peony; we\nmust not give her anything warm to drink!\"\n\nThere was a minute or two of silence; for Peony, whose short legs\nwere never weary, had gone again to the other side of the garden. All\nof a sudden, Violet cried out, loudly and joyfully, \"Look here, Peony!\nCome quickly! A light has been shining on her cheek out of that\nrose-coloured cloud! And the colour does not go away! Is not that\nbeautiful?\"\n\n\"Yes, it is beau-ti-ful,\" answered Peony, pronouncing the three\nsyllables with deliberate accuracy. \"O Violet, only look at her hair!\nIt is all like gold!\"\n\n\"Oh, certainly,\" said Violet, as if it were very much a matter of\ncourse. \"That colour, you know, comes from the golden clouds that we\nsee up there in the sky. She is almost finished now. But her lips must\nbe made very red, redder than her cheeks. Perhaps, Peony, it will make\nthem red if we both kiss them!\"\n\nAccordingly, the mother heard two smart little smacks, as if both her\nchildren were kissing the snow-image on its frozen mouth. But, as this\ndid not seem to make the lips quite red enough, Violet next proposed\nthat the snow-child should be invited to kiss Peony's scarlet cheek.\n\"Come, 'ittle snow-sister, kiss me!\" cried Peony.\n\n\"There! she has kissed you,\" added Violet, \"and now her lips are very\nred. And she blushed a little, too!\"\n\n\"Oh, what a cold kiss!\" cried Peony.\n\nJust then, there came a breeze of the pure west wind sweeping through\nthe garden and rattling the parlour-windows. It sounded so wintry\ncold, that the mother was about to tap on the window-pane with her\nthimbled finger, to summon the two children in, when they both cried\nout to her with one voice:\n\n\"Mamma! mamma! We have finished our little snow-sister, and she is\nrunning about the garden with us!\"\n\n\"What imaginative little beings my children are!\" thought the mother,\nputting the last few stitches into Peony's frock. \"And it is strange,\ntoo, that they make me almost as much a child as they themselves are!\nI can hardly help believing now that the snow-image has really come to\nlife!\"\n\n\"Dear mamma!\" cried Violet, \"pray look out and see what a sweet\nplaymate we have!\"\n\nThe mother, being thus entreated, could no longer delay to look forth\nfrom the window. The sun was now gone out of the sky, leaving,\nhowever, a rich inheritance of his brightness among those purple and\ngolden clouds which make the sunsets of winter so magnificent.\n\nBut there was not the slightest gleam or dazzle, either on the window\nor on the snow; so that the good lady could look all over the garden,\nand see everything and everybody in it. And what do you think she saw\nthere? Violet and Peony, of course, her own two darling children.\n\nAh, but whom or what did she see besides? Why, if you will believe me,\nthere was a small figure of a girl, dressed all in white, with\nrose-tinged cheeks and ringlets of golden hue, playing about the\ngarden with the two children!\n\nA stranger though she was, the child seemed to be on as familiar terms\nwith Violet and Peony, and they with her, as if all the three had been\nplaymates during the whole of their little lives. The mother thought\nto herself that it must certainly be the daughter of one of the\nneighbours, and that, seeing Violet and Peony in the garden, the child\nhad run across the street to play with them.\n\nSo this kind lady went to the door, intending to invite the little\nrunaway into her comfortable parlour; for, now that the sunshine was\nwithdrawn, the atmosphere out of doors was already growing very cold.\n\nBut, after opening the house-door, she stood an instant on the\nthreshold, hesitating whether she ought to ask the child to come in,\nor whether she should even speak to her. Indeed, she almost doubted\nwhether it were a real child, after all, or only a light wreath of the\nnew-fallen snow, blown hither and thither about the garden by the\nintensely cold west wind.\n\nThere was certainly something very singular in the aspect of the\nlittle stranger. Among all the children of the neighbourhood the lady\ncould remember no such face, with its pure white and delicate\nrose-colour, and the golden ringlets tossing about the forehead and\ncheeks.\n\nAnd as for her dress, which was entirely of white, and fluttering in\nthe breeze, it was such as no reasonable woman would put upon a little\ngirl when sending her out to play in the depth of winter. It made this\nkind and careful mother shiver only to look at those small feet, with\nnothing in the world on them except a very thin pair of white\nslippers.\n\nNevertheless, airily as she was clad, the child seemed to feel not the\nslightest inconvenience from the cold, but danced so lightly over the\nsnow that the tips of her toes left hardly a print in its surface;\nwhile Violet could but just keep pace with her, and Peony's short legs\ncompelled him to lag behind.\n\nAll this while, the mother stood on the threshold, wondering how a\nlittle girl could look so much like a flying snow-drift, or how a\nsnow-drift could look so very like a little girl.\n\nShe called Violet and whispered to her.\n\n\"Violet, my darling, what is this child's name?\" asked she. \"Does she\nlive near us?\"\n\n\"Why, dearest mamma,\" answered Violet, laughing to think that her\nmother did not comprehend so very plain an affair, \"this is our\nlittle snow-sister whom we have just been making!\"\n\n\"Yes, dear mamma,\" cried Peony, running to his mother, and looking up\nsimply into her face. \"This is our snow-image! Is it not a nice 'ittle\nchild?\"\n\n\"Violet,\" said her mother, greatly perplexed, \"tell me the truth,\nwithout any jest. Who is this little girl?\"\n\n\"My darling mamma,\" answered Violet, looking seriously into her\nmother's face, surprised that she should need any further explanation,\n\"I have told you truly who she is. It is our little snow-image which\nPeony and I have been making. Peony will tell you so, as well as I.\"\n\n\"Yes, mamma,\" declared Peony, with much gravity in his crimson little\nphiz, \"this is 'ittle snow-child. Is not she a nice one? But, mamma,\nher hand is, oh, so very cold!\"\n\nWhile mamma still hesitated what to think and what to do, the\nstreet-gate was thrown open, and the father of Violet and Peony\nappeared, wrapped in a pilot-cloth sack, with a fur cap drawn down\nover his ears, and the thickest of gloves upon his hands.\n\nMr. Lindsey was a middle-aged man, with a weary and yet a happy look\nin his wind-flushed and frost-pinched face, as if he had been busy all\nday long, and was glad to get back to his quiet home. His eyes\nbrightened at the sight of his wife and children, although he could\nnot help uttering a word or two of surprise at finding the whole\nfamily in the open air, on so bleak a day, and after sunset, too.\n\nHe soon perceived the little white stranger, sporting to and fro in\nthe garden, like a dancing snow-wreath and the flock of snowbirds\nfluttering about her head.\n\n\"Pray, what little girl may this be?\" inquired this very sensible man.\n\"Surely her mother must be crazy, to let her go out in such bitter\nweather as it has been today, with only that flimsy white gown and\nthose thin slippers!\"\n\n\"My dear husband,\" said his wife, \"I know no more about the little\nthing than you do. Some neighbour's child, I suppose. Our Violet and\nPeony,\" she added, laughing at herself for repeating so absurd a\nstory, \"insist that she is nothing but a snow-image which they have\nbeen busy about in the garden, almost all the afternoon.\"\n\nAs she said this, the mother glanced her eyes toward the spot where\nthe children's snow-image had been made. What was her surprise on\nperceiving that there was not the slightest trace of so much\nlabour!--no image at all!--no piled-up heap of snow!--nothing\nwhatever, save the prints of little footsteps around a vacant space!\n\n\"This is very strange!\" said she.\n\n\"What is strange, dear mother?\" asked Violet. \"Dear father, do not you\nsee how it is? This is our snow-image, which Peony and I have made,\nbecause we wanted another playmate. Did not we, Peony?\"\n\n\"Yes, papa,\" said crimson Peony. \"This is our 'ittle snow-sister. Is\nshe not beau-ti-ful? But she gave me such a cold kiss!\"\n\n\"Pooh, nonsense, children!\" cried their good honest father, who had a\nplain, sensible way of looking at matters. \"Do not tell me of making\nlive figures out of snow. Come, wife; this little stranger must not\nstay out in the bleak air a moment longer. We will bring her into the\nparlour; and you shall give her a supper of warm bread and milk, and\nmake her as comfortable as you can.\"\n\nSo saying, this honest and very kind-hearted man was going toward the\nlittle damsel, with the best intentions in the world. But Violet and\nPeony, each seizing their father by the hand, earnestly besought him\nnot to make her come in.\n\n\"Nonsense, children, nonsense, nonsense!\" cried the father,\nhalf-vexed, half-laughing. \"Run into the house, this moment! It is too\nlate to play any longer now. I must take care of this little girl\nimmediately, or she will catch her death of cold.\"\n\nAnd so, with a most benevolent smile, this very well-meaning gentleman\ntook the snow-child by the hand and led her toward the house.\n\nShe followed him, droopingly and reluctant, for all the glow and\nsparkle were gone out of her figure; and, whereas just before she had\nresembled a bright, frosty, star-gemmed evening, with a crimson gleam\non the cold horizon, she now looked as dull and languid as a thaw.\n\nAs kind Mr. Lindsey led her up the steps of the door, Violet and Peony\nlooked into his face, their eyes full of tears which froze before they\ncould run down their cheeks, and again entreated him not to bring\ntheir snow-image into the house.\n\n\"Not bring her in!\" exclaimed the kind-hearted man. \"Why, you are\ncrazy, my little Violet!--quite crazy, my small Peony! She is so cold\nalready that her hand has almost frozen mine, in spite of my thick\ngloves. Would you have her freeze to death?\"\n\nHis wife, as he came up the steps, had been taking another long,\nearnest gaze at the little white stranger. She hardly knew whether it\nwas a dream or no; but she could not help fancying that she saw the\ndelicate print of Violet's fingers on the child's neck. It looked just\nas if, while Violet was shaping out the image, she had given it a\ngentle pat with her hand, and had neglected to smooth the impression\nquite away.\n\n\"After all, husband,\" said the mother, \"after all, she does look\nstrangely like a snow-image! I do believe she is made of snow!\"\n\nA puff of the west wind blew against the snow-child, and again she\nsparkled like a star.\n\n\"Snow!\" repeated good Mr. Lindsey, drawing the reluctant guest over\nhis hospitable threshold. \"No wonder she looks like snow. She is half\nfrozen, poor little thing! But a good fire will put everything to\nrights.\"\n\nThis common-sensible man placed the snow-child on the hearth-rug,\nright in front of the hissing and fuming stove.\n\n\"Now she will be comfortable!\" cried Mr. Lindsey, rubbing his hands\nand looking about him, with the pleasantest smile you ever saw. \"Make\nyourself at home, my child.\"\n\nSad, sad and drooping, looked the little white maiden as she stood on\nthe hearth-rug, with the hot blast of the stove striking through her\nlike a pestilence. Once she threw a glance toward the window, and\ncaught a glimpse, through its red curtains, of the snow-covered roofs\nand the stars glimmering frostily, and all the delicious intensity of\nthe cold night. The bleak wind rattled the window-panes as if it were\nsummoning her to come forth. But there stood the snow-child, drooping,\nbefore the hot stove!\n\nBut the common-sensible man saw nothing amiss.\n\n\"Come, wife,\" said he, \"let her have a pair of thick stockings and a\nwoolen shawl or blanket directly; and tell Dora to give her some warm\nsupper as soon as the milk boils. You, Violet and Peony, amuse your\nlittle friend. She is out of spirits, you see, at finding herself in a\nstrange place. For my part, I will go around among the neighbours and\nfind out where she belongs.\"\n\nThe mother, meanwhile, had gone in search of the shawl and stockings.\nWithout heeding the remonstrance of his two children, who still kept\nmurmuring that their little snow-sister did not love the warmth, good\nMr. Lindsey took his departure, shutting the parlour door carefully\nbehind him.\n\nTurning up the collar of his sack over his ears, he emerged from the\nhouse, and had barely reached the street-gate, when he was recalled by\nthe screams of Violet and Peony and the rapping of a thimbled finger\nagainst the parlour window.\n\n\"Husband! husband!\" cried his wife, showing her horror-stricken face\nthrough the window panes. \"There is no need of going for the child's\nparents!\"\n\n\"We told you so, father!\" screamed Violet and Peony, as he re-entered\nthe parlour. \"You would bring her in; and now our poor--dear--beau-ti-ful\nlittle snow-sister is thawed!\"\n\nAnd their own sweet little faces were already dissolved in tears; so\nthat their father, seeing what strange things occasionally happen in\nthis every-day world, felt not a little anxious lest his children\nmight be going to thaw too. In the utmost perplexity, he demanded an\nexplanation of his wife. She could only reply that, being summoned to\nthe parlour by cries of Violet and Peony, she found no trace of the\nlittle white maiden, unless it were the remains of a heap of snow,\nwhich, while she was gazing at it, melted quite away upon the\nhearth-rug.\n\n\"And there you see all that is left of it!\" added she, pointing to a\npool of water, in front of the stove.\n\n\"Yes, father,\" said Violet, looking reproachfully at him through her\ntears, \"there is all that is left of our dear little snow-sister!\"\n\n\"Naughty father!\" cried Peony, stamping his foot, and--I shudder to\nsay--shaking his little fist at the common-sensible man. \"We told you\nhow it would be! What for did you bring her in?\"\n\nAnd the stove, through the isinglass of its door, seemed to glare at\ngood Mr. Lindsey, like a red-eyed demon, triumphing in the mischief\nwhich it had done! (_Abridged._)\n\n\n\n\nWINTER WOODS\n\n\n\n\nTHE FIRST SNOW-FALL\n\n\n The snow had begun in the gloaming,\n And busily all the night\n Had been heaping field and highway\n With a silence deep and white.\n\n Every pine and fir and hemlock\n Wore ermine too dear for an earl,\n And the poorest twig on the elm tree\n Was ridged inch deep with pearl.\n\n James Russell Lowell.\n\n\n\n\nTHE VOICE OF THE PINE TREES\n\n(Japanese Legend)\n\n\n \"And all the while\n The voice of the breeze\n As it blows through the firs\n That grow old together\n Will yield us delight.\"\n\nIn ancient days there lived a fisherman and his wife, and little\ndaughter Matsue. There was nothing that Matsue loved to do more than\nto sit under the great pine tree. She was particularly fond of the\npine needles that never seemed tired of falling to the ground. With\nthese she fashioned a beautiful dress and sash, saying, \"I will not\nwear these pine clothes until my wedding day.\"\n\nOne day while Matsue was sitting under the pine tree, she sang the\nfollowing song:\n\n \"No one so callous but he heaves a sigh\n When o'er his head the withered cherry flowers\n Come fluttering down. Who knows?--the spring's soft showers\n May be but tears shed by the sorrowing sky.\"\n\nWhile thus she sang Teogo stood on the steep shore of Sumiyoshi\nwatching the flight of a heron. Up, up, it went into the blue sky, and\nTeogo saw it fly over the village where the fishfolk and their\ndaughter lived.\n\nNow Teogo was a youth who dearly loved adventure and he thought it\nwould be very delightful to swim across the sea and discover the land\nover which the heron had flown. So one morning he dived into the sea\nand swam so hard and so long that the poor fellow found the waves\nspinning and dancing and saw the great sky bend down and try to touch\nhim. Then he lay unconscious on the water; but the waves were kind to\nhim after all, for they pressed him on and on till he was washed up at\nthe very place where Matsue sat under the pine tree.\n\nMatsue carefully dragged Teogo underneath its sheltering branches,\nand then set him down upon a couch of pine needles, where he soon\nregained consciousness and warmly thanked Matsue for her kindness.\n\nTeogo did not go back to his own country, for, after a few happy\nmonths had gone by, he married Matsue and on her wedding morn she wore\nher dress and sash of pine needles.\n\nWhen Matsue's parents died her loss only seemed to make her love for\nTeogo the more. The older they grew the more they loved each other.\nEvery night when the moon shone, they went hand in hand to the pine\ntree and with their little rake they made a couch for the morrow.\n\nOne night the great silver face of the moon peered through the\nbranches of the pine tree and looked in vain for the two sitting\ntogether on a couch of pine needles. Their little rakes lay side by\nside and still the moon waited for the slow steps of these pine tree\nlovers. But that night they did not come. They had gone home to an\neverlasting place on the River of Souls.\n\nThey had loved so well and so splendidly, in old age as well as in\nyouth, that their souls were allowed to come back again and wander\nround the pine tree that had listened to their love for so many years.\n\nWhen the moon is full they whisper and laugh and sing and draw the\npine needles together, while the sea sings softly upon the shore:\n\n \"The dawn is near\n And the hoar-frost falls\n On the fir tree twigs;\n But its leaves dark green\n Suffer no change.\n Morning and evening\n Beneath its shade\n The leaves are swept away,\n Yet they never fail.\n True it is\n That these fir trees\n Shed not all their leaves;\n Their verdure remains fresh\n For ages long,\n As the Masaka's trailing vine;\n Even amongst evergreen trees--\n The emblem of unchangeableness--\n Exalted is their fame\n As a symbol to the end of time.\n The fame of the fir trees that\n Have grown old together.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE PINE TREE MAIDEN\n\n(Indian Legend)\n\n\nIn an Indian village which stood near the Big Sea Water lived a\nbeautiful little girl whose name was Leelinau. Her chief delight was\nto wander among the pine trees of a sacred grove which bordered the\ngreat waters. Here she passed many hours watching the sunlight dance\non the stems of the tall trees and listening to the soft music of the\nwind as it came up from the sea and played in the forest.\n\nThe child's desire to spend so much of her time alone in the grove\nmade her little companions regard her with awe, and they sometimes\nwhispered together about the meaning of her strange journeys to the\ndeep woods.\n\n\"Leelinau goes to the forest to play with the Puckwudjinies. She\ndances with the fairy folk and talks to them in their own language,\"\nsaid the Indian children when they saw the little girl's figure\nhurrying toward the grove of pine trees.\n\nLeelinau's parents took little notice of her strange attraction for\nthe lonely forest. They thought it was a childish fancy which would\nvanish in a few years. But the little girl grew into a beautiful\nslender maiden and still she visited her retreat with increasing\ndelight.\n\n\"When Leelinau goes to the forest the air is filled with the sweetest\nperfume and the trees nod their feathery plumes in welcome to her,\"\nwhispered the youths and maidens of the village. \"Some say she calls\nthe pine trees by name and they answer her in a strange language which\nshe understands.\"\n\nOne day it happened that an Indian hunter, who was a mighty chief,\npassed through the sacred grove. There, leaning against her favourite\ntree, a stately pine, he saw Leelinau, a dark-haired maiden\nmarvellously beautiful. In a few days the chief sought her parents and\nlaid before them rich gifts, saying that he wished to make the forest\nmaiden his bride.\n\nTo the surprise of all the people in the village Leelinau took no joy\nin her approaching marriage to the great chief. To be sure, she made\nno complaint, for she was an obedient daughter. But each day, when she\nreturned from her accustomed journey to the forest, she was sad and\nthoughtful. Sometimes she stood before her father's tepee and looked\nwith wistful eyes toward her beloved grove.\n\nAt last the day arrived on which the great chief would claim her for\nhis bride. The forest maiden dressed herself in her beautiful wedding\nrobe and took her usual walk into the forest. Her parents were not\nsurprised that she should wish to take a farewell look at the grove\nwhere she had spent so many happy hours, and which she was about to\nleave, for the great chief lived many miles away.\n\nWhen she reached the forest she hastened to her beautiful pine tree.\nClinging to the trunk she wept bitterly and whispered the story of her\ncoming marriage to a war chief from whom her heart shrank in fear.\nWhen she had finished there was a soft rustling in the branches\noverhead and a voice said: \"Leelinau! Leelinau! thou art my beloved!\nWilt thou stay in the forest and be my bride?\"\n\nAnd she answered, \"I will never leave my pine tree lover.\"\n\nThe sun stood high above the sacred grove and Leelinau had not\nreturned to her father's lodge. Friends were sent to bring her to the\nvillage but they came back with the report that the maiden was not in\nthe forest. The great chief and his warriors searched far and wide for\nthe lost maiden. She had disappeared so completely that the\nkeenest-eyed Indians could discover no trace of her. The chief\ndeparted without his bride and for a year no tidings of Leelinau came\nto the village.\n\nIt happened one calm evening when the sun was sinking into the Big Sea\nWater, that an Indian youth in a birch bark canoe was swiftly skimming\nalong toward the shore bordered by the sacred grove. There, standing\nnear the deep forest, was a familiar figure. It was Leelinau, the lost\nmaiden. In his surprise and joy the youth shouted to her and she\nwaved her hand to him in recognition. Then he noticed that she was\nnot alone. By her side stood a handsome brave with a green plume\nstanding high on his head. With all his might the young Indian\nquickened the speed of his canoe and in a few moments he sprang\nashore. But where were Leelinau and the young brave! They had\ndisappeared and not a trace of them was to be found on the lonely\nshore or in the forest.\n\nThe youth returned to the village and told his story. Reverently the\npeople bowed their heads and whispered, \"Leelinau will never come back\nto us. She is the bride of her favourite pine tree.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE HOLLY\n\nJanet Harvey Kelman\n\n\nThe Holly is our most important evergreen, and is so well known that\nit scarcely needs any description. It has flourished in this country\nas long as the Oak, and is often found growing under tall trees in the\ncrowded forests, as well as in the open glades, where lawns of fine\ngrass are to be found.\n\nPeople say that the Holly, or Holm tree, as it is often called, is the\ngreenwood tree spoken of by Shakespeare, and that under its bushy\nshelter Robin Hood and his merry men held their meetings in the open\nglades of Sherwood Forest. Sometimes it is called the Holly tree,\nbecause from the oldest time of which we have any record its boughs\nhave been used to deck our shrines and churches, and in some parts of\nEngland the country people in December speak of gathering Christmas,\nwhich is the name they give to the Holly, or Holy tree. It is this\nevergreen which we oftenest use at Christmas-tide to decorate our\nchurches, and very lovely the dark green sprays, with their coral\nberries, look when twined round the grey stone pillars.\n\nThe Holly is looked upon as a second-rate forest tree. It is never\nvery large, and it usually appears as a thick, tall bush, with many\nbranches reaching almost to the ground. Sometimes you find it with a\nslender, bare trunk, clothed with pale grey bark, and if you look\nclosely at this bark you will see that it is covered with curious\nblack markings, as if some strange writing had been traced on it with\na heavy black pen.\n\nThis writing is the work of a tiny plant which makes its home on the\nHolly stem and spreads in this strange way.\n\nThe bark of the young Holly shoots and boughs is pale green and quite\nsmooth.\n\nThe tree requires little sunshine, and it seems to keep all it gets as\nevery leaf is highly polished and reflects the light like a mirror.\nThese leaves grow closely on every branch; they are placed\nalternately on each side of the twigs, and are oval, with the edges so\nmuch waved that the leaves will not lie flat, but curl on each side of\nthe centre rib.\n\nThe prickly leaves which grow low down on the tree have sharp spines\nalong the waved edges, and a very sharp spine always grows at the\npoint of the leaf. But the upper branches are clothed with blunt\nleaves which have no spines along the edges; instead there is a pale\nyellow line round each leaf, and there is a single blunt spine at the\npoint.\n\nSheep and deer are very fond of eating the tough, leathery leaves of\nthe Holly, and it is believed that the tree clothes its lower branches\nin prickly leaves to protect itself from these greedy enemies.\n\nCountry people tell you that if branches of smooth Holly are the first\nto be brought into the house at Christmas-time, then the wife will be\nhead of the house all the next year, but if the prickly boughs enter\nfirst, then the husband will be ruler.\n\nThe Holly leaves hang on the tree several years, and after they fall\nthey lie a long time on the ground before the damp soaks through\ntheir leathery skin and makes them decay. You will find Holly leaves\nfrom which all the green part of the leaf has disappeared, leaving a\nbeautiful skeleton leaf of grey fibre, which is still perfect in every\nvein and rib.\n\nThe flowers of the Holly bloom in May. They appear in small crowded\nclusters between the leaf stalk and the twig, and each flower is a\ndelicate pale pink on the outside, but is pure white within. There is\na calyx cup edged with four green points, and inside this cup stands a\nlong white tube, with four white petals at the top. There are four\nyellow-headed stamens, and a tiny seed-vessel is hidden inside the\nflower tube. Sometimes all these parts will be found complete in a\nsingle flower; sometimes there will be flowers on the same branch\nwhich have stamens and no seed-vessel, and others which have\nseed-vessels and no stamens. Perhaps you will find a whole tree on\nwhich not a single seed flower grows. This tree may be laden with\nlovely white flowers in spring, but it will bear no berries in winter.\nYou must have both stamen flowers and seed flowers if the tree is to\nproduce any fruit.\n\nAs summer passes, the seed-vessels, which have had stamen dust\nscattered over them, become small green berries and these berries turn\nyellow and then change into a deep red, the colour of coral or sealing\nwax. The berries cluster round the green stalk, and most beautiful\nthey are among the glossy dark leaves. Inside each berry there are\nfour little fruit stones containing seeds, and the birds love to eat\nthese red berries, which are full of mealy pulp; but remember that\nchildren must never eat the Holly berries, as they are poisonous\nexcept for the birds.\n\nYou will find that if the Holly tree has a good crop of berries this\nwinter there will not be many the following year; the tree seems to\nrequire a year's rest before it can produce a second large crop.\n\nThere are some Holly trees with leaves which are shaded with pale yellow\nor white-variegated Hollies, we call them. These are greatly prized for\nplanting in gardens, where the bushes with different-coloured leaves\nlend much beauty when all the trees are bare in winter.\n\nThe wood of the Holly is too small to be of much use. It is white and\nvery hard, and when stained black it is largely used instead of ebony,\nwhich is scarce and expensive. The black handles of many of our silver\nteapots are made of stained Holly wood, and the slender branches are\ngood for making walking-sticks and coachmen's whips.\n\n\n\n\nTHE FABLE OF THE THREE ELMS\n\n\n The North Wind spoke to three sturdy elms,\n And, \"Now you are dead!\" said he;\n \"I have blown a blast till the snow whirled past,\n And withered your leaves, and see:\n You are brown and old and your boughs are cold!\"\n And he sneered at the elm trees three.\n\n The first elm spoke in a hollow tone\n (For the snow lay deep and white,)\n \"You think we are dead, North Wind?\" he said,\n \"Why we sleep--as you sleep at night.\n Beneath the snow lie my sturdy roots,\n They grip on the friendly earth,\n And I rest--till another year!\" said he,\n And he shook with a noisy mirth.\n\n The second elm laughed a hearty laugh,\n And, \"North Wind,\" he cried in glee,\n \"Beneath my bark glows a living spark,\n The sap of a healthy tree;\n My boughs are bare and my leaves are gone,\n But--what have I to fear?\n For the winter time is my time of rest\n And I sleep till another year!\"\n\n The third elm spoke and his voice was sweet,\n And kind as the summery sea;\n \"Oh, Wind!\" he said, \"we are far from spring--\n The God in whose hand we be\n Looks down, with love, from the winter sky,\n And sends us His sun to cheer;\n If we had no snow there would be no spring--\n We rest till another year!\"\n\n The three elms rocked in the stinging blast,\n And under the heavy snow\n Their roots were warm from the raging storm,\n And safe from the winds that blow.\n They smiled in their hearts and their leafless boughs\n Spread over the frosty way;\n For they knew that the God of forest trees\n Would watch through each winter day.\n\n The North Wind uttered a frosty sigh,\n As the snow blew far and free;\n And his weary eyes sought the winter skies,\n And, \"Mighty is God!\" said he.\n \"To die or live are His gifts to give!\"\n And he smiled at the elm trees three.\n\n Margaret E. Sangster, Jr.\n\n\n\n\nTHE PINE AND THE WILLOW\n\n(Japanese Tale)\n\nMine Morishima\n\n\nIn a beautiful large garden, among many kinds of trees and shrubs,\nthere stood a tall fine Pine tree, and near to him, and almost as\ntall, a graceful Willow.\n\nOne dark winter morning the wind blew hard and the clouds showed that\na storm was coming soon.\n\nThe Pine felt lonesome, as little children often do and thought he\nwould talk to the Willow. So he said, \"Friend Willow, your branches\nare trembling. I am sorry for you, for I know you are afraid of the\nstorm that is coming. I wish you were like me. I am so strong nothing\ncan hurt me. The frost cannot change the colour of my leaves nor the\nwind blow them off; occasionally, some old ones may fall on the\nground, but there are always new ones to take their places--and I am\nthe only tree in this large garden that is always fresh and bright. As\nfor you, dear Willow, your branches all hang down, you have no leaves\nnow and, as you are neither strong nor pretty and shake in such a\nlittle wind, of what good are you to yourself, or to any one else?\"\n\n\"Dear Pine,\" the Willow answered, \"I do not tremble with fear, for I\nam not afraid, but God made me so that the wind would move my branches\nvery easily, and that I should not have leaves in the winter time. By\nand by I shall have delicate green leaves and blossoms, and I thank\nHim for giving me a beautiful summer dress, even though I go bare in\ncold weather. It must be very beautiful to be strong and handsome, as\nyou are, and I am happy in having so good a friend.\"\n\nWhile they were talking the wind had grown much stronger, and now the\nrain came pouring down. The Pine stood up angrily against the wind,\nscolding with a hin, hin, hin, while the Willow bent and swayed to\nand fro and all the other trees bowed their heads.\n\nThen the Pine said, \"Willow, why do you not push this rude wind away\ninstead of yielding to him; you are cowardly to let him abuse you so,\nwhen you might resist him, as I do.\"\n\nThen the Willow answered, \"There are many ways to keep oneself from\nharm, and I do not like to resist any one with force.\"\n\nThe Pine was vexed at the Willow and would say no more, but battled\nwith the wind he could no longer hold back. Then his branches were\ntorn and his top broken off; they fell to the ground and the proud\ntree was a sad sight.\n\nBut the Willow bent her branches and yielded to the wind, and so was\nunhurt.\n\nThe next morning, when the rain had ceased and the sun shone brightly,\nthe owner of the garden came out to see how his trees had stood the\nstorm. When he saw the broken Pine he thought it was too bad to have a\nbroken tree in his fine garden, so he ordered the gardener to move the\nPine into the back yard.\n\nAfter a time, spring came, and the Willow put forth her lovely green\nleaves and every one who passed looked at the graceful tree and said,\n\"How beautiful she is, how gentle she seems!\"\n\nThe little birds built their nests in her branches, and soon baby\nbirds came, which made the tree very happy. The butterflies danced\naround in the sunshine and all summer little children loved to play in\nthe shade of the drooping Willow.\n\nAnd when the Pine peeped in from the back yard, and saw how happy and\nbeautiful the Willow was, and how the children, the birds, and the\nbutterflies loved to play about her, he thought, \"If only I had been\nless proud of my own strength, then might I, too, be standing in that\nbeautiful garden with my crown of leaves, and with young life all\nabout me.\"\n\n\n\n\nWHY THE WILD RABBITS ARE WHITE IN WINTER\n\n(Algonquin Legend)\n\nAdapted from \"Algonquin Indian Tales,\" by Egerton R. Young. Copyright,\n1903, by Egerton R. Young. Reprinted by permission of the Abington\nPress, Publishers.\n\n\nLong ago Wild Rabbit of the Northland wore a brown fur coat,\nthroughout the year. Today, when the long winter months come, Wild\nRabbit changes his coat of brown to one that is the colour of the\nsnow. And this is how the change happened.\n\nWild Rabbit could not defend himself from his many foes. Almost all\nthe animals,--foxes of all kinds, wildcats, wolves, wolverines,\nweasels, and ermine hunted Wild Rabbit for food. Then there were the\nfierce birds,--the eagles, hawks, and owls--that were always on the\nlookout for rabbits, young or old. The result was that with this war\ncontinually waged against them, the poor rabbits had a hard time of\nit, especially in winter. They found it very difficult to hide\nthemselves when the leaves were off the trees and the ground was\ncovered with snow.\n\nIn those days of long ago the animals used to have a large council.\nThere was a great father at the head of each kind of animal and bird,\nand these leaders used to meet and talk about the welfare of their\nkind. There was always peace and friendship among them while at the\ncouncil. They appointed a king and he presided as chief. All the\nanimals that had troubles or grievances had a right to come and speak\nabout them at the council, and if it were possible, all wrongs were\nremedied.\n\nSometimes queer things were said. At one council the bear found great\nfault with the fox who had deceived him and had caused him to lose his\nbeautiful tail by telling him to go and catch fish with it in a big\ncrack in the ice. The bear sat fishing so long that the crack froze up\nsolidly and, to save his life, the bear had to break off his tail.\n\nBut all the things they talked about were not so funny as the bear's\ncomplaint. They had their troubles and dangers and they discussed\nvarious plans for improving their condition; also, they considered how\nthey could best defeat the skill and cleverness of the human hunters.\n\nAt one of the council meetings, when the rabbit's turn to be heard\ncame, he said that his people were nearly all destroyed, that the rest\nof the world seemed to be combined against his race and they were\nkilling them by day and night, in summer and winter. Also, he declared\nthat the rabbits had little power to fight against enemies, and,\ntherefore, his people were almost discouraged, but they had sent him\nto the council to see if the members could suggest any remedy or plan\nto save the rabbit race from complete destruction.\n\nWhile the rabbit was speaking the wolverine winked at the wildcat,\nwhile the fox, although he tried to look solemn, could not keep his\nmouth from watering as he thought of the many rabbits he intended to\neat.\n\nThus it can be seen that the rabbit did not get much sympathy from his\nenemies in the council. But his friends,--the moose, the reindeer,\nand the mountain goat--stood up in the meeting and spoke out bravely\nfor their little friend. Indeed, they told the animals that had\nlaughed at the little rabbit's sad story that if they continued to\nkill all the rabbits they could find there would soon be none left.\nThen these cruel animals would be the greatest sufferers, for what\nelse could they find to eat in sufficient numbers to keep them alive,\nif the rabbits were all gone?\n\nThis thought sobered the thoughtless animals at first but they soon\nresumed their mocking at the poor little rabbit and his story. As they\nhappened to be in the majority, the council refused to do anything in\nthe matter.\n\nWhen the moose heard the decision of the council he was very sorry for\nhis poor little brother rabbit. He lowered his head and told the\nrabbit to jump on one of his flat horns. The moose then carried him\nsome distance away from the council and said, \"There is no hope for\nyou here. Most of the animals live on you and so they will not do\nanything that will make it more difficult for you to be caught than\nit now is. Your only hope is to go to Manabozho, and see what he can\ndo for you. His name was once Manabush, which means Great Rabbit, so I\nam sure he will be your friend because I think he is a distant\nrelative of yours.\"\n\nAway sped the rabbit along the route described by the moose, who had\nlately found out where Manabozho was stopping.\n\nThe rabbit was such a timid creature that, when he came near to\nManabozho, he was much afraid that he would not be welcomed. However,\nhis case was desperate, and although his heart was thumping with fear\nhe hurried along to have the matter decided as soon as possible.\n\nTo his great joy he found Manabozho in the best humour and the little\ncreature was received most kindly. The great Master saw how weary the\nlittle rabbit was after the long journey so he made the little fellow\nrest on some fragrant grass in the sunshine. Then Manabozho went out\nand brought in some of the choicest things in his garden for the\nrabbit.\n\n\"Tell me all your troubles, little brother,\" said Manabozho. \"Also,\ntell me about the council meeting.\"\n\nThe rabbit repeated his story and told all about the treatment he had\nreceived at the council.\n\nWhen the Great Master heard how unjustly the little rabbit had been\ntreated he grew very angry and said, \"And that is the way they treated\nlittle brother rabbit at the council we have given them, is it? And\nthey know we expect them to give the smallest and weakest the same\nkind of justice as they offer the biggest and strongest! It is high\ntime for some one to report the council news to me if such unfair\nmeetings take place. Look out, Mr. Fox, Mr. Wolverine, and Mr.\nWildcat, for if I take you in hand you'll be sorry little brother\nrabbit was obliged to come to Manabozho for help.\"\n\nThe Great Master had worked himself up into such a furious temper that\nthe rabbit was frightened almost to death. But when Manabozho saw this\nhe laughed and said, \"I'm sorry to have frightened you, little\nbrother. But I was so very angry with those animals for ill-treating\nyou that I forgot myself. And now tell me what you wish me to do for\nyou?\"\n\nAfter a long talk about the matter it was decided that there should be\ntwo great changes made. First, the eyes of the rabbit should be so\nincreased in power that in the future they would be able to see by\nnight as well as by day. Second, in all the Northland where much snow\nfalls during many months of the year the rabbits of that region should\nchange their coats for the winter season into a beautiful white colour\nlike the snow.\n\nAnd the rabbits of the Northland now have a much better time than they\nhad formerly. In their soft white coats they can glide away from their\nenemies, or they can sometimes escape notice by remaining perfectly\nstill on the white earth. (_Adapted._)\n\n\n\n\nTHE YEW\n\nJanet Harvey Kelman\n\n\nOnce upon a time a discontented Yew tree grew in a wood. Other trees,\nit thought, had larger and more beautiful leaves which fluttered in\nthe breeze and became red and brown and yellow in the sunshine, and\nthe Yew tree pined because the fairies had given it such an\nunattractive dress. One morning the sunshine disclosed that all its\ngreen leaves had changed into leaves made of gold, and the heart of\nthe Yew tree danced with happiness. But some robbers, as they stole\nthrough the forest, were attracted by the glitter, and stripped off\nevery golden leaf. Again the tree bemoaned its fate, and next day the\nsun shone on leaves of purest crystal. \"How beautiful!\" thought the\ntree; \"see how I sparkle!\" But a hailstorm burst from the clouds, and\nthe sparkling leaves lay shivered on the grass. Once more the good\nfairies tried to comfort the unhappy tree. Smooth broad leaves covered\nits branches, and the Yew tree flaunted these gay banners in the wind.\nBut, alas, a flock of goats came by and ate of the fresh young leaves\n\"a million and ten.\" \"Give me back again my old dress,\" sobbed the\nYew, \"for I see that it was best.\" And ever since its leaves remain\nunchanging, and it wears the sombre dress which covered its boughs in\nthe days when King William landed from Normandy on our shores, and the\nswineherd tended his pigs in the great forests which covered so much\nof Merry England.\n\n\n\n\nHOW THE PINE TREE DID SOME GOOD\n\nSamuel W. Duffield\n\n\nIt was a long narrow valley where the Pine Tree stood, and perhaps if\nyou want to look for it you might find it there today. For pine trees\nlive a long time, and this one was not very old.\n\nThe valley was quite barren. Nothing grew there but a few scrubby\nbushes; and, to tell the truth, it was about as desolate a place as\nyou can well imagine. Far up over it hung the great, snowy caps of the\nRocky Mountains, where the clouds played hide and seek all day, and\nchased each other merrily across the snow. There was a little stream,\ntoo, that gathered itself up among the snows and came running down the\nside of the mountain; but for all that the valley was very dreary.\n\nOnce in a while there went a large grey rabbit, hopping among the\nsagebushes; but look as far as you could you would find no more\ninhabitants. Poor, solitary little valley, with not even a cottonwood\ndown by the stream, and hardly enough grass to furnish three oxen with\na meal! Poor, barren little valley lying always for half the day in\nthe shadow of those tall cliffs--burning under the summer sun, heaped\nhigh with the winter snows--lying there year after year without a\nfriend! Yes, it had two friends, though they could do it but little\ngood, for they were two pine trees. The one nearest the mountain,\nhanging quite out of reach in a cleft of the rock, was an old, gnarled\ntree, which had stood there for a hundred years. The other was\nyounger, with bright green foliage, summer and winter. It curled up\nthe ends of its branches, as if it would like to have you understand\nthat it was a very fine, hardy fellow, even if it wasn't as old as its\nfather up there in the cleft of the rock.\n\nNow the young Pine Tree grew very lonesome at times, and was glad to\ntalk with any persons who came along, and they were few, I can tell\nyou. Occasionally, it would look lovingly up to the father pine, and\nwonder if it could make him hear what it said. It would rustle its\nbranches and shout by the hour, but the father pine heard him only\nonce, and then the words were so mixed with falling snow that it was\nreally impossible to say what they meant.\n\nSo the Pine Tree was very lonesome and no wonder. \"I wish I knew of\nwhat good I am,\" he said to the grey rabbit one day. \"I wish I\nknew,--I wish I knew,\" and he rustled his branches until they all\nseemed to say, \"Wish I knew--wish I knew.\"\n\n\"O pshaw!\" said the rabbit, \"I wouldn't concern myself much about\nthat. Some day you'll find out.\"\n\n\"But do tell me,\" persisted the Pine Tree, \"of what good you think I\nam.\"\n\n\"Well,\" answered the rabbit, sitting up on her hind paws and washing\nher face with her front ones, in order that company shouldn't see her\nunless she looked trim and tidy--\"well,\" said the rabbit, \"I can't\nexactly say myself what it is. If you don't help one, you help\nanother--and that's right enough, isn't it? As for me, I take care of\nmy family. I hop around among the sagebushes and get their breakfast\nand dinner and supper. I have plenty to do, I assure you, and you must\nreally excuse me now, for I have to be off.\"\n\n\"I wish I was a hare,\" muttered the Pine Tree to himself, \"I think I\ncould do some good then, for I should have a family to support, but I\nknow I can't now.\"\n\nThen he called across to the little stream and asked the same question\nof him. And the stream rippled along, and danced in the sunshine, and\nanswered him. \"I go on errands for the big mountain all day. I carried\none of your cones not long ago to a point of land twenty miles off,\nand there now is a pine tree that looks just like you. But I must run\nalong, I am so busy. I can't tell you of what good you are. You must\nwait and see.\" And the little stream danced on.\n\n\"I wish I were a stream,\" thought the Pine Tree. \"Anything but being\ntied down to this spot for years. That is unfair. The rabbit can run\naround, and so can the stream; but I must stand still forever. I wish\nI were dead.\"\n\nBy and by the summer passed into autumn, and the autumn into winter,\nand the snowflakes began to fall.\n\n\"Halloo!\" said the first one, all in a flutter, as she dropped on the\nPine Tree. But he shook her off, and she fell still farther down on\nthe ground. The Pine Tree was getting very churlish and cross lately.\n\nHowever, the snow didn't stop for all that and very soon there was a\nwhite robe over all the narrow valley. The Pine Tree had no one to\ntalk with now. The stream had covered himself in with ice and snow,\nand wasn't to be seen.\n\nThe hare had to hop around very industriously to get enough for her\nchildren to eat; and the sagebushes were always low-minded fellows and\ncouldn't begin to keep up a ten-minutes' conversation.\n\nAt last there came a solitary figure across the valley, making its way\nstraight for the Pine Tree. It was a lame mule, which had been left\nbehind from some wagon-train. He dragged himself slowly on till he\nreached the tree. Now the Pine, in shaking off the snow, had shaken\ndown some cones as well, and they lay on the snow. These the mule\npicked up and began to eat.\n\n\"Heigh ho!\" said the tree, \"I never knew those things were fit to eat\nbefore.\"\n\n\"Didn't you?\" replied the mule. \"Why I have lived on these things, as\nyou call them, ever since I left the wagons. I am going back on the\nOregon Trail, and I sha'n't see you again. Accept my thanks for\nbreakfast. Good-bye.\"\n\nAnd he moved off to the other end of the valley and disappeared among\nthe rocks.\n\n\"Well!\" exclaimed the Pine Tree. \"That's something, at all events.\"\nAnd he shook down a number of cones on the snow. He was really happier\nthan he had ever been before,--and with good reason, too.\n\nAfter a while there appeared three people. They were a family of\nIndians,--a father, a mother, and a little child. They, too, went\nstraight to the tree.\n\n\"We'll stay here,\" said the father, looking across at the snow-covered\nbed of the stream and up at the Pine Tree. He was very poorly\nclothed, this Indian. He and his wife and the child had on dresses of\nhare-skins, and they possessed nothing more of any account, except bow\nand arrows, and a stick with a net on the end. They had no lodge\npoles, and not even a dog. They were very miserable and hungry. The\nman threw down his bow and arrows not far from the tree. Then he began\nto clear away the snow in a circle and to pull up the sagebushes.\nThese he and the woman built into a round, low hut, and then they\nlighted a fire within it. While it was beginning to burn the man went\nto the stream and broke a hole in the ice. Tying a string to his\narrow, he shot a fish which came up to breathe, and, after putting it\non the coals, they all ate it half-raw. They never noticed the Pine\nTree, though he scattered down at least a dozen more cones.\n\nAt last night came on, cold and cheerless. The wind blew savagely\nthrough the valleys, and howled at the Pine Tree, for they were old\nenemies. Oh, it was a bitter night, but finally the morning broke!\nMore snow had fallen and heaped up against the hut so that you could\nhardly tell that it was there. The stream had frozen tighter than\nbefore and the man could not break a hole in the ice again. The\nsagebushes were all hid by the drifts, and the Indians could find none\nto burn.\n\nThen they turned to the Pine Tree. How glad he was to help them! They\ngathered up the cones and roasted the seeds on the fire. They cut\nbranches from the tree and burned them, and so kept up the warmth in\ntheir hut.\n\nThe Pine Tree began to find himself useful, and he told the hare so\none morning when she came along. But she saw the Indian's hut, and did\nnot stop to reply. She had put on her winter coat of white, yet the\nIndian had seen her in spite of all her care. He followed her over the\nsnow with his net, and caught her among the drifts. Poor Pine Tree!\nShe was almost his only friend, and when he saw her eaten and her skin\ntaken for the child's mantle, he was very sorrowful, you may be sure.\nHe saw that if the Indians stayed there, he, too, would have to die,\nfor they would in time burn off all his branches, and use all his\ncones; but he was doing good at last, and he was content.\n\nDay after day passed by,--some bleak, some warm,--and the winter moved\nslowly along. The Indians only went from their hut to the Pine Tree\nnow. He gave them fire and food, and the snow was their drink. He was\nsmaller than before, for many branches were gone, but he was happier\nthan ever.\n\nOne day the sun came out more warmly, and it seemed as if spring was\nnear. The Indian man broke a hole in the ice, and got more fish. The\nIndian woman caught a rabbit. The Indian child gathered sagebushes\nfrom under the fast-melting snow and made a hotter fire to cook the\nfeast. And they did feast, and then they went away.\n\nThe Pine Tree had found out his mission. He had helped to save three\nlives.\n\nIn the summer there came along a band of explorers, and one, the\nbotanist of the party, stopped beside our Pine Tree:\n\n\"This,\" said he in his big words, \"is the Pinus Monophyllus, otherwise\nknown as the Bread Pine.\" He looked at the deserted hut and passed his\nhand over his forehead.\n\n\"How strange it is,\" said he. \"This Pine Tree must have kept a whole\nfamily from cold and starvation last winter. There are very few of us\nwho have done as much good as that.\" And when he went away, he waved\nhis hand to the tree and thanked God in his heart that it grew there.\nAnd the Bread Pine waved his branches in return, and said to himself\nas he gazed after the departing band: \"I will never complain again,\nfor I have found out what a pleasant thing it is to do good, and I\nknow now that every one in his lifetime can do a little of it.\"\n\n\n\n\nA WONDERFUL WEAVER\n\n\n There's a wonderful weaver\n High up in the air,\n And he weaves a white mantle\n For cold earth to wear.\n With the wind for his shuttle,\n The cloud for his loom,\n How he weaves, how he weaves,\n In the light, in the gloom.\n\n Oh, with finest of laces,\n He decks bush and tree;\n On the bare, flinty meadows\n A cover lays he.\n Then a quaint cap he places\n On pillar and post,\n And he changes the pump\n To a grim, silent ghost.\n\n But this wonderful weaver\n Grows weary at last;\n And the shuttle lies idle\n That once flew so fast.\n Then the sun peeps abroad\n On the work that is done;\n And he smiles: \"I'll unravel\n It all, just for fun.\"\n\n George Cooper.\n\n\n\n\nTHE PINE AND THE FLAX\n\nAlbrekt Segerstedt\n\n\nJust where a forest ended grew a pine tree taller and more beautiful\nthan all the others in the forest. Far away could be seen its feathery\nround crown, whose soft branches waved so gracefully when the wind\nblew across the plain.\n\nAt the foot of the pine tree the fields of grain began.\n\nHere the farmer sowed seeds of many kinds, but the flax was sowed\nnearest the pine. It came up beautiful and even, and the pine thought\na great deal of the slender green thing.\n\nThe flax stalk raised itself higher and higher, and near the close of\nsummer it bore a little blue helmet on his head.\n\n\"Thou art so beautiful!\" said the tall pine.\n\nThe flax bowed itself low, but raised again so gracefully that it\nlooked like a billowy sea.\n\nThe pine and the flax often talked to each other and became great\nfriends.\n\n\"What folly!\" said the other forest trees to the pine. \"Do not have\nanything to do with the flax; it is so weak. Choose the tall spruce or\nthe birch tree. They are strong.\"\n\nBut the pine would not desert the flax.\n\nThe thistle and other small plants talked to the flax.\n\n\"You are crazy to think of the lofty pine. It does not trouble itself\nabout you. It is tall and proud. Children of a size play best\ntogether. Think of the bush and vine and content yourself.\"\n\n\"I shall trust the pine,\" replied the flax. \"It is honourable and\nfaithful and I am fond of it.\"\n\nSo the pine and the flax remained friends.\n\nTime passed and the flax was pulled up and made into ropes and cloth.\nThe pine was felled and its trunk carried to the city. But the pine\nand flax did not forget each other, though neither knew where the\nother was.\n\nA large, beautiful ship was launched upon the water. On this the pine\ntree was erected as a mast, and on the highest part waved a flag.\n\nThen came a great white sail to help the mast carry the proud ship\nforward. It wrapped itself around the mast, spread itself out like a\ngreat wing, and caught the wind on its wide curve.\n\nThe sail had been woven of linen that grew as flax out in the field on\nthe edge of the wood. And the two friends had met again.\n\nClasping each other faithfully, out over the foaming billows they went\nto new lands. It was life, it was pleasure to go on united as friends.\n\nThe winds took a message back to the forest.\n\n\"Who would have believed it?\" said the spruce and the birch.\n\n\n\n\nTHE FIR TREE\n\n\n O singing Wind\n Searching field and wood,\n Cans't thou find\n Aught that's sweet or good--\n Flowers, to kiss awake,\n Or dewy grass, to shake,\n Or feathered seed\n Aloft to speed?\n\n Replies the wind:\n \"I cannot find\n Flowers, to kiss awake,\n Or dewy grass to shake,\n Or feathered seed\n Aloft to speed;\n Yet I meet\n Something sweet,\n When the scented fir,--\n Balsam-breathing fir--\n In my flight I stir.\"\n\n Edith M. Thomas.\n\n\n\n\nWHY BRUIN HAS A STUMPY TAIL\n\n(Norwegian Legend)\n\n\nOnce upon a time a sly fox lived in a deep forest which bordered a\nriver. One fine winter day he was lying in the sun near a brush heap\nwith his eyes closed, and he was thinking: \"It has been several days\nsince I had a dainty supper. How I should enjoy a fine large fish this\nevening. I'll slip over to the edge of the forest and watch the\nfishermen as they go home with their day's catch. Perhaps good luck\nwill do something for me.\"\n\nNow one old man had caught a very fine lot of fish of all sizes.\nIndeed, he had so many that he was obliged to hire a cart in which to\ncarry them home. He was driving along slowly when suddenly he noticed\na red fox crouched under the bush near the road. He stopped his horse,\njumped down from the cart, and carefully crept near the spot where he\nhad seen Master Reynard. The fox did not open his eyes nor move a\nmuscle.\n\n\"Well,\" said the old fisherman, \"I do believe he is dead! What a fine\ncoat he has. I will take him home and give him to my wife for a\npresent.\" He lifted the fox and put him into the cart among the fish.\nThe old man then mounted to his seat and drove merrily on, thinking\nhow pleased his wife would be with the fine fish and the fox. When\nthey were well on their way, the sly fox threw one fish after another\nout of the cart until all lay scattered along on the road; then he\nslipped out of the cart.\n\nWhen the old man reached his cottage, he called out to his wife, \"Come\nand see the fine fish I caught to-day. And I have brought you a\nbeautiful gift, also.\"\n\nHis wife hurried to the cart and said, \"Where are the fish, my\nhusband, and where is my present?\"\n\n\"Why, there in the cart,\" he replied.\n\n\"In the cart!\" exclaimed his wife. \"Why, there is nothing here;\nneither fish nor present, so far as I can see.\"\n\nThe old man looked and to his great surprise and disappointment he\ndiscovered that what his wife said was true.\n\nMeanwhile, the sly fox had gathered up the fish and had taken them to\nthe forest in order to enjoy a fine supper. Presently he heard a\npleasant voice saying, \"Good evening, Brother Reynard.\"\n\nHe looked up and saw his friend Bruin. \"Oh, good evening to you,\"\nanswered the fox. \"I have been fishing to-day, and, as you see, luck\ncertainly attended me.\"\n\n\"It did, indeed,\" answered the bear. \"Could you not spare me one fish?\nI should consider the gift a great favor.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" answered the fox, \"why don't you go fishing yourself? I assure\nyou when one becomes a fisherman, he thoroughly enjoys the fruits of\npatience.\"\n\n\"Go fishing, my friend,\" said Bruin, in astonishment. \"That is\nimpossible. I know nothing about catching fish, I assure you.\"\n\n\"Pooh, it is very easy, especially in the winter time when ice nearly\ncovers the river. Let me tell you what to do. Make a hole in the ice\nand stick your tail down into it. Hold it there just as long as you\ncan and keep saying, 'Come, little fish; come, big fish.' Don't mind\nif the tail smarts a little; that only means that you have a bite, and\nI assure you the longer you hold it there the more fish you will\ncatch. Then all at once, out with your tail. Give a strong pull\nsideways, then upward, and you'll have enough fish to last you several\ndays. But mind you, follow my directions closely.\"\n\n\"Oh, my friend, I am very grateful for your kind information,\" said\nBruin, and off he went to the river where he proceeded to follow\nMaster Fox's directions.\n\nIn a short time sly Reynard passed by, and when he saw Bruin patiently\nsitting on the ice with his tail in a hole, he laughed until his sides\nached. He said, wickedly, under his breath: \"A clear sky, a clear sky!\nBruin's tail will freeze, Bruin's tail will freeze.\"\n\n\"What did you say, my friend?\" asked the bear.\n\n\"Oh, I was making a wish,\" replied the fox.\n\nAll night long Bruin sat there, fishing patiently. Then he decided to\ngo home. How very heavy his tail felt. He thought to himself that all\nthe fish in the river must be fastened there. In a little while the\nwomen of the village came to get water from the river, and when they\nsaw the bear, they called out at the top of their voices: \"Come, come!\nA bear, a bear! Kill him! Kill him!\"\n\nThe men came quickly with great sticks in their hands. Poor Bruin gave\na short pull sideways and his tail snapped off short. He made off to\nthe woods as fast as he could go, but to this day he goes about with a\nstumpy tail.\n\n\n\n\nPINES AND FIRS\n\nMrs. Dyson\n\n\nPines and firs! Who knows the difference between a pine and a fir!\nThese trees are first cousins; they often dwell together in our woods;\nthey are evergreen; they have narrow, pointed leaves; and they bear\ncones, and so we often call them all firs, as if they were brothers.\nThis may satisfy strangers and passers-by who only turn their heads\nand say: \"Ah! a fir wood,\" but it will not be sufficient for the\nfriends of the trees. Pines and firs are as different as oaks and\nbeeches; and who would not be ashamed to take a beech for an oak!\n\nA fir is the shape of a church steeple or a spear-head about to cleave\nthe sky. The lowermost branches come out in a ring and spread out\nstraight and stiff like the spokes of a wheel. Above this whorl is\nanother of shorter branches still, and so on, till the top ring is\nquite a little one round a pointed shoot. The little shoots fork out\non each side of the big branches, and like them are set closely with\nleaves. These shoots do not point up to the sky nor down to the earth;\nthey spread out flat, so that the branch looks like a huge fern.\n\nPines begin to grow like firs; but as they shoot up side by side in\nthe woods, their lower branches drop off for want of air and sunshine,\nand their upper branches spread out wider. A fir is a pyramid with a\npointed top; but a full-grown pine has a flat top, and often a tall,\nbare trunk, so that it looks like a great umbrella. A famous Roman\nwriter, Pliny, said that the smoke of a volcano was like a pine tree.\nThe smoke shoots up in a great pillar from the mouth of the fiery\nmountain, and then spreads itself out in a black cap.\n\nYou have often amused yourselves with finding pictures in the clouds.\nHave you seen a pillar of mist rise up from the horizon, the meeting\nline of the earth and sky, and then lose itself in a soft cloud? The\ncountry people in some parts of Europe call this cloud-form\n_Abraham's tree_ or _Adam's tree_, because it is so like a pine tree.\nWhen the clouds break up into the soft, white, fleecy ripples that we\ncall a mackerel sky, they say, \"We shall have wind, for Adam's tree is\nputting forth leaves.\"\n\nThe pine trees dress themselves in long, blue-green, rounded needles\nset in bundles of two, three, or more, bristling out all round their\nbranches; but the fir trees wear short, narrow, flat leaves of a\nyellow-green colour, set singly each one by itself. These fir leaves\ncome out all round the stem just as pine leaves do, but they are\nparted down the middle as we sometimes part our hair, so that they\nspread out flat in two thick rows.\n\nMr. Ruskin calls the pines and firs and their relations the builders\nwith the sword, because of their narrow, pointed leaves, and the\nbroad-leaved trees he calls the builders with the shield. The trees of\nthe sword stand erect on the hills like armed soldiers prepared for\nwar; while the trees of the shield spread themselves in the valleys to\nshelter the fields and pastures.\n\nWhy do these mountain trees have such narrow leaves? Can you find out\na reason? Perhaps this is one: when the great, strong wind is raging\nwith all his force, he will not suffer any resistance but breaks down\neverything that tries to stay him in his course; if he meets broad\nleaves and heavy branches, he hurls them out of his way, but he just\nwhistles through the slender leaves and branches of the pines and\nfirs, and scarcely knows they are there.\n\nWhen you gather the cones in the wood, you may know at once whether\nthey have fallen from pine trees or from fir trees. A pine cone looks\nlike a single piece of carved solid wood until it opens, and then each\nhard scale shows a thick, square head; but the fir cones are made of\nbroad, papery scales, with thin edges laid neatly one over the other.\n\nNow you will never have any difficulty in knowing the pines from the\nfirs, even in the far distance--colour, form, dress, fruit, all are\ndifferent.\n\nHow is it we make a mistake, and call the Scotch pine by the name of\nScotch fir? Perhaps it is because this tree is the only one of the\ngreat pine and fir family that is a real native of Britain. Our\nstay-at-home ancestors who lived above three hundred years ago never\nsaw a real fir, and so their one pine had to represent all its\nrelations. They knew it perhaps better than we do, for in their days\nthere were many forests that have since been cut down to make room for\nhouses and gardens and fields.\n\nSometimes when you have been walking over the moorland you have run to\ngather some bright yellow moss, and have suddenly found your foot\nsinking into wet, black mud, and you have heard stories of men and\nhorses sucked down by just such dreadful slime. Hundreds of years ago\nforests stood where now lie these dangerous bogs, and the trees and\nshrubs rotting and decaying in the wet have changed into black, brown\nswamps. Many bogs have been drained, and the trunks of pine trees have\nbeen found in them standing as they grew. In one bog in Yorkshire pine\ntrees were found sawn across and left to lie and rot. Who felled these\ntrees which have been lying there hundreds of years? Can we tell? Yes;\nfor among the trees are scattered axe-heads and Roman coins, and we\nare able to picture the old story of the place. There was once a\nforest there, and the ancient Britons hid themselves in its shelter,\nand the Romans cut down the trees to drive them from their\nhiding-place.\n\nThere are two common kinds of firs which you will find in the woods.\nOne is the spruce fir, a very prim and proper tree, with slightly\ncurving branches turned up at the tips. It looks as if the branches\nhad been all cut to a pattern, and their length and the distances\nbetween them carefully measured. When you have been washed and brushed\nand pulled and straightened, and had every hair and bow set in its\nproper place, so that you look particularly trim and neat, you\nsometimes laugh and call one another _spruce_, like the spruce fir.\n\nSome people think the name \"spruce\" means the _pruce_, or Prussian\ntree; others say it means the sprouting tree, the tree that sprouts at\nthe ends of its branches. In some countries these bright-green sprouts\nare cut off and made into a kind of beer called spruce beer.\n\nThe spruce fir is at home on the high mountains of Europe where it\noften grows one hundred and fifty feet high. You long for the time\nwhen you will be taken to Switzerland to see the snow-capped Alps.\nThen standing out against the white snow and the glittering ice rivers\nyou will see the dark spruce forests. This fir is also at home in\nNorway and the cold lands of the North, and so we call it the Norway\nSpruce to distinguish it from other kinds of spruce fir that grow in\nAmerica. In Norway many old men and women earn a living by gathering\nand selling in the markets pieces of fir for the people to strew on\nthe graves as we do flowers.\n\nWhat sort of cones has the spruce? Can you find some in the fir wood?\nThey are five or six inches long and perhaps two inches thick. You\nwill see them hanging from the ends of the upper branches, and perhaps\nyou may find some empty ones on the ground. Look at them. Those thin\nscales are very different from the tough walls of the pine cone: each\none is shaped off to a point, and this point is divided into two sharp\nteeth.\n\nPerhaps when you are looking for the cones, you will find growing fast\nto the branches among the leaves some fanciful things that look like\nlittle cones. These are very gay; every scale has a border of crimson\nvelvet and a green spine in the middle of its back, like a little\ntusk. If you open them you will find some brown, soft things inside.\nDo you know what they are? Perhaps, if you have not already made\nfriends with the real cone, you will think these are seeds; but some\nof you are growing wise, and know that you have intruded into a little\nnest of insects. If you tie a net round the branch and keep watch, you\nmay see them come out. Their mother pierced a hole in a brown bud last\nautumn and laid her eggs there; then when the buds burst in spring the\nlower leaves grew fast together and made this comfortable house, and\nthose green tusks you see are the leaf points.\n\nBut what is the other kind of fir that grows in our wood? It is rather\nlike the spruce in shape, but it is not quite so stiff and prim and\nproper, and underneath each little leaf there are two silver lines,\nand so we call this the silver fir. You may always know it from the\nspruce by these silver lines. Each stiff little leaf has its edges\nrolled under as if ready for hemming, and there is a thick green rib\ndown the middle of the under side, so the silver lining just peeps out\nin single streaks between the rib and the hems.\n\nThe spring tufts of the Norway spruce are of a bright yellow-green;\nthose of the silver fir are paler and softer in tint, more like the\nprimrose. When the sulphur butterfly lights on them we lose sight of\nhim, so he flits from one to another, feeling quite safe, and keeping\ncarefully away from those dark old leaves where he would be pounced\nupon at once.\n\nThe silver fir does not let its cones hang down; it holds them proudly\nerect on its branches; like little towers often eight inches high. We\nwonder how such slender twigs can hold up such large cones. They look\nlike hairy giants, for their scales do not end in two little teeth,\nbut in a long point which turns back and bends downwards.\n\nThe silver fir does not like quite such cold places as the spruce and\nthe Scotch pine; it dwells lower down the mountain sides, and is at\nhome in Central Europe.\n\nAll the pines and firs, like the Scotch pine, have those wonderful\npipes and reservoirs of sticky turpentine juice inside their bark, but\neach kind of fir has its own way of making its stores, and so we get\ndifferent kinds of resin and turpentine and balsams from different\ntrees.\n\nIt is these stores of resin that make the pine wood burn so brightly.\nThe Highland chief needed no gas for his great illuminations; he had\nonly to call his followers to hold up branches of blazing pine. It is\nnot very wise to light a picnic fire in a pine or fir wood, for\nsometimes a few sparks will set a whole forest in flames.\n\n_Fir_--_fire_: how much alike these two words are! Do you think they\nmust have some connection with one another? Were the first fires made\nof fir wood? or was this tree called fir because it made such good\nfires? These words are so old that we can only guess their history.\n\nThose of you who like pretty things have often fingered admiringly\nsome bright, shining necklace of amber beads. The pieces of amber\nfrom which those beads were cut were picked up on the shores of the\nBaltic Sea, and it is supposed that once upon a time some great pines\nor firs dropped their gummy juice and this hardened into these\nbeautiful transparent stones.\n\nPines and firs are some of our greatest tree givers. They seem never\ntired of giving. Can you think of anything that is made of pine or fir\nwood? Perhaps you remember hearing that the seats or panels or\nceilings in your school or church were of the wood of an American pine\ncalled the pitch pine. But common fir wood has a name of its own. Who\nhas not heard of _deal_? A _deal_ is a part or portion, and so we talk\nof a great deal of something meaning a large portion. Our fir wood\ncomes in great quantities from Norway and Germany, where it is first\ncut and sawn into planks. Each plank is a _deal_--that is, a portion\nof the wood. It has been easy to leave out the article and call the\nwood _deal_.\n\nOur white deal comes from the firs, chiefly from the Norway spruce.\nThe darker-coloured deal is the gift of the Scotch pine.\n\nHow can the great trees be carried from the mountain-tops, do you\nsuppose? The streams are the carriers; they float the great trunks\ndown to the rivers, where they are tied together in great rafts and\nfloated on again to their new home, or to the seaport from which they\ncan be shipped to foreign lands. Sometimes when the nearest stream is\nat a long distance from the trees, a wooden slide is made to it. In\nthe winter, water is poured down the slide, and when it freezes the\ntrees easily shoot down the slippery way to the stream. Oh, what fun\nit must be! You would like to be there to see. In the year 1810, when\nall Europe was at war with the great Emperor Napoleon, the deal\ntraffic on the Baltic Sea was stopped. What was to be done? Near the\nLake of Lucerne there is a high mountain, called Mont Pilate, covered\nwith great forests of pine and fir. If these could only be cut down\nand brought to the lake, they could easily be floated down the Rhine\nto the sea. So a tremendous slide was made from Mont Pilate to the\nlake. It was six feet broad, and from three to six feet deep, and\neight miles long, and twenty-five thousand pine trees were used in\nmaking it. When water had been poured down and had frozen, the great\ntrunks were started one at a time. Away they shot, and reached the\nlake, eight miles off, in six minutes, and in wet weather, when the\nslide was very slippery, they were only three minutes on the way.\n\nLook at the deal planks on the floor of your room. Do you see those\ndark knots? They show you where once branches sprang out of the trunk.\nMany of these decayed and dropped off while quite young, and a little\nstore of juice prepared for the branch gathered into the knot and\nturned it brown and dark. You will often find the knots in pairs,\nshowing you how the branches grew opposite one another.\n\nThese long straight lines in the plank that we call the _grain_ show\nthe rings of wood made by the pine tree year by year.\n\nHow astonished you would be if suddenly out of that plank a great\ninsect were to creep and spread out its wings. This sometimes\nhappens, to the alarm of the people in the room, but only when the\nwood is new and has been used too soon, before it was properly dried\nand seasoned. The insect looks very formidable, for it has a long,\npointed weapon at the end of its body, but it is quite harmless. It is\ncalled the _giant sirex_, and it looks something like a wasp or\nhornet. With its weapon it pierces holes in the pine tree bark and\nlays its eggs there. The grubs eat great tunnels in the trunk, and\nwhen they are full grown they creep nearly to the outside, and there\nwait till they are changed and their wings are ready before they creep\nout. Sometimes while they wait the tree is cut down and then they are\neither sawn in two or left inside the plank.\n\nWe often see young fir trees in a very strange place, bearing\nwonderful fruit of gold and silver shining lights, and glittering\ntoys.\n\n \"The fir tree stood\n In a beautiful room;\n A hundred tapers\n Dispelled the gloom.\n\n All decked with gold and silver was he,\n And lilies and roses so fair to see.\n Hurrah for the fir tree, the Christmas tree;\n A prince in all the forests is he!\n\n The little children\n With merry shout\n Came crowding, clustering\n Round about.\n\n Brighter and rounder grew their eyes,\n And they gazed at the fir in glad surprise.\n Hurrah for the fir tree, the Christmas tree;\n A prince in all the forests is he!\"\n\n\n\n\nWHO LOVES THE TREES BEST?\n\n\n Who loves trees best?\n \"I,\" said the spring,\n \"Their leaves so beautiful\n To them I bring.\"\n\n Who loves the trees best?\n \"I,\" summer said,\n \"I give them blossoms,\n White, yellow, red.\"\n\n Who loves the trees best?\n \"I,\" said the fall,\n \"I give luscious fruits,\n Bright tints to all!\"\n\n Who loves the trees best?\n \"I love them best,\"\n Harsh winter answered,\n \"I give them rest.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHRISTMAS EVERYWHERE\n\n\n\n\nA CHRISTMAS SONG\n\n\n Everywhere, everywhere, Christmas to-night!\n Christmas in lands of fir tree and pine;\n Christmas in lands of palm tree and vine,\n Christmas where snow peaks stand solemn and white;\n Christmas where cornfields lie sunny and bright;\n Everywhere, everywhere, Christmas to-night!\n\n Christmas where children are hopeful and gay;\n Christmas where old men are patient and grey;\n Christmas where peace like a dove in its flight,\n Broods over brave men in the thick of the fight;\n Everywhere, everywhere, Christmas to-night.\n\n Phillips Brooks.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SHEPHERD MAIDEN'S GIFT\n\n(Eastern Legend)\n\n\nIn the quiet midnight, peace brooded over the fields where the\nshepherds were watching their flocks. The tinkling of sheepbells, the\nbleating of lambs, and the barking of watchdogs had gradually ceased.\nAround a large campfire several shepherds lay resting, for they had\nhad a long, hard day. Each had beside him a strong shepherd's crook\nand a stout club ready for use in case any lurking danger threatened\nthe beloved flocks.\n\nNot far away from the campfire a shepherd maiden lay sleeping in the\nrude shelter of a rocky cave. All day long she had helped her father\nguard the sheep, and when darkness fell over the fields and hills, she\nwas glad to lie down in her snug bed made of the fleecy skins of kids\nand lambs.\n\nSuddenly a light filled the cave and wakened the maiden. Thinking it\nwas daybreak, she sprang up, stepped to the rude doorway, and pushed\naside the curtain of goatskin.\n\n\"What has happened?\" she whispered.\n\nThe fields and hills were flooded with light. The group of shepherds\nwere standing close together, gazing intently at the luminous eastern\nsky. A moment later she saw them fall on their knees in worship. There\nin the entrance of her rude shelter, she, too, knelt and prayed.\nClearly she saw the shining angel appear and in the peaceful stillness\nof the night she heard these words:\n\n\"Be not afraid; for, behold, I bring good tidings of great joy which\nshall be to all the people: for there is born to you this day, in the\ncity of David, a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be\nthe sign unto you: ye shall find a babe wrapped in swaddling clothes\nand lying in a manger.\"\n\nAnd suddenly there was with the angel many, many others. Together they\nlifted up their voices in praise and sang,\n\n \"Glory to God in the highest,\n Peace on earth\n Good will toward men.\"\n\nWhen the sweet music died away, the maiden rose to her feet and joined\nthe shepherds.\n\n\"I saw the angel, Father, and heard the singing,\" she whispered.\n\n\"Christ, the Lord, is born,\" answered her father.\n\n\"Let us hasten to Bethlehem and see the Heavenly Child who fulfills\nthe promise of God,\" said one of the shepherds.\n\n\"Shall we leave our flocks?\" asked another. But the question was not\nanswered.\n\n\"Come, let us see what gifts we have to carry to the Christ-child,\"\nsaid the shepherd who first saw the light in the sky.\n\nIn a few moments these simple-hearted men were ready to start across\nthe fields and over the low hills to Bethlehem. Very humble gifts they\nhad to offer, but their hearts were filled with joy and wonder.\n\nStanding near the entrance to the cave the shepherd maiden could see\nthe outline of the group of men making their way to the city of David.\n\"They are going to see the Christ-child,\" she said to herself, \"a babe\nwrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger.\"\n\nHow she would love to see the Heavenly Child! A deep longing to behold\nthe little new-born King seized her. She would follow the shepherds to\nBethlehem. One glimpse at the Christ-child would fill her heart with\njoy.\n\nAway over the star-lit fields and hills she started. Not once did she\nfalter, although the way was long and some of the hillsides were hard\nto climb.\n\nFinally, she saw the shepherds pass in the gate of the city of\nBethlehem.\n\n\"I came to see the Christ-child,\" she said to a group of people who\nstood whispering together. They looked at her in astonishment.\n\n\"I am following the shepherds,\" she added.\n\n\"They have gone to the inn,\" was the answer.\n\nWhen she reached the inn she was directed to a cave near, which served\nas a stable.\n\nThere through the entrance she saw the shepherds lay their humble\npresents at Mary's feet and then kneel in solemn adoration.\n\n\"I have brought nothing to offer,\" whispered the maiden, looking\nwistfully into the rude shelter. \"I cannot go in without a gift--a\nlittle gift for the Christ-child.\"\n\nTears of disappointment filled her eyes. Slowly she turned to leave\nthe place. But after she had taken a few steps she stopped and burst\ninto sobs. How could she go away without a glimpse of the Heavenly\nChild? Then, as she stood weeping, a marvelous thing happened. An\nangel appeared beside her and said:\n\n\"Lo, here at thy feet is a gift for the Christ-child.\"\n\nThen she saw growing near her, slender stems covered with delicate\ngreen leaves and bearing lovely flowers.\n\nThe maiden did not stop to wonder. Here was a gift fit to offer the\nlittle Saviour. With trembling joy she gathered the Christmas roses\nand stepped lightly into the humble house where the little babe lay\nsmiling in his mother's arms. In Mary's lap the maiden laid her gift\nof flowers, and, with radiant face, she knelt and filled her heart\nwith the glorious vision.\n\n\n\n\nCHRISTMAS GIFTS\n\nLaura E. Richards\n\n\n\"Mother,\" said Jack, \"may I have some money to buy Christmas presents\nwith?\"\n\n\"Dear,\" said his mother, \"I have no money. We are very poor, and I can\nhardly buy enough food for us all.\"\n\nJack hung his head; if he had not been ten the tears would have come\nto his eyes, but he was ten.\n\n\"All the other boys give presents!\" he said.\n\n\"So shall you!\" said his mother. \"All presents are not bought with\nmoney. The best boy that ever lived was as poor as we are, and yet He\nwas always giving.\"\n\n\"Who was He,\" asked Jack; \"and what did He give?\"\n\n\"This is His birthday,\" said the mother. \"He was the good Jesus. He\nwas born in a stable, and He lived in a poor working-man's house. He\nnever had a penny of His own, yet he gave twelve good gifts every day.\nWould you like to try His way?\"\n\n\"Yes!\" cried Jack.\n\nSo his mother told him this and that; and soon after Jack started out,\ndressed in his best suit, to give his presents.\n\nFirst, he went to Aunt Jane's house. She was old and lame, and she did\nnot like boys.\n\n\"What do you want?\" she asked.\n\n\"Merry Christmas!\" said Jack. \"May I stay for an hour and help you?\"\n\n\"Humph!\" said Aunt Jane. \"Want to keep you out of mischief, do they?\nWell, you may bring in some wood.\"\n\n\"Shall I split some kindling, too?\" asked Jack.\n\n\"If you know how,\" said Aunt Jane. \"I can't have you cutting your foot\nand messing my clean shed all up.\"\n\nJack found some fresh pine wood and a bright hatchet, and he split up\na great pile of kindling and thought it fun. He stacked it neatly, and\nthen brought in a pail of fresh water and filled the kettle.\n\n\"What else can I do?\" he asked. \"There are twenty minutes more.\"\n\n\"Humph!\" said Aunt Jane. \"You might feed the pig.\"\n\nJack fed the pig, who thanked him in his own way.\n\n\"Ten minutes more!\" he said. \"What shall I do now?\"\n\n\"Humph!\" said Aunt Jane. \"You may sit down and tell me why you came.\"\n\n\"It is a Christmas present!\" said Jack. \"I am giving hours for\npresents. I had twelve, but I gave one to mother, and another one was\ngone before I knew I had it. This hour was your present.\"\n\n\"Humph!\" said Aunt Jane. She hobbled to the cupboard and took out a\nsmall round pie that smelt very good. \"Here!\" she said. \"This is\n_your_ present, and I thank you for mine. Come again, will you?\"\n\n\"Indeed I will,\" said Jack, \"and thank you for the pie!\"\n\nNext Jack went and read for an hour to old Mr. Green, who was blind.\nHe read a book about the sea, and they both liked it very much, so\nthe hour went quickly. Then it was time to help mother get dinner, and\nthen time to eat it; that took two hours, and Aunt Jane's pie was\nwonderful. Then Jack took the Smith baby for a ride in its carriage,\nas Mrs. Smith was ill, and they met its grandfather, who filled Jack's\npockets with candy and popcorn and invited him to a Christmas tree\nthat night.\n\nNext Jack went to see Willy Brown, who had been ill for a long time\nand could not leave his bed. Willy was very glad to see him; they\nplayed a game, and then each told the other a story, and before Jack\nknew it the clock struck six.\n\n\"Oh!\" cried Jack. \"You have had two!\"\n\n\"Two what?\" asked Willy.\n\n\"Two hours!\" said Jack; and he told Willy about the presents he was\ngiving. \"I am glad I gave you two,\" he said, \"and I would give you\nthree, but I must go and help mother.\"\n\n\"Oh, dear!\" said Willy. \"I thank you very much, Jack. I have had a\nperfectly great time; but I have nothing to give you.\"\n\nJack laughed. \"Why, don't you see?\" he cried; \"you have given me just\nthe same thing. I have had a great time, too.\"\n\n\"Mother,\" said Jack, as he was going to bed, \"I have had a splendid\nChristmas, but I wish I had had something to give you besides the\nhours.\"\n\n\"My darling,\" said his mother, \"you have given me the best gift of\nall--yourself!\"\n\n\n\n\nSILVER BELLS\n\n\n Across the snow the Silver Bells\n Come near and yet more near;\n Each Day and Night, each Night and Day\n They tinkle soft and clear.\n\n 'Tis Father Christmas on his way\n Across the winter Snows;\n While on his sleigh the Silver Bells\n Keep chiming as he goes.\n\n I listen for them in the Night,\n I listen all the Day,\n I think these merry Silver Bells\n Are long, long on the way!\n\n Hamish Hendry.\n\n\n\n\nTHE ANIMALS' CHRISTMAS TREE\n\nJohn P. Peters\n\n\nOnce upon a time the animals decided to have a Christmas tree, and\nthis was how it came about: The swifts and the swallows in the\nchimneys in the country houses, awakened from their sleep by joy and\nlaughter, had stolen down and peeped in upon scenes of happiness, the\ncenter of which was always an evergreen tree covered with wonderful\nfruit, bright balls of many colours, and sparkling threads of gold and\nsilver, lying like beautiful frost-work among the green fir needles. A\nsweet, fairy-like figure of a Christ Child or an angel rested high\namong the branches, and underneath the tree were dolls and sleds and\nskates and drums and toys of every sort, and furs and gloves and\ntippets, ribbons and handkerchiefs, and all the things that boys and\ngirls need and like; and all about this tree were gathered always\nlittle children with faces--oh! so full of wonderment and expectation,\nchanging to radiant, sparkling merriment as toys and candies were\ntaken off the tree or from underneath its boughs and distributed among\nthem.\n\nThe swifts and swallows told their feathered friends all about it, and\nthey told others, both birds and animals, until at last it began to be\nrumoured through all the animal world that on one day in the year the\nchildren of men were made wonderfully happy by means of some sort of\nfestival which they held about a fir tree from the forest. Now, of\ncourse, the tame animals and the house animals, the dogs and the cats\nand the mice, knew something more about this festival. But then, they\ndid not exchange visits with the wild animals, because they felt\nthemselves above them.\n\nThey were always trying to be like men and women, you know, putting on\nairs and pretending to know everything; but, after all, they were\nanimals and could not help making friendships now and then with the\nwild creatures, especially when the men and women were not there. And\nwhen they were asked about the Christmas tree, they told still more\nwonderful stories than the swifts and the swallows from the chimneys\nhad told, for some of them had taken part in these festivals, and some\nhad even received presents from the tree, just like the children.\n\nThey said that the tree was called a Christmas tree, because that\nstrange fruit and that wonderful frosting came on it only in the\nChristmas time, and that the Christmas time was the time when men and\nwomen and little children, too, were always kind and good and loving,\nand gave things to one another; and they said, moreover, that on the\nChristmas tree grew the things which every one wanted, and which would\nmake them happy, and that it was so, because in the Christmas time\neveryone was trying to make everyone else happy and to think of what\nother people would like. This they said was what they had seen and\nheard told about Christmas trees. They did not quite understand why it\nwas so, but they knew that the Christmas tree, when rightly made,\nbrought the Christmas spirit, and they had heard men say that the\nChristmas spirit was the great thing, and that that was what made\neveryone happy.\n\nWell, the long and the short of it was that the animals talked of it\nin their dens and on their roosts, in the fields, and in the forests,\nwild beasts and tame alike--the cows and the horses in their stalls,\nthe sheep in their fold, the doves in their cotes and the poultry in\nthe poultry-yard, until all agreed that a Christmas tree would be a\ngrand thing for the wild and tame alike. Like the men, they, too,\nwould have a tree of their very own. But how to do it?\n\nThen the lion called a meeting of all the creatures, wild and tame;\nfor you know the lion is king of beasts and when he calls they all\nmust come. You know, too, that before and during and after these\nanimal congresses there is a royal peace. The lamb can come to the\nmeeting and sit down by the wolf, and the wolf dare not touch him; the\ndove may perch on the bough between the hawk and the owl and neither\nwill harm him, when the great king of beasts has summoned them all\ntogether to take counsel. But you know all about the rules of the\nanimals, for you have read them in books, and you have seen the\npictures: how the lion sits on his throne with a crown on one side of\nhis head, and all the other creatures gather about--the elephant, and\ngiraffe, the hippopotamus, the buffalo, wolves and tigers and\nleopards, foxes and deer, goats and sheep, monkeys and orang-outangs,\nparrots and robins and turkeys and swans and storks and eagles and\nfrogs and lizards and alligators, and all the rest besides.\n\nThen, when the lion had called the meeting to order, the swifts and\nthe swallows told what they had seen, and a fat little pug-dog, with a\nribbon and a silver bell about his neck, wheezed out a story of a\nChristmas tree that he had seen, and how a silver bell had grown on\nthat tree for him and a whole box of the best sweets he had ever\ndreamed of while he lay comfortably snoozing on his cushion before the\nfire. And a Persian cat, with her hair turned the wrong way, mewed out\nher story of a Christmas tree that she had attended, and told how\nthere was a white mouse made of cream cheese for her creeping about\nbeneath the branches.\n\nThen the monkeys chattered and the elephants trumpeted, the horses\nneighed, the hyenas laughed, and each in his own way argued for a\nChristmas tree and told what he would do to help make it.\n\nThe elephant would go into the forest, and choose the tree and pull it\nup. The buffaloes would drag it in. The giraffe would fix the\nornaments on the higher limbs, because its neck was long. The monkeys\nwould scramble up where the giraffe could not reach. The squirrels\ncould run out on the slender twigs and help the monkeys. The birds\nwould fly about and get the golden threads and put them on the tree\nwith their beaks. The fire-flies would hide themselves among the\nbranches and sparkle like diamonds, and the glow-worms promised to\nhelp the fire-flies by playing candles, if someone would lift them up\nand put them on the branches. The parrots and paroquets and other\nbirds of gay plumage would give feathers to hang among the branches,\nand the humming-birds promised to flutter in and out among the twigs,\nand the sheep to give white wool to lie like snow among the boughs.\n\nThen the parrots screeched and the peacocks screamed with delight, and\nyou and I never could have told whether anybody voted aye or nay; but\nthe lion knew; and the owl, for he was clerk, set it down in the\nminutes, as the lion bade him, that all the birds and beasts would do\ntheir part. So each planned what he could do. Even the little beetle,\nwho makes great balls of earth, thought that if he could only once see\none of those gay balls that grow on the children's Christmas tree, he\nmight make some for the animals' tree. Different birds and beasts told\nof the oranges and apples and holly-berries and who knows what they\ncould get and hang upon the tree. You see the animals came from many\nplaces, and then, too, they could send the carrier pigeons to go and\nbring fruit and berries, and who knows what besides, from oh, so far\naway, because the carrier pigeons can fly through the air no one knows\nhow fast or how far.\n\nWell, I cannot tell you everything that each one was going to do, but\nif you will go and get your Noah's ark and take the animals out one by\none, then you surely will think it out for yourself, for you have all\nthe animals there.\n\nAnd so they arranged how they would ornament the tree, and the next\nthing was to decide what presents should be hung on the tree or put\nbeneath its boughs, for each one must have his present. Well, after\nmuch discussion in roars, and bellows, crows and croaks, lows and\nscreams and bleats, and baas and grunts, and all the other sounds of\nbirds and beast language, it was voted that each might choose the\npresent he wished hung on the tree. The clerkly owl should call their\nnames one by one, and each might declare his choice. So they began.\nThe parrots and the macaws thought that they would like oranges and\nbananas and such things, which would look so pretty on the tree, too;\nand so they were arranged for. The robins and the cedar birds chose\ncherries; the the partridges, partridge berries, the squirrels, the\nred and grey and black, nuts and apples and pears. The monkeys said\nthe popcorn strings would do for them, and the cats and dogs,\nremembering the Christmas gift which the pug-dog and Persian cat had\ntold about, asked for tiny mice made of cream cheese or chocolate. By\nand by it came the pig's turn to tell his choice. \"Grunt, grunt!\" said\nthe pig, \"I want a nice pail of swill hung on the very lowest bough of\nall.\"\n\n\"Ugh!\" said the black leopard, so sleek and so clean.\n\n\"Faugh!\" said the gazelle, with his dainty sense of smell.\n\n\"Neigh!\" said the horse, so daintily groomed.\n\n\"What!\" roared the lion, \"what's that you want?\"\n\n\"A pail of swill,\" grunted the pig. \"Each one has chosen what he\nwants, and I have a right to choose what I want.\"\n\n\"But,\" roared the lion, \"each one has chosen something beautiful to\nmake the tree a joy to all.\"\n\n\"Grunt, grunt,\" said the pig. \"The parrots and macaws are going to\nhave oranges and bananas, and the robins and the cedar birds red\ncherries, the partridges, their berries, the squirrels, nuts and\napples and pears, the dog and the cat, their cream and chocolate mice.\nThey all have what they want to eat. Grunt, grunt,\" said he; \"I will\nhave what I want to eat, too, and what I want is a pail of swill.\"\n\nNow, you see it had been voted, as I told you, that each should have\nwhat he wanted hung on the tree for him, and so the lion could not\nhelp himself. If the pig chose swill, swill he must have, and angrily\nhe had to roar: \"If the pig wants swill, a pail of swill he must have,\nhung on the lowest bough of the tree!\"\n\nThen the wolf's wicked eyes gleamed, for his turn was next, and he\nsaid: \"If the pig has swill because he wants swill to eat, I must have\nwhat I want to eat, and I want a tender lamb, six months old.\" And at\nthat all the lambs and the sheep bleated and baaed.\n\n\"Ha, ha!\" barked the fox; \"then I want a turkey!\" And the turkeys\ngobbled in fear.\n\n\"And I,\" said the tiger, \"want a yearling calf.\" And the cows and the\ncalves lowed in horror.\n\n\"And I,\" said the owl, the clerk, \"I want a plump dove.\"\n\n\"And I,\" said the hawk, \"will take a rabbit.\"\n\n\"And I,\" said the leopard, \"want a deer or a gazelle.\"\n\nThen all was fear and uproar. The hares and rabbits scuttled into the\ngrass; the gazelles and the deer bounded away; the sheep and the\ncattle crowded close together; the small birds rose in the air in\nflocks; and the Christmas tree was like to have come to grief and\nended, not in Christmas joy, but in fear and hatred and terror.\n\nThen a little lamb stepped out and bleated: \"Ah! king lion, it would\nbe very sad if all the animals should lose their Christmas tree, for\nthe very thought of that tree has brought us closer together, and here\nwe were, wild and tame, fierce and timid, met together as friends; and\noh! king lion, rather than there should not be a tree, they may take\nme and hang me on it. Let them not take the turkeys and gazelles and\nthe calves and the rabbits and all the rest that they have chosen. Let\nthe tigers and leopards, and wolves and foxes and eagles, and hawks\nand owls and all their kind be content that their Christmas present\nshall be a lamb; and so we may come together again and have our happy\nChristmas tree, and each have what he wishes.\"\n\n\"But,\" said the lion, \"what will you have? If you give yourself, then\nyou will have no Christmas present.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said the lamb, \"I, too, shall have what I want, for I shall\nhave brought them all together again, and made each one happy.\"\n\nThen a dove fluttered down from a tree and landed on the ground beside\nthe lamb, and very timidly and softly she cooed: \"Take me, too, king\nlion, as the present for the owls and the hawks, and the weasels and\nminks, because for them a lamb is too big. I am the best present for\nthem. Take me, king lion!\"\n\nThen the lion roared: \"See what the lamb and the dove have done! My\nfood, oh, tigers and leopards and wolves and eagles and all your kind,\nis like your food; but I would rather eat nothing from our Christmas\ntree than take this lamb or dove for my present.\"\n\nThen all the beasts kept still, because the lion roared so loud and\nangrily, and the birds that were flying away settled on the branches\nof the trees, and the gazelles stopped their running and turned their\nheads to listen, and the rabbits peeped out through the grass and\nbrush where they had hid. Then the lion turned to the pig, and roared:\n\n\"See this lamb and this dove! Are you not ashamed for what you have\ndone? You have spoiled all our happiness. Will you take back your\nchoice, you pig, or do you wish to ruin our Christmas tree?\"\n\n\"Grunt, grunt,\" said the pig, \"it is my right. I want something good.\nI don't care for your lambs and your doves. I want my swill!\"\n\nThen the lion roared again: \"Have all chosen?\" and all answered,\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Then,\" said the lion, \"it is my choice.\"\n\nAnd all said: \"It is.\"\n\n\"I love fat and tender pigs. I choose a pig for my Christmas gift,\"\nroared the lion.\n\nDid you ever hear a pig squeal? Oh, how that pig squealed then! And he\ngot up on his fat little legs and tried to run away, but all the\nanimals gathered around in a ring and the hyenas laughed, and the\njackals cried, and the dogs and the wolves and the foxes headed him\noff and hunted the poor pig back again. Then, when the pig found that\nhe could not run away, he lay down on his back with his feet in the\nair and squealed with all his might: \"Oh, I don't want the swill; oh,\nI don't want the swill! I take it all back! I don't want anything!\"\n\nBut at first no one heard him, because all were talking at once in\ntheir own way--barking and growling and roaring and chattering; but by\nand by the lion saw that the pig was squealing something, so he roared\nfor silence, and then they all heard the pig squeal out that he did\nnot want any swill. And the lion roared aloud: \"You have heard. Has\nthe owl recorded that the pig will have no swill?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said the owl.\n\n\"Then,\" said the lion, \"record that the lion wants no pig.\"\n\nThen the tiger growled: \"And I want no calf,\" and one by one the\nleopard and the eagle, the wolf and the fox, the hawk and owl, and\nall their kind, took back their votes.\n\nAnd so it came about that the animals did have a Christmas tree after\nall; but instead of hanging lambs and doves upon the tree, they agreed\nthat they could hang little images of lambs and doves, and other birds\nand animals, too, perhaps. And by and by the custom spread until the\nhumans came to hang the same little images on their trees, too, and\nwhen you see a little figure of a lamb or a dove on the Christmas\ntree, you may know that it is all because the lamb and the dove, by\ntheir unselfishness, saved the animals from strife; for neither\nthought what he wanted from the tree, but each was ready to give\nhimself for the others, so that they might not fight and kill one\nanother at the Christmas time.\n\n\n\n\nA CHRISTMAS CAROL\n\n\n The Shepherds had an Angel,\n The Wise Men had a star,\n But what have I, a little child,\n To guide me home from far,\n Where glad stars sing together\n And singing angels are?\n\n Those Shepherds through the lonely night\n Sat watching by their sheep,\n Until they saw the heavenly host\n Who neither tire nor sleep,\n All singing \"Glory, glory,\"\n In festival they keep.\n\n The Wise Men left their country\n To journey morn by morn,\n With gold and frankincense and myrrh,\n Because the Lord was born:\n God sent a star to guide them\n And sent a dream to warn.\n\n My life is like their journey,\n Their star is like God's book;\n I must be like those good Wise Men\n With heavenward heart and look:\n But shall I give no gifts to God?--\n What precious gifts they took!\n\n Christina Rossetti.\n\n\n\n\nHOLLY\n\nAda M. Marzials\n\n\n Highty-tighty, Paradighty,\n Clothed all in green.\n The King could not read it\n No more could the Queen.\n They sent for a Wise Man out of the East,\n Who said it had horns but was not a beast.\n\n (_Old Riddle._)\n\nThere was once upon a time a very war-like kingdom where they had\nnever heard of Christmas. The men spent all their days fighting, and\nthe women spent _their_ days in urging the warriors to further deeds\nof valour.\n\nThis had gone on for a very long time, and no one had ever yet said\nthat he was tired of it. There was but one person in the whole kingdom\nwho had openly declared that war was hateful, but as she was only the\nYoungest Princess nobody paid any heed to her.\n\nThen came a time, just before our Christmas Day, when the King was\npreparing a great campaign against a far-off country. He called\ntogether his Council of War--grave old warriors, dressed completely in\narmour.\n\n\"My friends,\" said he, \"we are about to wage war on the distant\nkingdoms of Zowega. Up till this time the people of that country have\nbeen our very good friends, but as we have now conquered all our\nenemies, there seems no one but our friends left to fight, and of\nthese the King of the Zowegians is chief.\n\n\"You will remember that his youngest son, Prince Moldo, spent some of\nhis boyhood at our court in order to gain instruction in feats of\narms, and that the Prince left us to travel over the world. A few\nmonths ago his father sent word to me that the Prince had returned\nhome, bringing with him the news of a Pearl of Great Price, which\ncontained the Secret of Happiness. It is this Pearl which I have made\nthe excuse for war, for I have demanded it in payment for the\nservices that we rendered to Prince Moldo. In my message I have said\nthat if the Pearl, and the Secret which it contains, are not brought\nand revealed to us here within the next five days, our troops will\ndescend upon the kingdom of Zowega and wipe it off the face of the\nearth.\"\n\nLoud and long cheered the Council at the speech of their King, as,\nindeed, was their duty, though in their hearts of hearts they had no\nwish to fight against the King of the Zowegians, who was their very\ngood friend. The Queen and the Princesses smiled graciously upon them,\nall save the Youngest Princess, who had been Prince Moldo's\nplayfellow. She disgraced herself by bursting into passionate tears,\nand was forthwith ordered out of the Council Hall.\n\nAt the end of five days the Council once more assembled to await the\narrival of the messenger with the answer from the King of Zowega.\n\nThe day was bright and cold, and there was snow on the ground. The\nKing and Queen were wrapped in thick fur cloaks. The Princesses were\nall assembled, too, even the Youngest, who was dressed in ermine and\nlooked as pale as death.\n\nIt was Christmas Eve, but there were no Christmas trees preparing and\nno presents. No one was thinking of hanging his stockings up. The Hall\nwas not decorated, neither were the churches; indeed, there were no\nchurches to decorate, for, as you remember, the people in this kingdom\nknew nothing about Christmas.\n\nThe Council sat and waited in the big bare Hall.\n\nAt last the great doors were flung open, there was a blast of\ntrumpets, and the messenger appeared.\n\nHe was tall and fair, and held himself proudly. His eyes were bright\nand shining and there was a smile upon his face. He was completely\ndressed in bright green and the Council noted with astonishment that\nhe was without armour of any kind. He wore neither breastplate, shield\nnor helmet; he had neither sword by his side, nor spurs on his feet.\nHe was bare-headed, and in his right hand he carried something green,\nhorny and prickly, with little red dots on it.\n\nLooking neither to the right nor to the left, he walked with firm and\nsteady step up the long Hall between the rows of armed warriors.\n\nAs he passed the Youngest Princess she blushed deeply, but he did not\nseem to notice her.\n\nWhen he reached the throne he bowed low before the King and Queen, and\nlaid the prickly object on the table before them.\n\n\"Your Majesty,\" said he in a clear, ringing voice. \"From the King of\nZowega, greeting! He sends you this token. It is the symbol of the\nSecret of Happiness.\"\n\nThe King stared, so did the Queen.\n\nThey had expected a Pearl of Great Price, accompanied by a scroll on\nwhich was written the Secret of Happiness, and the King of Zowega had\nsent them _this_!\n\nAmid dead silence the King took the token up in his hands in order to\nexamine it more carefully.\n\nHe dropped it hastily, for it pricked him, and little drops of blood\nwere seen starting from his hand.\n\n\"Highty-tighty!\" said he. \"'Tis surely some kind of beast and a symbol\nof war, for it pricked me right smartly. Truly the King of Zowega\ndeals in riddles which I for one cannot read! Take it, my dear,\" added\nhe to the Queen and pointing to the token; \"perchance your quick wits\nmay be able to understand this mystery.\"\n\nShe picked up the token and examined it carefully.\n\nIt rather resembled the branch of a tree, but the leaves were thick\nand resisting and edged with very sharp spikes, and there was on it a\ncluster of round, bright red objects like tiny balls. But even as it\nhad pricked the King so did it prick her, and she dropped it hastily\ninto the lap of the Eldest Princess, who was sitting beside her.\n\n\"Paradighty!\" exclaimed the Queen in her own language. \"It is\ncertainly a beast. See, it has horns!\" and she pointed to the spikes.\n\n\"But I certainly cannot read the riddle--if riddle it be.\"\n\nThen it was passed to all the Princesses in turn, but they could not\nread the token any more than could the King and Queen. At last it\nreached the Youngest Princess, and, though it pricked her little hands\nsorely, she took it up tenderly and kissed it.\n\n\"'Tis a token of love,\" said she.\n\nThe messenger turned his shining eyes full upon her.\n\n\"The Princess has read the riddle of the token aright,\" said he, and\nhe stepped forward as though to kiss her hand.\n\n\"Stay!\" said the King imperiously springing to his feet. \"A token of\nlove, forsooth! But I sent the King of Zowega a Declaration of War!\nWhat does he mean by sending me a token of love? The Princess must\ncertainly be mistaken--and as for _you_,\" he continued, turning\nfiercely to the messenger, \"you shall be marched off to prison until\nwe have had time to consult with our Wise Men as to the real meaning\nof this extraordinary token.\"\n\nSo there and then the messenger was marched off to spend the night in\nprison, and all the Wise Men in the kingdom were bidden to appear in\nthe Council Chamber the very next day, especially one very old Wise\nMan from the East who was reputed to be wiser than all the others put\ntogether.\n\nThe next day, of course, was Christmas Day, but, as these people had\nnever heard of Christmas, there were no bells ringing, no carols were\nsung, and there was neither holly, ivy nor mistletoe upon the walls.\n\nSlowly and painfully the Wise Men began to arrive.\n\nThey were all dressed alike, in black flowing robes, and on their\nheads they wore long pointed black caps covered with weird devices.\n\nThe very old Wise Man from the East wore a red pointed cap, but in all\nother respects was dressed just like the others.\n\nThey assembled round a large circular table at one end of the Hall. In\nthe middle of the table was placed the token.\n\nAt the other end of the Hall were gathered the warriors, and above\nthem on a double throne sat the King and Queen with the Princesses\ngrouped on either side of the dais.\n\nThe Wise Men examined the token in silence.\n\n\"'Tis a curious beast,\" said one of them at last.\n\n\"Of a new and quite unheard-of species,\" said another.\n\n\"It has neither legs nor tail,\" said a third.\n\n\"Yet it has a number of globular red eyes,\" said a fourth.\n\n\"And it certainly has horns,\" said a fifth.\n\nAnd so said they all, until it came to the turn of the very old Wise\nMan from the East.\n\nHe looked long at the token.\n\n\"It has horns,\" said he at last, \"but it is not a beast.\"\n\n\"Not a beast!\" said they, one to the other.\n\n\"But what is it then?\"\n\n\"It is a token of love,\" said he.\n\n\"Highty-tighty,\" interrupted the King. \"Read us then the full meaning\nof the token.\"\n\n\"I cannot,\" said the very old Wise Man; \"but let the youth be brought\nhither who carried it. He will be able to explain it more fully than\nI.\"\n\n\"Paradighty!\" said the Queen in her own language. \"Why did we not\nthink of that before! Fetch him back again at once!\"\n\nSo two of the warriors fetched the youth from prison, and he was soon\nstanding before the Assembly, with his head held as high and his eyes\nas bright and shining as before.\n\n\"Read us the token!\" commanded the King.\n\nThe youth bowed low. \"The Princess read it aright yesterday. It is a\ntoken of love.\"\n\n\"Explain yourself!\" said the King. \"How can a beast with horns be a\ntoken of love?\"\n\nThe youth drew himself up to his full height.\n\n\"It is not a beast,\" said he. \"It is the branch of a holly-tree. On\nthis day of the year, which in my country we call Christmas Day, our\npeople decorate their houses with branches of this holly or holy tree\nas a token of love and peace and good-will. This is the message that I\nhave brought to you--a message that we in our country know very well,\nbut which you have never heard before.\"\n\nThe King and the Warriors, the Wise Men, the Queen and Princesses all\nlistened to his words in silence.\n\nWhen he had ended there was a long pause.\n\n\"And in what particular way does your message affect us?\" said the\nKing at last.\n\n\"Thus, your Majesty,\" answered the youth, approaching the Youngest\nPrincess and taking both her hands in his, \"on this day I, Prince\nMoldo, would have peace and good-will between my kingdom and your\nkingdom; and I would seal it for ever by taking the Youngest Princess\nhome with me as my bride. You, O King, recognized me not, for I have\nmuch changed since I lived here with her for playfellow, but in all my\nwanderings I found a Pearl of no greater price than this, and I would\nproclaim to all the world that the Secret of Happiness is Love.\"\n\nSo on that very Christmas Day they were married, amid great\nrejoicings, and war ceased throughout the kingdom. And on every\nChristmas Day for ever after, the people of that country decorated\ntheir houses with holly, the symbol of love and peace and good-will,\nand wished each other a Merry Christmas, even as I do now to you.\n\n\n\n\nTHE WILLOW MAN\n\n\n There once was a Willow, and he was very old,\n And all his leaves fell off from him, and left him in the cold;\n But ere the rude winter could buffet him with snow,\n There grew upon his hoary head a crop of Mistletoe.\n\n All wrinkled and furrowed was this old Willow's skin\n His taper fingers trembled, and his arms were very thin;\n Two round eyes and hollow, that stared but did not see,\n And sprawling feet that never walked, had this most ancient tree.\n\n A Dame who dwelt a-near was the only one who knew\n That every year upon his head the Christmas berries grew;\n And when the Dame cut them, she said--it was her whim--\n \"A merry Christmas to you, Sir,\" _and left a bit for him_.\n\n \"Oh, Granny dear, tell us,\" the children cried, \"where we\n May find the shining mistletoe that grows upon the tree?\"\n At length the Dame told them, but cautioned them to mind\n To greet the willow civilly, _and leave a bit behind_.\n\n \"Who cares,\" said the children, \"for this old Willow-man?\n We'll take the Mistletoe, and he may catch us if he can.\"\n With rage the ancient Willow shakes in every limb,\n For they have taken all, and _have not left a bit for him_.\n\n Then bright gleamed the holly, the Christmas berries shone\n But in the wintry wind, without the Willow-man did moan:\n \"Ungrateful, and wasteful! the mystic Mistletoe\n A hundred years hath grown on me, but never more shall grow.\"\n\n A year soon passed by, and the children came once more,\n But not a sprig of Mistletoe the aged Willow bore.\n Each slender spray pointed; he mocked them in his glee,\n And chuckled in his wooden heart, that ancient Willow-tree.\n\n O children, who gather the spoils of wood and wold,\n From selfish greed and wilful waste your little hands withhold.\n Though fair things be common, this moral bear in mind,\n \"Pick thankfully and modestly, _and leave a bit behind_.\"\n\n Juliana Horatia Ewing.\n\n\n\n\nTHE IVY GREEN\n\n\n Oh, a dainty plant is the ivy green,\n That creepeth o'er ruins old!\n Of right choice food are his meals, I ween,\n In his cell so lone and cold.\n The wall must be crumbled, the stone decayed\n To pleasure his dainty whim;\n And the mouldering dust that years have made,\n Is a merry meal for him.\n Creeping where no life is seen,\n A rare old plant is the ivy green.\n\n Charles Dickens.\n\n\n\n\nLEGEND OF SAINT NICHOLAS\n\nAmy Steedman\n\n\nOf all the saints that little children love is there any to compare\nwith Santa Claus? The very sound of his name has magic in it, and\ncalls up visions of well-filled stockings, with the presents we\nparticularly want peeping over the top, or hanging out at the side,\ntoo big to go into the largest sock. Besides, there is something so\nmysterious and exciting about Santa Claus, for no one seems to have\never seen him. But we picture him to ourselves as an old man with a\nwhite beard, whose favourite way of coming into our rooms is down the\nchimney, bringing gifts for the good children and punishments for the\nbad.\n\nYet this Santa Claus, in whose name the presents come to us at\nChristmas time, is a very real saint, and we can learn a great deal\nabout him, only we must remember that his true name is Saint\nNicholas. Perhaps the little children, who used to talk of him long\nago, found Saint Nicholas too difficult to say, and so called him\ntheir dear Santa Claus. But we learn, as we grow older, that Nicholas\nis his true name, and that he is a real person who lived long years\nago, far away in the East.\n\nThe father and mother of Nicholas were noble and very rich, but what\nthey wanted most of all was to have a son. They were Christians, so\nthey prayed to God for many years that He would give them their\nhearts' desire; and when at last Nicholas was born, they were the\nhappiest people in the world.\n\nThey thought there was no one like their boy; and indeed, he was wiser\nand better than most children, and never gave them a moment's trouble.\nBut alas, while he was still a child, a terrible plague swept over the\ncountry, and his father and mother died, leaving him quite alone.\n\nAll the great riches which his father had possessed were left to\nNicholas, and among other things he inherited three bars of gold.\nThese golden bars were his greatest treasure, and he thought more of\nthem than all the other riches he possessed.\n\nNow in the town where Nicholas lived there dwelt a nobleman with three\ndaughters. They had once been very rich, but great misfortunes had\novertaken the father, and now they were all so poor they had scarcely\nenough to live upon.\n\nAt last a day came when there was not even bread enough to eat, and\nthe daughters said to their father:\n\n\"Let us go into the streets and beg, or do anything to get a little\nmoney, that we may not starve.\"\n\nBut the father answered:\n\n\"Not to-night. I cannot bear to think of it. Wait at least until\nto-morrow. Something may happen to save my daughters from such\ndisgrace.\"\n\nNow, just as they were talking together, Nicholas happened to be\npassing, and as the window was open he heard all that the poor father\nsaid. It seemed terrible to think that a noble family should be so\npoor and actually in want of bread, and Nicholas tried to plan how it\nwould be possible to help them. He knew they would be much too proud\nto take money from him, so he had to think of some other way. Then he\nremembered his golden bars, and that very night he took one of them\nand went secretly to the nobleman's house, hoping to give the treasure\nwithout letting the father or daughters know who brought it.\n\nTo his joy Nicholas discovered that a little window had been left\nopen, and by standing on tiptoe he could reach it. So he lifted the\ngolden bar and slipped it through the window, never waiting to hear\nwhat became of it, in case any one should see him. (And now do you see\nthe reason why the visits of Santa Claus are so mysterious?)\n\nInside the house the poor father sat sorrowfully watching, while his\nchildren slept. He wondered if there was any hope for them anywhere,\nand he prayed earnestly that heaven would send help. Suddenly\nsomething fell at his feet, and to his amazement and joy, he found it\nwas a bar of pure gold.\n\n\"My child,\" he cried, as he showed his eldest daughter the shining\ngold, \"God has heard my prayer and has sent this from heaven. Now we\nshall have enough and to spare. Call your sisters that we may rejoice\ntogether, and I will go instantly and change this treasure.\"\n\nThe precious golden bar was soon sold to a money-changer, who gave so\nmuch for it that the family were able to live in comfort and have all\nthat they needed. And not only was there enough to live upon, but so\nmuch was over that the father gave his eldest daughter a large dowry,\nand very soon she was happily married.\n\nWhen Nicholas saw how much happiness his golden bar had brought to the\npoor nobleman he determined that the second daughter should have a\ndowry too. So he went as before and found the little window again\nopen, and was able to throw in the second golden bar as he had done\nthe first. This time the father was dreaming happily, and did not find\nthe treasure until he awoke in the morning. Soon afterwards the second\ndaughter had her dowry and was married too.\n\nThe father now began to think that, after all, it was not usual for\ngolden bars to fall from heaven, and he wondered if by any chance\nhuman hands had placed them in his room. The more he thought of it the\nstranger it seemed, and he made up his mind to keep watch every night,\nin case another golden bar should be sent as a portion for his\nyoungest daughter.\n\nAnd so when Nicholas went the third time and dropped the last bar\nthrough the little window, the father came quickly out, and before\nNicholas had time to hide, caught him by his cloak.\n\n\"O Nicholas,\" he cried, \"is it thou who hast helped us in our need?\nWhy didst thou hide thyself?\" And then he fell on his knees and began\nto kiss the hands that had helped him so graciously.\n\nBut Nicholas bade him stand up and give thanks to God instead, warning\nhim to tell no one the story of the golden bars.\n\nThis was only one of the many kind acts Nicholas loved to do, and it\nwas no wonder that he was beloved by all who knew him.\n\nSoon afterwards Nicholas made up his mind to enter God's service as a\npriest. He longed above all things to leave the world and live as a\nhermit in the desert, but God came to him in a vision and told him he\nmust stay in the crowded cities and do his work among the people.\nStill his desire to see the deserts and the hermits who lived there\nwas so great that he went off on a journey to Egypt and the Holy Land.\nBut remembering what God had bade him do he did not stay there but\nreturned to his own country.\n\nOn the way home a terrific storm arose, and it seemed as if the ship\nhe was in must be lost. The sailors could do nothing, and great waves\ndashed over the deck, filling the ship with water. But just as all had\ngiven up hope, Nicholas knelt and prayed to God to save them, and\nimmediately a calm fell upon the angry sea. The winds sank to rest and\nthe waves ceased to lash the sides of the ship so that they sailed\nsmoothly on, and all danger passed.\n\nThus Nicholas returned home in safety, and went to live in the city of\nMyra. His ways were so quiet and humble that no one knew much about\nhim, until it came to pass one day that the Archbishop of Myra died.\nThen all the priests met to choose another archbishop, and it was made\nknown to them by a sign from heaven that the first man who should\nenter the church next morning should be the bishop whom God had\nchosen.\n\nNow Nicholas used to spend most of his nights in prayer and always\nwent very early to church, so next morning just as the sun was rising\nand the bells began to ring for the early mass, he was seen coming up\nto the church door and was the first to enter. As he knelt down\nquietly to say his prayers as usual, what was his surprise to meet a\ncompany of priests who hailed him as their new archbishop, chosen by\nGod to be their leader and guide. So Nicholas was made Archbishop of\nMyra to the joy of all in the city who knew and loved him.\n\nNot long after this there was great trouble in the town of Myra, for\nthe harvests of that country had failed and a terrible famine swept\nover the land. Nicholas, as a good bishop should, felt the suffering\nof his people as if it were his own, and did all he could to help\nthem.\n\nHe knew that they must have corn or they would die, so he went to the\nharbour where two ships lay filled with grain, and asked the captains\nif they would sell him their cargo. They told the bishop they would\nwillingly do so, but it was already sold to merchants of another\ncountry and they dared not sell it over again.\n\n\"Take no thought of that,\" said Nicholas, \"only sell me some of thy\ncorn for my starving people, and I promise thee that there shall be\nnought wanting when thou shalt arrive at thy journey's end.\"\n\nThe captains believed in the bishop's promise and gave him as much\ncorn as he asked. And behold! when they came to deliver their cargo to\nthe owners, there was not a bag lacking.\n\nThere are many stories told about the good bishop. Like his Master, he\never went about doing good; and when he died, there were a great many\nlegends told about him, for the people loved to believe that their\nbishop still cared for them and would come to their aid. We do not\nknow if all these legends are true, but they show how much Saint\nNicholas was loved and honoured even after his death, and how every\none believed in his power to help them.\n\nHere is one of the stories which all children who love Saint Nicholas\nwill like to hear.\n\nThere was once a nobleman who had no children and who longed for a son\nabove everything else in the world. Night and day he prayed to Saint\nNicholas that he would grant him his request, and at last a son was\nborn. He was a beautiful child, and the father was so delighted and so\ngrateful to the saint who had listened to his prayers that, every year\non the child's birthday, he made a great feast in honour of Saint\nNicholas and a grand service was held in the church.\n\nNow the Evil One grew angry each year when this happened, for it made\nmany people go to church and honour the good saint, neither of which\nthings pleased the Evil One at all. So each year he tried to think of\nsome plan that would put an end to these rejoicings, and he decided\nat last that if only he could do some evil to the child the parents\nwould blame Saint Nicholas and all would be well.\n\nIt happened just then to be the boy's sixth birthday and a greater\nfeast than ever was being held. It was late in the afternoon, and the\ngardener and porter and all the servants were away keeping holiday,\ntoo. So no one noticed a curious-looking pilgrim who came and sat\nclose to the great iron gates which led into the courtyard. He had on\nthe ordinary robe of a poor pilgrim, but the hood was drawn so far\nover his face that nothing but a dark shadow could be seen inside. And\nindeed that was as well, for this pilgrim was a demon in disguise, and\nhis wicked, black face would have frightened any one who saw it. He\ncould not enter the courtyard for the great gates were always kept\nlocked, and, as you know, the porter was away that day, feasting with\nall the other servants.\n\nBut, before very long, the little boy grew weary of his birthday\nfeast, and, having had all he wanted he begged to be allowed to go to\nplay in the garden. His parents knew that the gardener always looked\nafter him there, so they told him he might go. They forgot that the\ngardener was not there just then.\n\nThe child played happily alone for some time and then wandered into\nthe courtyard, and looking out of the gate saw a poor pilgrim resting\nthere.\n\n\"What are you doing here?\" asked the child, \"and why do you sit so\nstill?\"\n\n\"I am a poor pilgrim,\" answered the demon, trying to make his harsh\nvoice sound as gentle as possible, \"and I have come all the way from\nRome. I am resting here because I am so weary and footsore and have\nhad nothing to eat all day.\"\n\n\"I will let you in, and take you to my father,\" said the child; \"this\nis my birthday, and no one must go hungry to-day.\"\n\nBut the demon pretended he was too weak to walk, and begged the boy to\nbring some food out to him.\n\nThen the child ran back to the banquet hall in a great hurry and said\nto his father:\n\n\"O father, there is a poor pilgrim from Rome sitting outside our gate,\nand he is so hungry, may I take him some of my birthday feast?\"\n\nThe father was very pleased to think that his little son should care\nfor the poor and wish to be kind, so he willingly gave his permission\nand told one of the servants to give the child all that he wanted.\n\nThen as the demon sat eating the good things he began to question the\nboy and tried to find out all that he could about him.\n\n\"Do you often play in the garden?\" he asked.\n\n\"Oh, yes,\" said the child. \"I play there whenever I may, for in the\nmidst of the lawn there is a beautiful fountain, and the gardener\nmakes me boats to sail on the water.\"\n\n\"Will he make you one to-day?\" asked the demon quickly.\n\n\"He is not here to-day,\" answered the child, \"for this is a holiday\nfor every one and I am quite alone.\"\n\nThen the demon rose to his feet slowly and said he felt so much better\nafter the good food that he thought he could walk a little and would\nlike very much to come in and see the beautiful garden and the\nfountain he had heard about.\n\nSo the child climbed up and with great difficulty drew back the bolts.\nThe great gates swung open and the demon walked in.\n\nAs they went along together towards the fountain the child held out\nhis little hand to lead the pilgrim, but even the demon shrunk from\ntouching anything so pure and innocent, and folded his arms under his\nrobe, so that the child could only hold by a fold of his cloak.\n\n\"What strange kind of feet you have,\" said the child as they walked\nalong; \"they look as if they belonged to an animal.\"\n\n\"Yes, they are curious,\" said the demon, \"but it is just the way they\nare made.\"\n\nThen the child began to notice the demon's hands, which were even more\ncurious than his feet, and just like paws of a bear. But he was too\ncourteous to say anything about them, when he had already mentioned\nthe feet.\n\nJust then they came to the fountain, and with a sudden movement the\ndemon threw back his hood and showed his dreadful face. And before\nthe child could scream he was seized by those hairy hands and thrown\ninto the water.\n\nBut just at that moment the gardener was returning to his work and saw\nfrom a distance what had happened. He ran as fast as he could, but he\nonly got to the fountain in time to see the demon vanish, while the\nchild's body was floating on the water. Very quickly he drew him out,\nand carried him, all dripping wet, up to the castle, where they tried\nto bring him back to life. But, alas! it all seemed of no use; he\nneither moved nor breathed, and the day that had begun with such\nrejoicing, ended in the bitterest woe. The poor parents were\nheart-broken, but they did not quite lose hope and prayed earnestly to\nSaint Nicholas who had given them the child, that he would restore\ntheir boy to them again.\n\nAs they prayed by the side of the little bed where the body of the\nchild lay, they thought something moved, and to their joy and surprise\nthe boy opened his eyes and sat up, and in a short time was as well\nas ever.\n\nThey asked him eagerly what had happened, and he told them all about\nthe pilgrim with the queer feet and hands, who had gone with him to\nthe fountain and had then thrown back his hood and shown his terrible\nface. After that he could remember nothing until he found himself in a\nbeautiful garden, where the loveliest flowers grew. There were lilies\nlike white stars, and roses far more beautiful than any he had ever\nseen in his own garden, and the leaves of the trees shone like silver\nand gold. It was all so beautiful that for a while he forgot his home,\nand when he did remember and tried to find his way back, he grew\nbewildered and did not know in what direction to turn. As he was\nlooking about, an old man came down the garden path and smiled so\nkindly upon him that he trusted him at once. This old man was dressed\nin the robes of a bishop, and had a long white beard and the sweetest\nold face the child had ever seen.\n\n\"Art thou searching for the way home?\" the old man asked. \"Dost thou\nwish to leave this beautiful garden and go back to thy father and\nmother?\"\n\n\"I want to go home,\" said the child, with a sob in his voice, \"but I\ncannot find the way, and I am, oh, so tired of searching for it.\"\n\nThen the old man stooped down and lifted him in his arms, and the\nchild laid his head on the old man's shoulder, and, weary with his\nwandering, fell fast asleep and remembered nothing more till he woke\nup in his own little bed.\n\nThen the parents knew that Saint Nicholas had heard their prayers and\nhad gone to fetch the child from the Heavenly Garden and brought him\nback to them.\n\nSo they were more grateful to the good saint than ever, and they loved\nand honoured him even more than they had done before; which was all\nthe reward the demon got for his wicked doings.\n\nThat is one of the many stories told after the death of Saint\nNicholas, and it ever helped and comforted his people to think that,\nthough they could no longer see him he would love and protect them\nstill.\n\nYoung maidens in need of help remembered the story of the golden bars\nand felt sure the good saint would not let them want. Sailors tossing\non the stormy waves thought of that storm which had sunk to rest at\nthe prayer of Saint Nicholas. Poor prisoners with no one to take their\npart were comforted by the thought of those other prisoners whom he\nhad saved. And little children perhaps have remembered him most of\nall, for when the happy Christmas time draws near, who is so much in\ntheir thoughts as Saint Nicholas, or Santa Claus, as they call him?\nPerhaps they are a little inclined to think of him as some good\nmagician who comes to fill their stockings with gifts, but they should\nnever forget that he was the kind bishop who, in olden days, loved to\nmake the little ones happy. There are some who think that even now he\nwatches over and protects little children, and for that reason he is\ncalled their patron saint.\n\n\n\n\nCHRISTMAS BELLS\n\n\n I heard the bells on Christmas Day\n Their old, familiar carols play,\n And wild and sweet\n The words repeat\n Of peace on earth, good-will to men!\n\n Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.\n\n\n\n\nA NIGHT WITH SANTA CLAUS\n\nAnna R. Annan\n\n\nNot very long ago, and not far from here, lived a little boy named\nBobby Morgan. Now I must tell at once how Bobby looked, else how will\nyou know him if you meet him in the street? Blue-eyed was Rob, and\nfair-haired, and pug-nosed--just the sweetest trifle, his mother said.\n\nWell, the day before Christmas, Rob thought it would be a fine thing\nto run down Main Street and see what was going on. After dinner his\nmother put on his fur cap and bright scarf, and filled his pockets\nwith crackers and cookies. She told him to be very polite to Santa\nClaus if he should happen to meet him.\n\nOff he trotted, merry as a cricket, with now a skip and now a slide.\nAt every corner he held his breath, half expecting to run into Santa\nhimself. Nothing of the sort happened, however, and he soon found\nhimself before the gay windows of a toy shop.\n\nThere he saw a spring hobby-horse, as large as a Shetland pony, all\nsaddled and bridled, too,--lacking nothing but a rider. Rob pressed\nhis nose against the glass, and tried to imagine the feelings of a boy\nin that saddle. He must have stood there all day, had not a ragged\nlittle fellow pulled his coat. \"Wouldn't you jist like that popgun?\"\nhe piped.\n\n\"Catch me looking at popguns!\" said Rob shortly. But when he saw how\ntattered the boy's jacket was he said more softly, \"P'r'raps you'd\nlike a cooky.\"\n\n\"Try me wunst!\" said the shrill little voice.\n\nThere was a queer lump in Rob's throat as he emptied one pocket of its\ncakes and thrust them into the dirty, eager hands. Then he marched\ndown the street without so much as glancing at that glorious steed\nagain.\n\nBrighter and brighter grew the windows, more and more full of toys. At\nlast our boy stood, with open eyes and mouth, before a great store\nlighted from top to bottom, for it was growing dark. Rob came near\ntaking off his cap and saying, \"How do you do, sir?\"\n\nTo whom, you ask. Why, to an image of Santa Claus, the size of life,\nholding a Christmas tree filled with wonderful fruit.\n\nSoon a happy thought struck Rob. \"Surely this must be Santa Claus's\nown store, where he comes to fill his basket with toys! What if I were\nto hide there and wait for him?\"\n\nAs I said, he was a brave little chap, and he walked straight into the\nstore with the stream of big people. Everybody was busy. No one had\ntime to look at our mite of a Rob. He tried in vain to find a quiet\ncorner, till he caught sight of some winding stairs that led up to the\nnext story. He crept up, scarcely daring to breathe.\n\nWhat a fairyland! Toys everywhere! Oceans of toys! Nothing but toys,\nexcepting one happy little boy. Think of fifty great rocking-horses in\na pile; of whole flocks of woolly sheep and curly dogs with the real\nbark in them; stacks of drums; regiments of soldiers armed to the\nteeth; companies of firemen drawing their hose carts; no end of\nwheelbarrows and velocipedes!\n\nRob screwed his knuckles into his eyes, as a gentle hint that they had\nbetter not play him any tricks, and then stared with might and main.\n\nSuddenly Rob thought he heard a footstep on the stairs. Fearing to be\ncaught, he hid behind a baby-wagon. No one came, however, and as he\nfelt rather hungry, he took out the remaining cakes and had a fine\nsupper.\n\nWhy didn't Santa Claus come?\n\nRob was really getting sleepy. He stretched out his tired legs, and,\nturning one of the woolly sheep on its side, pillowed his curly head\nupon it. It was so nice to lie there, looking up at the ceiling hung\nwith toys, and with the faint hum of voices in his ears. The blue eyes\ngrew more and more heavy. Rob was fast asleep.\n\nMidnight! The bells rang loud and clear, as if they had great news to\ntell the world. What noise is that besides the bells? And look, oh,\nlook! Who is that striding up the room with a great basket on his\nback? He has stolen his coat from a polar bear, and his cap, too, I\ndeclare! His boots are of red leather and reach to his knees. His coat\nand cap are trimmed with wreaths of holly, bright with scarlet\nberries.\n\nGood sir, let us see your face--why! that is the best part of him,--so\nround, and so ruddy, such twinkling eyes, and such a merry look about\nthose dimples! But see his long white beard; can he be old?\n\nOh, very, very old. Over nineteen hundred years. Is that not a long\nlife, little ones? But he has a young heart, this dear old man, and a\nkind one. Can you guess his name? \"Hurrah for Santa Claus!\" Right--the\nvery one.\n\nHe put his basket down near Robby, and with his back turned to him\nshook the snow from his fur coat. Some of the flakes fell on Rob's\nface and roused him from his sleep. Opening his eyes, he saw the white\nfigure, but did not stir nor cry out, lest the vision should vanish.\n\nBut bless his big heart! He had no idea of vanishing till his night's\nwork was done. He took a large book from his pocket, opened to the\nfirst page, and looked at it very closely.\n\n\"Tommy Turner,\" was written at the top, and just below was a little\nmap--yes, there was Tommy's heart mapped out like a country. Part of\nthe land was marked good, part of it bad. Here and there were little\nflags to point out places where battles had been fought during the\nyear. Some of them were black and some white; wherever a good feeling\nhad won the fight there was a white one.\n\n\"Tommy Turner,\" said Santa Claus aloud, \"six white flags, three black\nones. That leaves only three presents for Tommy; but we must see what\ncan be done for him.\"\n\nSo he bustled among the toys, and soon had a ball, a horse, and a\nNoah's ark tied up in a parcel, which he tossed into the basket.\n\nName after name was read off, some of them belonging to Rob's\nplaymates, and you may be sure that the little boy listened with his\nheart in his mouth.\n\n\"Robby Morgan!\" said Santa Claus.\n\nIn his excitement that small lad nearly upset the cart, but Santa did\nnot notice it.\n\n\"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven\"--Rob's breath came very\nshort--\"whites!\"\n\nHe almost clapped his hands.\n\n\"One, two, three, blacks! Now I wonder what that little chap would\nlike--here's a drum, a box of tools, a knife, a menagerie. If he\nhadn't run away from school that day and then told a lie about it I'd\ngive him a rocking-horse.\"\n\nRob groaned in anguish of spirit.\n\n\"But, bless him! he's a fine little fellow, and perhaps he will do\nbetter next year if I give him the horse.\"\n\nThat was too much for our boy. With a \"Hurrah!\" he jumped up and\nturned a somersault right at Santa Claus's feet.\n\n\"Stars and stripes!\" cried Santa. \"What's this?\"\n\n\"Come along, I'll show you the one!\" cried Rob.\n\nSanta Claus allowed himself to be led off to the pile of horses. You\nmay believe that Rob's sharp eyes soon picked out the one with the\nlongest tail and the thickest mane.\n\n\"Well, he beats all the boys that ever I saw! What shall I do with the\nlittle spy?\"\n\n\"Oh, dear Santa Claus,\" cried Robby, hugging the red boots, \"do just\ntake me along with you. I'll stick tight when you slide down the\nchimney.\"\n\n\"Yes, I guess you will stick tight--in the chimney, my little man.\"\n\n\"I mean to your back,\" half sobbed Rob.\n\nSanta Claus can't bear to see little folks in trouble, so he took the\nboy into his arms, and asked where he wanted to go.\n\n\"To Tommy Turner's, and, oh, you know, that boy in the awful old\njacket that likes popguns,\" was the breathless reply.\n\nOf course he knew him, for he knows every boy and girl in Christendom;\nso a popgun was added to the medley of toys. Santa Claus then strapped\nRob and the basket on his back. He next crept through an open window\nto a ladder he had placed there, down which he ran as nimbly as a\nsquirrel. The reindeer before the sledge were in a hurry to be off,\nand tinkled their silver bells right merrily. An instant more and they\nwere snugly tucked up in the white robes; an instant more and they\nwere flying like the wind over the snow.\n\nAh! Tommy's home. Santa Claus sprang out, placed the light ladder\nagainst the house, and before Rob could wink a good fair wink they\nwere on the roof, making for the chimney. Whether it swallowed him, or\nhe swallowed it, is still a puzzle to Robby.\n\nTommy lay sleeping in his little bed and dreaming of a merry\nChristmas. His rosy mouth was puckered into something between a\nwhistle and a smile. Rob longed to give him a friendly punch, but\nSanta Claus shook his head. They filled his stocking and hurried away,\nfor empty little stockings the world over were waiting for that\ngenerous hand.\n\nOn they sped again, never stopping until they came to a wretched\nlittle hovel. A black pipe instead of a chimney was sticking through\nthe roof.\n\nRob thought, \"Now I guess he'll have to give it up.\" But no, he softly\npushed the door open and stepped in.\n\nOn a ragged cot lay the urchin to whom Robby had given the cookies.\nOne of them, half eaten, was still clutched in his hand. Santa Claus\ngently opened the other little fist and put the popgun into it.\n\n\"Give him my drum,\" whispered Rob, and Santa Claus, without a word,\nplaced it near the rumpled head.\n\nHow swiftly they flew under the bright stars! How sweetly rang the\nbells!\n\nWhen Santa Claus reined up at Robby's door he found his little comrade\nfast asleep. He laid him tenderly in his crib, and drew off a\nstocking, which he filled with the smaller toys. The rocking-horse he\nplaced close to the crib, that Rob might mount him on Christmas\nmorning.\n\nA kiss, and he was gone.\n\nP.S.--Rob's mother says it was all a dream, but he declares that \"It's\ntrue as Fourth of July!\" I prefer to take his word for it.\n\n\n\n\nA CHILD'S THOUGHTS ABOUT SANTA CLAUS\n\n\n What do you think my grandmother said,\n Telling Christmas stories to me\n To-night, when I went and coaxed and coaxed\n With my head and arms upon her knee?\n\n She thinks--she really told me so--\n That good Mr. Santa Claus, long ago,\n Was as old and grey as he is to-day,\n Going around with his loaded sleigh.\n\n She thinks he's driven through frost and snow\n For a hundred, yes, a thousand times or so,\n With jingling bells and a bag of toys--\n Ho, ho! for good girls and boys,\n With a carol gay,\n Crying, \"Clear the way,\n For a rollicking, merry Christmas day!\"\n Grandmother knows almost everything--\n All that I ask her she can tell;\n Rivers and towns in geography,\n And the hardest words she can always spell.\n But the wisest ones, sometimes, they say,\n Mistake--and even grandmother may.\n\n If Santa Claus never had been a boy\n How would he always know so well\n What all the boys are longing for\n On Christmas day? Can grandmother tell?\n\n Why does he take the shiny rings,\n The baby houses, the dolls with curls,\n The little lockets and other such things\n Never to boys, but always to girls?\n\n Why does he take the skates and all\n The bats and balls, and arrows and bows,\n And trumpets and drums, and guns--hurrah!\n To the boys? I wonder if grandmother knows?\n\n But there's one thing that doesn't seem right--\n If Santa Claus was a boy at play\n And hung up his stocking on Christmas night,\n Who filled it for him on Christmas day?\n\n Sydney Dayre.\n\n\n\n\nCHARITY IN A COTTAGE\n\nJean Ingelow\n\n\nThe charity of the rich is much to be commended; but how beautiful is\nthe charity of the poor!\n\nCall to mind the coldest day you ever experienced. Think of the bitter\nwind and driving snow; think how you shook and shivered--how the sharp\nwhite particles were driven up against your face--how, within doors,\nthe carpets were lifted like billows along the floors, the wind howled\nand moaned in the chimneys, windows cracked, doors rattled, and every\nnow and then heavy lumps of snow came thundering down with a dull\nweight from the roof.\n\nNow hear my story.\n\nIn one of the broad, open plains of Lincolnshire, there is a long\nreedy sheet of water, a favourite resort of wild ducks. At its\nnorthern extremity stand two mud cottages, old, and out of repair.\n\nOne bitter, bitter night, when the snow lay three feet deep on the\nground, and a cutting east wind was driving it about, and whistling in\nthe dry frozen reeds by the water's edge, and swinging the bare willow\ntrees till their branches swept the ice, an old woman sat spinning in\none of these cottages before a moderately cheerful fire. Her kettle\nwas singing on the coals, she had a reed candle, or home-made\nrushlight, on her table, but the full moon shone in, and was the\nbrighter light of the two. These two cottages were far from any road,\nor any other habitation; the old woman was, therefore, surprised, in\nan old northern song, by a sudden knock at the door.\n\nIt was loud and impatient, not like the knock of her neighbours in the\nother cottage; but the door was bolted, and the old woman rose, and\nshuffling to the window, looked out and saw a shivering figure,\napparently that of a youth.\n\n\"Trampers!\" said the old woman, sententiously, \"tramping folks be not\nwanted here.\" So saying she went back to the fire without deigning to\nanswer the door.\n\nThe youth upon this tried the door, and called to her to beg\nadmittance. She heard him rap the snow from his shoes against her\nlintel, and again knock as if he thought she was deaf, and he should\nsurely gain admittance if he could make her hear.\n\nThe old woman, surprised at his audacity, went to the casement and\nwith all the pride of possession, opened it and inquired his business.\n\n\"Good woman,\" the stranger began, \"I only want a seat at your fire.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" said the old woman, giving effect to her words by her uncouth\ndialect, \"thou'll get no shelter here; I've nought to give to\nbeggars--a dirty, wet critter,\" she continued wrathfully, slamming to\nthe window. \"It's a wonder where he found any water, too, seeing it\nfreeze so hard a body can get none for the kettle, saving what's\nbroken up with a hatchet.\"\n\nThe stranger turned very hastily from her door and waded through the\ndeep snow towards the other cottage. The bitter wind helped to drive\nhim towards it. It looked no less poor than the first; and when he had\ntried the door and found it bolted and fast, his heart sank within\nhim. His hand was so numbed with cold that he had made scarcely any\nnoise; he tried again.\n\nA rush candle was burning within and a matronly looking woman sat\nbefore the fire. She held an infant in her arms and had dropped\nasleep; but his third knock aroused her, and wrapping her apron round\nthe child, she opened the door a very little way, and demanded what he\nwanted.\n\n\"Good woman,\" the youth began, \"I have had the misfortune to fall in\nthe water this bitter night, and I am so numbed I can scarcely walk.\"\n\nThe woman gave him a sudden earnest look and then sighed.\n\n\"Come in,\" she said; \"thou art so nigh the size of my Jem, I thought\nat first it was him come home from sea.\"\n\nThe youth stepped across the threshold, trembling with cold and wet;\nand no wonder, for his clothes were completely encased in wet mud,\nand the water dripped from them with every step he took on the sanded\nfloor.\n\n\"Thou art in a sorry plight,\" said the woman, \"and it be two miles to\nthe nighest house; come and kneel down afore the fire; thy teeth\nchatter so pitifully I can scarce bear to hear them.\"\n\nShe looked at him more attentively and saw that he was a mere boy, not\nmore than sixteen years of age. Her motherly heart was touched for\nhim. \"Art hungry?\" she asked, turning to the table. \"Thou art wet to\nthe skin. What hast been doing?\"\n\n\"Shooting wild ducks,\" said the boy.\n\n\"Oh,\" said the hostess, \"thou art one of the keeper's boys, then, I\nreckon?\"\n\nHe followed the direction of her eyes, and saw two portions of bread\nset upon the table, with a small piece of bacon on each.\n\n\"My master be very late,\" she observed, for charity did not make her\nuse elegant language, and by her master she meant her husband; \"but\nthou art welcome to my bit and sup, for I was waiting for him. Maybe\nit will put a little warmth in thee to eat and drink.\" So saying, she\nplaced before him her own share of the supper.\n\n\"Thank you,\" said the boy; \"but I am so wet I am making quite a pool\nbefore your fire with the drippings from my clothes.\"\n\n\"Aye, they are wet indeed,\" said the woman, and rising again she went\nto an old box, in which she began to search, and presently came to the\nfire with a perfectly clean check shirt in her hand and a tolerably\ngood suit of clothes.\n\n\"There,\" said she, showing them with no small pride, \"these be my\nmaster's Sunday clothes, and if thou wilt be very careful of them I'll\nlet thee wear them till thine be dry.\" She then explained that she was\ngoing to put her \"bairn\" to bed, and proceeded up a ladder into the\nroom above, leaving the boy to array himself in these respectable\ngarments.\n\nWhen she had come down her guest had dressed himself in the labourer's\nclothes; he had had time to warm himself, and he was eating and\ndrinking with hungry relish. He had thrown his muddy clothes in a heap\nupon the floor. As she looked at him she said:\n\n\"Ah, lad, lad, I doubt that head been under water: thy poor mother\nwould have been sorely frightened if she could have seen thee a while\nago.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said the boy; and in imagination the cottage dame saw this same\nmother, a careworn, hard-working creature like herself; while the\nyouthful guest saw in imagination a beautiful and courtly lady; and\nboth saw the same love, the same anxiety, the same terror, at sight of\na lonely boy struggling in the moonlight through breaking ice, with no\none to help him, catching at the frozen reeds, and then creeping up,\nshivering and benumbed, to a cottage door.\n\nBut, even as she stooped, the woman forgot her imagination, for she\nhad taken a waistcoat into her hands, such as had never passed between\nthem before; a gold pencil-case dropped from the pocket; and on the\nfloor amidst a heap of mud that covered the outer garments, lay a\nwhite shirt sleeve, so white, indeed, and so fine, that she thought it\ncould hardly be worn by a squire!\n\nShe glanced from the clothes to the owner. He had thrown down his\ncap, and his fair curly hair and broad forehead convinced her that he\nwas of gentle birth; but while she hesitated to sit down, he placed a\nchair for her, and said with boyish frankness:\n\n\"I say, what a lonely place this is! If you had not let me in, the\nwater would have frozen me before I reached home. Catch me\nduck-shooting again by myself!\"\n\n\"It's very cold sport that, sir,\" said the woman.\n\nThe young gentleman assented most readily, and asked if he might stir\nthe fire.\n\n\"And welcome, sir,\" said the woman.\n\nShe felt a curiosity to know who he was, and he partly satisfied her\nby remarking that he was staying at Deen Hall, a house about five\nmiles off, adding that in the morning he had broken a hole in the ice\nvery near the decoy, but it iced over so fast, that in the dusk he had\nmissed it, and fallen in, for it would not bear him. He had made some\nlandmarks, and taken every proper precaution, but he supposed the\nsport had excited him so much that in the moonlight he had passed them\nby.\n\nHe then told her of his attempt to get shelter in the other cottage.\n\n\"Sir,\" said the woman, \"if you had said you were a gentleman----\"\n\nThe boy laughed. \"I don't think I knew it, my good woman,\" he replied,\n\"my senses were so benumbed; for I was some time struggling at the\nwater's edge among the broken ice, and then I believe I was nearly an\nhour creeping up to your cottage door. I remember it all rather\nindistinctly, but as soon as I had felt the fire and eaten something I\nwas a different creature.\"\n\nAs they still talked, the husband came in; and while he was eating his\nsupper it was agreed that he should walk to Deen Hall, and let its\ninmates know of the gentleman's safety. When he was gone the woman\nmade up the fire with all the coal that remained to the poor\nhousehold, and crept up to bed, leaving her guest to lie down and rest\nbefore it.\n\nIn the grey dawn the labourer returned, with a servant leading a\nhorse, and bringing a fresh suit of clothes.\n\nThe young man took his leave with many thanks, slipping three\nhalf-crowns into the woman's hand, probably all the money he had about\nhim. And I must not forget to mention that he kissed the baby; for\nwhen she tells the story, the mother always adverts to that\ncircumstance with great pride, adding that her child, being as \"clean\nas wax, was quite fit to be kissed by anybody.\"\n\n\"Misses,\" said her husband, as they stood in the doorway looking after\ntheir guest, \"who dost think that be?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" answered the misses.\n\n\"Then I'll just tell thee; that be young Lord W----; so thou mayest be\na proud woman; thou sits and talks with lords, and then asks them to\nsupper--ha, ha!\"\n\nSo saying, her master shouldered his spade and went his way, leaving\nher clinking the three half-crowns in her hand, and considering what\nshe should do with them.\n\nHer neighbour from the other cottage presently stepped in, and when\nshe heard the tale and saw the money her heart was ready to break with\nenvy and jealousy.\n\n\"Oh, to think that good luck should have come to her door, and she\nshould have been so foolish as to turn it away! Seven shillings and\nsixpence for a morsel of food and a night's shelter--why it was nearly\na week's wages!\"\n\nSo there, as they both supposed, the matter ended, and the next week\nthe frost was sharper than ever. Sheep were frozen in the fenny field\nand poultry on their perches, but the good woman had walked to the\nnearest town and bought a blanket. It was a welcome addition to their\nbed covering, and it was many a long year since they had been so\ncomfortable.\n\nBut it chanced one day at noon that, looking out at her casement she\nspied three young gentlemen skating along the ice towards her cottage.\nThey sprang on to the bank, took off their skates, and made for her\ndoor. The young nobleman, for he was one of the three, informed her\nthat he had had such a severe cold he could not come to see her\nbefore. \"He spoke as free and pleasantly,\" she said, in telling the\nstory, \"as if I had been a lady, and no less, and then he brought a\nparcel out of his pocket, saying, 'I have been over to B---- and\nbrought you a book for a keepsake, and I hope you will accept it;' and\nthen they all talked as pretty as could be for a matter of ten\nminutes, and went away. So I waited till my master came home, and we\nopened the parcel, and there was a fine Bible inside, all over gold\nand red morocco, and my name and his name written inside; and, bless\nhim, a ten-pound note doubled down over the names. I'm sure, when I\nthought he was a poor forlorn creature, he was kindly welcome. So my\nmaster laid out part of the money in tools, and we rented a garden;\nand he goes over on market days to sell what we grow, so now, thank\nGod, we want for nothing.\"\n\nThis is how she generally concludes the little history, never failing\nto add that the young lord kissed her baby.\n\nBut I have not yet told you what I thought the best part of the story.\nWhen this poor Christian woman was asked what had induced her to take\nin a perfect stranger and trust him with the best clothing her home\nafforded, she answered simply, \"Well, I saw him shivering and shaking,\nso I thought, thou shalt come in here, for the sake of Him that had\nnot where to lay His head.\"\n\nThe old woman in the other cottage may open her door every night of\nher future life to some forlorn beggar, but it is all but certain that\nshe will never open it to a nobleman in disguise!\n\nLet us do good, not to receive more good in return, but as evidence of\ngratitude for what has been already bestowed. In a few words, let it\nbe \"all for love and nothing for reward.\"\n\n\"The most excellent gift is charity.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE WAITS\n\n\n At the break of Christmas Day,\n Through the frosty starlight ringing,\n Faint and sweet and far away,\n Comes the sound of children, singing,\n Chanting, singing,\n \"Cease to mourn,\n For Christ is born,\n Peace and joy to all men bringing!\"\n\n Careless that the chill winds blow,\n Growing stronger, sweeter, clearer,\n Noiseless footfalls in the snow\n Bring the happy voices nearer;\n Hear them singing,\n \"Winter's drear,\n But Christ is here,\n Mirth and gladness with Him bringing!\"\n\n \"Merry Christmas!\" hear them say,\n As the East is growing lighter;\n \"May the joy of Christmas Day\n Make your whole year gladder, brighter!\"\n Join their singing,\n \"To each home\n Our Christ has come,\n All love's treasures with Him bringing!\"\n\n Margaret Deland.\n\n\n\n\nWHERE LOVE IS THERE GOD IS ALSO\n\nLeo Tolstoi\n\n\nMartuin, the shoemaker, lived in a city of Russia. His house was a\nlittle basement room with one window. Through this window he used to\nwatch the people walking past. He was so far below the street that\nfrom his bench he could see only the feet of the passers-by but he\nknew them all by their boots. Nearly every pair of boots in the\nneighbourhood had been in his hands once and again. Some he would half\nsole, and some he would patch, some he would stitch around, and\noccasionally he would also put on new uppers. \"Ah,\" he would say to\nhimself, \"there goes the baker. That was a fine piece of leather.\"\nMartuin always had plenty to do because he was a faithful workman,\nused good materials, and always finished an order as early as he\npromised it.\n\nIn the evening when his work was done he would light his little oil\nlamp, take his book down from the shelf and begin to read. He had but\none book, a Bible, and as he read he thought of the wonderful\nChrist-child. \"Ah,\" he cried one night, \"if He would only come to me\nand be my guest. If He should come, I wonder how I should receive\nHim.\" Martuin rested his head upon his hands and dozed. \"Martuin,\" a\nvoice seemed suddenly to sound in his ears.\n\nHe started from his sleep. \"Who is here?\" He looked around but there\nwas no one.\n\nAgain he fell into a doze. Suddenly he plainly heard, \"Martuin, ah,\nMartuin! Look to-morrow on the street. I am coming.\"\n\nAt daybreak next morning Martuin woke, said his prayer, put his\ncabbage soup and gruel on to cook and sat down by the window to work.\nHe worked hard but all the time he was thinking of the voice that he\nhad heard. \"Was it a dream,\" he said to himself, \"or is He coming?\nShall I really see Him to-day?\" When anyone passed by in boots that he\ndid not know he would bend down close to the window so that he could\nsee the face as well as the boots.\n\nBy and by an old, old man came along; he carried a shovel. It was\nStephanwitch. Martuin knew him by his old felt boots. He was very poor\nand helped the house porter with all the hard work. Now he began to\nshovel away the snow from in front of Martuin's window. Martuin looked\nup eagerly.\n\n\"Pshaw,\" said Martuin, \"old Stephanwitch is clearing away the snow and\nI imagined the Christ-child was coming to see me.\" He looked again.\nHow old and feeble Stephanwitch looked.\n\n\"He is cold and weary,\" thought Martuin. \"I will call him in and give\nhim a cup of tea, the samovar must be boiling by now.\"\n\nHe laid down his awl, made the tea, and tapped on the window. \"Come in\nand warm yourself,\" he said.\n\n\"May Christ reward you for this! My bones ache,\" said Stephanwitch.\n\nStephanwitch shook off the snow and tried to wipe his feet so as not\nto soil the floor, but he staggered from cold and weariness.\n\n\"Never mind that, I will clean it up. We are used to such things. Sit\ndown and drink a cup of tea,\" said Martuin heartily.\n\nMartuin filled two cups and handed one to Stephanwitch who drank it\neagerly, turned it upside down, and began to express his thanks.\n\n\"Have some more?\" said Martuin, refilling the cup.\n\n\"Are you expecting anyone?\" asked Stephanwitch. \"I see you keep\nturning to look on the street.\"\n\n\"I am ashamed to tell you whom I expect. I am, and I am not, expecting\nsomeone. You see, brother, I was reading about the Christ and how He\nwalked on earth and I thought, 'If He came to me, should I know how to\nreceive Him?' and I heard a voice, 'Be on the watch, I shall come\nto-morrow.' It is absurd, yet would you believe it, I am expecting\nHim, the Christ-child.\"\n\nStephanwitch shook his head but said nothing.\n\nMartuin filled his guest's cup with hot tea and continued, \"You see I\nhave an idea He would come to the simple people. He picked out His\ndisciples from simple working people like us. Come, brother, have\nsome more tea.\"\n\nBut Stephanwitch rose. \"Thanks to you, Martuin, for treating me kindly\nand warming me, soul and body.\"\n\n\"You are welcome, brother, come again.\"\n\nStephanwitch departed. Martuin put away the dishes and sat down by the\nwindow to stitch on a patch. He kept looking out as he stitched.\n\nTwo soldiers passed by; one wore boots that Martuin had made; then the\nmaster of the next house; then a baker. Then there came a woman in\nwoolen stockings and wooden shoes. Martuin looked up through the\nwindow. He saw she was a stranger poorly clad in shabby summer\nclothes. She had turned her back to the wind and was trying to shelter\na little child who was crying.\n\nMartuin went to the door and called out, \"Why are you standing there\nin the cold? Come into my room where it is warm.\"\n\nThe woman was astonished when she saw the old, old man in his leather\napron and big spectacles beckoning and calling to her, but she gladly\nfollowed him.\n\n\"There,\" said Martuin, \"sit down near the stove and warm yourself.\"\nThen he brought out bread, poured out cabbage soup, and took up the\npot with the gruel.\n\n\"Eat, eat,\" he said. \"I will mind the little one. Tell me, why are you\nout in this bitter cold?\"\n\n\"I am a soldier's wife, but my husband has been sent far away. We have\nused up our money and I went to-day for work but they told me to come\nagain.\"\n\nMartuin sighed. \"Have you no warm clothes?\"\n\n\"Ah, this is the time to wear them, but yesterday I sold my last warm\nshawl for food.\"\n\nMartuin sighed. He went to the little cupboard and found an old coat.\n\"Take it,\" he said. \"It is a poor thing, yet it may help you.\" He\nslipped some money into her hand and with this said, \"Buy yourself a\nshawl and food till work shall be found.\"\n\n\"May Christ bless you!\" she cried. \"He must have sent me to you. It\nhad grown so cold my little child would have frozen to death, but He,\nthe Christ-child, led you to look through the window.\"\n\n\"Indeed He did,\" said Martuin, smiling.\n\nThe woman left. Martuin ate some sheki, washed the dishes, and sat\ndown again by the window to work. A shadow darkened the window.\nMartuin looked up eagerly. It was only an acquaintance who lived a\nlittle further down the street. Again the window grew dark. This time\nMartuin saw that an old apple woman had stopped right in front of the\nwindow. She carried a basket with apples and over her shoulder she had\na bag full of chips. One could see that the bag was heavy. She lowered\nit to the sidewalk and as she did so, she set the apples on a little\npost. A little boy with a torn cap darted up, picked an apple out of\nthe basket and started to run but the old woman caught him, knocked\noff his cap, and seized him by the hair.\n\nMartuin ran out in the cold. \"Let him go, Babushka; forgive him for\nChrist's sake.\"\n\n\"I will forgive him so that he won't forget it till the new broom\ngrows! I am going to take him to the police.\"\n\n\"Let him go, Babushka, let him go for Christ's sake. He will never do\nit again.\"\n\nThe old woman let him loose. The boy tried to run, but Martuin kept\nhim back.\n\n\"Ask Babushka's forgiveness,\" he said, \"and never do it again. I saw\nyou take the apple.\"\n\nWith tears in his eyes the boy began to ask forgiveness.\n\n\"There, that's all right,\" said Martuin; \"take the apple. I will pay\nfor it.\"\n\n\"You ruin the good-for-nothings,\" said the old woman. \"He should be\nwell punished. He deserves it.\"\n\n\"Perhaps,\" answered Martuin, \"but God forgives us though we deserve it\nnot.\"\n\n\"Well, well,\" said the old woman, appeased, \"after all it was but a\nchildish trick.\" She started to lift the bag upon her shoulder.\n\n\"Let me take it,\" said the boy. \"It is on my way.\"\n\nSide by side they passed along the street, the boy carrying the bag\nand chattering to the old woman. Martuin turned and went back into the\nlittle room.\n\nAfter sewing a little while it grew too dark to see. He lighted his\nlittle lamp, finished his piece of work, put it away, and took down\nhis Bible. Suddenly he seemed to hear someone stepping around behind\nhim. In the dark corner there seemed to be people standing. Then he\nheard a voice, \"Martuin, ah, Martuin, did you not know me?\"\n\n\"Who?\" cried Martuin.\n\n\"It is I,\" replied the voice, and Stephanwitch stepped forth from the\ndark corner, smiled, and faded away like a little cloud.\n\n\"And this is I!\" said the voice again, and from the dark corner\nstepped the woman and the child. The woman smiled, the child laughed,\nand then they, too, vanished.\n\n\"And this is I!\" and the old woman and the boy stepped forward,\nsmiled, and vanished. Then a light filled the little room and glowed\nabout the figure of a Child and Martuin heard the words:\n\n\"For I was an hungered and ye gave me meat; I was thirsty and ye gave\nme drink; I was a stranger and ye took me in.\" And Martuin knew that\nthe Christ-child had really come to him that Christmas-tide.\n(_Adapted._)\n\n\n\n\nGOD REST YE, MERRY GENTLEMEN\n\n\n God rest ye, merry gentlemen,\n Let nothing you dismay,\n For Jesus Christ, our Saviour,\n Was born upon this day,\n To save us all from Satan's pow'r\n When we were gone astray.\n O tidings of comfort and joy!\n For Jesus Christ, our Saviour,\n Was born on Christmas Day.\n\n Now to the Lord sing praises,\n All you within this place,\n And with true love and brotherhood\n Each other now embrace;\n This holy tide of Christmas\n All others doth deface.\n O tidings of comfort and joy!\n For Jesus Christ, our Saviour,\n Was born on Christmas Day.\n\n Dinah Mulock Craik.\n\n\n\n\nTHE GLAD NEW YEAR\n\n\n\n\nTHE GLAD NEW YEAR\n\n\n It's coming, boys,\n It's almost here.\n It's coming, girls,\n The grand New Year.\n\n A year to be glad in,\n Not to be sad in;\n A year to live in,\n To gain and give in.\n\n A year for trying,\n And not for sighing;\n A year for striving\n And healthy thriving.\n\n It's coming, boys,\n It's almost here.\n It's coming, girls,\n The grand New Year.\n\n Mary Mapes Dodge.\n\n\n\n\nTHE BAD LITTLE GOBLIN'S NEW YEAR\n\nMary Stewart\n\n\nCome, children dear, let's sit on the floor around the fire, so, and\nwatch those golden flames dancing and leaping. You see that very gay\none just springing up the chimney? I know a story about him, a New\nYear's story. Let's snuggle up closer and look into the fire. You see\nthat piece of coal black wood, there at the end? There was a horrid\nlittle goblin once who was as black as that bit of wood. His clothes\nwere all black, his round cap looked like a bit of coal, his pointed\nshoes were jet black, and his face was dark with dirt and an ugly\nscowling expression. Altogether he was a horrid looking goblin, and he\nwas just as hateful as he looked. There wasn't a single person who\nliked him. The birds hated him because he would wait after dark when\nall the baby birds were cuddled down in the nest, fast asleep. Then\nhe would pop up from under the nest where he had been hiding and cry,\n\"Morning time, wake up!\" and all the babies would cry, \"Chirp, chirp,\nDaddy bring us our breakfast!\" They opened their bills so wide that it\ntook a long time to shut them and put the excited babies to sleep\nagain. Once Blackie, that was the goblin's name, dropped a bit of twig\ndown into a baby's open bill and the poor bird coughed so hard that he\nkept the birds in the nests around awake all night. Blackie chuckled\nwith glee and went scurrying off on another prank.\n\nWhile the mother bunnies were asleep he painted the tiny white flags\nthey wear under their tails with brown mud from the marsh. When\nmorning-time really did come and the mother bunnies woke up and called\nto their children to follow them, the little bunnies couldn't see any\nwhite flags on their mothers' tails to follow, and all got lost in the\nlong grass. It took the whole day to gather them together, and still\nlonger to get those flags clean again.\n\nBlackie jumped for joy. The mother bunnies would have liked to reach\nhim with their sharp claws, but he was too quick for them.\n\nThen Blackie found the holes where the squirrels had hidden their nuts\nfor the winter. It had taken months to gather them, but Blackie waited\nuntil they were out hunting again, and he carried all the nuts away\nand hid them in the roots of an old tree where they would never think\nof looking!\n\nThat wasn't all! Blackie did one last thing so terrible that I don't\nlike to tell you about it. He waited until a robin's nest was full of\nlovely blue eggs and the father bird was off in search of worms. Then\nhe made such a rustling in the next tree that the mother bird flew off\nto see what it was, and while she was gone--Blackie danced upon the\neggs until they were all broken!\n\nThat filled the timid wood creatures with fury. The birds, the\nrabbits, and the squirrels rushed upon the goblin and drove him before\nthem. The birds pecked him with their beaks, and the squirrels and\nrabbits hopped after him with their claws outstretched. Away ran\nBlackie, really frightened at last, faster and faster until he reached\nthe darkest part of the whole forest. There he jumped into a hole in a\ntree, curling himself up so tightly that his round cap touched his\npointed shoes, and while he trembled with fear he heard the birds and\nbunnies and squirrels go tearing past, thinking that the wicked little\ngoblin was still running ahead of them.\n\nWhen they had all gone, Blackie peeked out of his hole. Oh, how\nterribly quiet it was! Not a bird chirped, not a squirrel or a rabbit\nor a woodchuck lived there. It was so quiet and so dark and so lonely\nthat Blackie began to feel quite forlorn. \"I would almost be polite to\na tree toad!\" he thought, but not even a croak or a buzz or a rustle\nbroke the stillness. The bad little goblin put his head down upon his\nblack knees and went to sleep; there was nothing else to do!\n\nThe first sound which woke him up was, \"Chop-chop!\" He rubbed his eyes\nand peeked out. He saw woodcutters cutting down trees with their sharp\naxes. Then he saw them coming toward the tree where he was hiding.\nShaking with terror, Blackie curled himself up into a tight ball.\nChop-chop-crash! went the tree, and Blackie's head bumped hard against\nthe top of his hole as, still inside it, he felt the tree fall to the\nground. That was rather fun, and much excited he peeked out of a crack\nand watched the men fastening chains around the trees and loading them\non wheels. His own tree went, too, and the next thing Blackie heard\nwas saw-saw, as the tree was sawed into logs at a lumber yard. Again\nhe rolled up tight, hoping the knives wouldn't cut him in two, and\nthey didn't! He was still safe in his hole when his log was thrown\nwith others, right down into a dark cellar. It was even drearier there\nthan in the forest and Blackie began to long for some playfellows. \"I\nwouldn't tease them. I'd just play with them nicely,\" he sighed, and\ntwo tears ran down his little black face, washing it almost clean.\n\nThen Blackie heard a strange new sound. It was gayer than a squirrel's\nchatter, sweeter than a bird's song,--it was a child's laughter! Where\ndid it come from? Blackie stopped crying and listened. It came again\nand the laughter of other children mingled with it. Blackie peeked\nout. There was no one in the cellar. He crept out and tiptoed up the\nstairs, in search of those laughing voices. Hiding in the shadows so\nthat no one could see him, he passed through the kitchen and on into a\nroom full of sunshine and children. He ran in and hid behind a\ncurtain, peeking out curiously. In the center of the room stood a\nlittle golden-haired girl, the one whose laughter he had first heard.\nBut as Blackie watched her with delight he saw her pucker up her face\nas though she were going to cry. \"My dolly, my dear dolly, I tan't\nfind her!\" she wailed. In a flash all the other boys and girls were\nsearching under chairs and tables for the runaway dolly. They couldn't\nfind her, but Blackie saw a pair of doll's feet poking out from under\nthe sofa. He hopped swiftly across the floor, pulled the doll out by\none leg and placed her on a chair beside the little girl.\n\n\"Oh, see, my doll's tum back!\" she cried, hugging her with joy. \"She\nwent for a walk and tame back again!\" and taking the doll's two hands\nin hers she danced with her around the room. The other children\ndanced, too, and their laughter rang out again. \"She went for a walk\nand came back all herself!\" they cried.\n\nBlackie thought he had never seen or heard anything so merry, it made\nhim want to dance, also. Poor little black goblin whom the maid, if\nshe had seen him, would have swept out of the room, mistaking him for\na bit of coal!\n\nBut Blackie took care that no one did see him. Except, perhaps, the\nchildren, I don't know whether anyone ever saw him or not. He spent\nmost of the time with them, and somehow they seemed to know that he\nwas there and that he was their friend. Every evening when they had\ntheir supper they put a bowl of milk in front of the fire for him, and\nwhen they came in to breakfast the bowl was always empty. I don't know\nhow Blackie drank it without being seen, for he still slept in his log\nin the cellar and was asleep as soon as the children's heads touched\ntheir pillows. The children's mother was puzzled over that empty bowl,\nbut she might have guessed there was a friendly goblin in the house\nby the way lost things were always turning up.\n\n\"I can't find my thimble!\" the mother would cry. \"Come, children, and\nlook for it!\" On the floor, under the rug, in the flower pots, and on\nthe tables hunted the children. But hiding behind the curtain Blackie\nhad seen a bit of something gold shining through the tassels of the\nsofa. Quick as a flash, he pulled it out and placed it on the arm of\nthe mother's chair. \"Why, here it is!\" she exclaimed. \"How did it get\nthere?\" The children laughed and winked at each other, as though they\nunderstood, but how could they explain about the goblin to mother?\n\nTheir father was always looking for his spectacles. Mother, the\nchildren, and all the maids would be called in to help search. Before\nBlackie came they often searched for hours, but he always found them\nin a twinkling, in a book, perhaps, or under the fender, and would\nplace them right in front of father. \"Gracious, look here, there must\nbe some magic around!\" he would cry, and the children would jump up\nand down with glee! They knew all about the magic. They guessed that\na little black goblin was also jumping with delight behind the\ncurtain!\n\nOne morning,--it was New Year's Day,--Blackie slept longer than usual.\nHe was curled up inside his log, so sound asleep that even the\njoggling of his home being carried upstairs didn't waken him. Then he\nwas turned upside down, and, opening his eyes, he peeked out of the\ncrack and found that the log was about to be thrown onto the blazing\nfire! Crash! it went. How very warm it was, and then Blackie heard the\nchildren laughing. He poked his head out and saw them all sitting in\nfront of the fire, watching the blaze. All around Blackie red and\nyellow flames were dancing, so gay, so golden, so happy that Blackie\nforgot to be frightened. \"I want to be gay, too!\" he cried. \"I want to\nlaugh with the children and dance with the flames.\" His log caught\nfire, blazed up and out sprang Blackie,--a little black goblin no\nlonger!\n\nInstead, he was the shiniest, most dancing golden flame that you ever\nsaw! For a few moments he just danced up and down with delight, then,\nwaving and bowing to the children, he cried, \"Happy New Year! Happy\nNew Year!\" and sprang up the chimney. The children's glad voices\nechoed after him.\n\nWhen he reached the top he saw a glorious sight. The sun shining on\nthe snow and ice turned the world into a sparkling Fairy-land, and the\nsky was as blue as forget-me-nots, or Polly's eyes, or the very bluest\nthing you have ever seen. Blackie danced with the sunbeams over the\nglittering ice until he almost ran into a flock of little birds\nhuddled down in the snow, too cold to fly. Their feathers were ruffled\nand they looked very miserable. \"Come play with me!\" he cried, dancing\naround them. He was so gay and so beautiful that they forgot the cold,\nand flew in circles around him. \"Come and join us!\" he cried to a\ngroup of rabbits who were hunched up upon the snow, half-frozen. They\nhopped along slowly toward him and then--they, too, forgot the cold\nwhile they played games with the golden goblin and the birds, until\nthey were all as merry as the sunbeams. \"Happy New Year! Happy New\nYear!\" they called to each other, and to the twinkling flame goblin.\n\nThen Blackie saw some squirrels curled up on the branches of a tree so\nmiserable they couldn't even make-believe scamper. \"What is the\nmatter; do you want some nuts?\" he cried. \"Follow me!\" And away he\ndarted to the roots of the tree where, as a naughty little goblin, he\nhad hidden their winter store. The squirrels followed slowly, but when\nthey saw their treasure their eyes sparkled, their teeth chattered\nwith delight, and they scampered back and forth from the tree root to\ntheir own holes, their paws full of nuts. They were as gay as Blackie\nhimself. \"Happy New Year! Happy New Year!\" they cried to their\ngleaming friend, whom they never dreamed was the bad little goblin\nthey had chased away the autumn before!\n\nSo all day and for many days the goblin danced and sang and helped\npeople and birds and the wood creatures. He twinkled as merrily in the\nsunshine out of doors as he did when he danced in the fire, warming\nthe children and singing them songs.\n\n\"It's like Happy New Year every day when the goblin is here!\" cried\nthe children, dancing as gayly on the hearth rug as the sprite was\ndancing within the fire. \"There he is now, do you see him? He is\ndancing and crackling and crying to all of us, 'Happy New Year, Happy\nNew Year!'\"\n\n\n\n\n Let others looke for Pearle and Gold,\n Tissues, or Tabbies manifold;\n One only lock of that sweet Hay\n Whereon the blessed Babie lay,\n Or one poore Swadling-clout, shall be\n The richest New-Yeere's Gift to me.\n\n Robert Herrick.\n\n\n\n\nTHE QUEEN OF THE YEAR\n\n\n When suns are low and nights are long\n And winds bring wild alarms,\n Through the darkness comes the Queen of the Year\n In all her peerless charms,--\n December, fair and holly-crowned,\n With the Christ-child in her arms.\n\n The maiden months are a stately train,\n Veiled in the spotless snow,\n Or decked with the bloom of Paradise\n What time the roses blow,\n Or wreathed with the vine and the yellow wheat\n When the noons of harvest glow.\n\n But, oh, the joy of the rolling year,\n The queen with peerless charms,\n Is she who comes through the waning light\n To keep the world from harms,--\n December, fair and holly-crowned,\n With the Christ-child in her arms.\n\n Edna Dean Proctor.\n\n\n\n\nTHE NEW YEAR'S BELL\n\nAndrea Hofer Proudfoot\n\n\nA-ring-a-ring, ring! A-ring-a-ring, ring!\n\n\"Brother Carl, wake up! wake up! Don't you hear the great bell? Father\nis ringing the New Year in, don't you hear it, little Carl? Wake up!\"\n\nTangled-haired little Carl sat up in bed, rubbed his eyes, and after a\nfew winks opened them wide.\n\n\"Is it the wind, brother Hans, that sings so?\"\n\n\"No, no! It is the great bell; don't you hear it ring? It is ringing\nfor the New Year.\"\n\n\"Is father drawing the rope?\" asked the little one.\n\n\"Of course he is, little Carl; he is waking up the whole world that\nevery one may wish a 'Happy New Year.' Come, let us go to the window.\"\n\nAnd the two little fellows crept out of their warm nest onto the cold\nfloor, and over to the window in the gable.\n\n\"Oh, see, there is father's lantern in the steeple window!\" cried\nCarl.\n\nIt threw its light into the frosty night; the clear stars cut sharp\nholes in the sky, and the air was so cold it made everything glisten.\n\nA-ring-a-ring, ring! clanged the great bell, and little Hans and Carl\nknew their father's arms were making it ring. The strokes were so\nstrong that each one made little half-asleep Carl wink; and the stars\nseemed to wink back to him each time. He crept closer to Hans, and the\ntwo stood still with their arms about each other; the room was quite\ncold, but they did not mind it, for with each stroke the great bell\nseemed to ring more beautifully. It seemed so near them, as if ringing\nright in their ears, and the two little boys stood and listened with\nbeating hearts.\n\n\"I saw dear father trim his lantern,\" whispered Hans. \"He set it near\nthe door before we went to bed, all ready to light when the clock\nstruck twelve. Mother said to him as he put the lantern there, 'Ring\nthe bell good and strong, dear father, for who knows but this year may\nbring the great blessing which the Christ-child promised!' We must\nwatch for it, little Carl.\"\n\nAnd the old bell seemed to speak louder and clearer to the little\nones, as they eagerly listened for what it was telling.\n\n\"Father says the bell will never ring from the old tower again, for\nthe new one is being built,\" said Hans. \"And what do you think,\nbrother Carl, our dear mother wept because the old steeple must be\nbroken down, and the dear bell, that is even now a-ringing, must be\nput into another great tower to ring.\"\n\n\"Does the great bell know it, brother?\"\n\n\"No, dear little Carl; but no matter where it is put it will always\nring, and be glad to wake the village for the New Year.\"\n\n\"Will we go and say good-bye to the dear old bell, brother Hans?\"\nwhispered little Carl.\n\n\"Yes, brother mine; when it is day we will go, for it has rung so many\ntimes for us.\"\n\nThey crept out of the cold into their snug bed again, and the great\nstrokes poured from the tower window long after the little curly\nheads were full of dreams.\n\n\"Wake up, brother Hans! there is the sun.\"\n\nThis time little Carl was the first to arise. Quickly they were both\ndressed, and, opening their door noiselessly, they went down the\nnarrow stairs on tiptoe, and then out into the open air.\n\nA swift wind was blowing. It swept over the bare bushes and whirled\nthe snow into the children's faces, and filled their curly hair with\nflakes. But the sun was smiling down on them and said: \"See what a\nbeautiful day I brought for a New Year's gift to you!\"\n\nAnd the little ones passed through the church door, that was always\nopen, and into the belfry tower. They knew the way, for father had so\noften taken them with him.\n\nThey came to the long, dark ladder-way; but they did not mind the\ndark--for they knew the bell was at the top, and they bravely began to\nclimb.\n\nHans had wooden shoes, so he left them at the foot of the ladder. It\nis so much easier to climb a ladder with bare feet. Besides, he\nhardly felt the cold he was such a quick and lively little boy.\n\nCarl went ahead that brother Hans might the more easily help him. They\nclimbed, up and up, and the brave big brother talked merrily all the\ntime, to keep little Carl from thinking of the long, long way. Up and\nup they went. It became darker and darker. Little Carl led on and on,\nand he was glad that Hans was behind him.\n\nAll at once a bright gleam of light greeted them from above, and they\nknew that soon they would be with the dear old bell.\n\nThrough the opening they crept, and there the great bell hung and they\nstood beneath it. Hans could just touch it, and he felt its long\ntongue and saw the shining marks on its sides where it had struck in\nclanging for many, many years.\n\nIt was very cold in the belfry. Little Carl tucked his hands under his\nblouse and gazed at the bell, while Hans explained to him what made\nthe music and the great tolling tones that came from it.\n\n\"The whole world loves the great bell, brother Carl,\" said Hans.\n\"Mother thinks that last night it rang in the great blessing which the\nChrist-child had promised.\"\n\n\"What did the little Christ-child promise, brother?\"\n\n\"Don't you remember, little Carl? Mother told us that the Christ-child\nwould send little children a beautiful gift; I think it must be the\nNew Year that he has sent, for that is what the old bell brought to us\nlast night.\"\n\nAnd Hans lifted little Carl, and he kissed the beautiful bell on its\ngreat round lip, and the bell was still warm from its long ringing.\n\nAnd they stood and looked at the bell quietly for a long time. And\nthen they said, \"Good-bye, dear great bell,\" and they went down the\ndark ladder again.\n\nHans put on his wooden shoes at the foot of the ladder, and with\nflying feet they crossed the church garden, and there stood the dear\nmother in the door looking for them. She had found their little bed\nempty, and was just starting out to find them.\n\n\"Dear Mother, we have been in the tower to thank the great bell for\nbringing the New Year,\" cried Hans.\n\n\"Did the Christ-child send it, Mother?\" asked little Carl.\n\nThe mother stooped and put her arms about them and kissed them both.\nAs she led them into the room she said, \"Yes, my little ones, the\nChrist-child sends the New Year.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE NEW YEAR\n\n\n Snow-wrapped and holly-decked it comes,\n To richest and to poorest homes.\n Twelve jeweled months all set with days\n Of priceless opportunities.\n A silver moon, a golden sun,\n With diamond stars when day is done;\n Over all a sapphire sky\n Where pearly clouds go floating by.\n\n (_Selected._)\n\n\n\n\nTHE CHILD AND THE YEAR\n\n\n Said the child to the youthful year:\n \"What hast thou in store for me,\n O giver of beautiful gifts! what cheer,\n What joy dost thou bring with thee?\"\n\n \"My seasons four shall bring\n Their treasures: the winter's snows,\n The autumn's store, and the flowers of spring,\n And the summer's perfect rose.\n\n \"All these and more shall be thine,\n Dear child--but the last and best\n Thyself must earn by a strife divine,\n If thou wouldst be truly blest.\"\n\n Celia Thaxter.\n\n\n\n\nA MASQUE OF THE DAYS\n\nCharles Lamb\n\n\nThe Old Year being dead, and the New Year coming of age, which he\ndoes, by calendar law as soon as the breath is out of the old\ngentleman's body, nothing would serve the young spark, but he must\ngive a dinner upon the occasion, to which all the Days in the year\nwere invited. The Festivals, whom he deputed as his stewards, were\nmightily taken with the notion. They had been engaged time out of\nmind, they said, in providing mirth and good cheer for mortals below,\nand it was time they should have a taste of their own bounty.\n\nIt was stiffly debated among them whether the Fasts should be\nadmitted. Some said the appearance of such lean, starved guests, with\ntheir mortified faces, would pervert the ends of the meeting. But the\nobjection was overruled by Christmas Day, who had a design upon Ash\nWednesday (as you shall hear), and a mighty desire to see how the old\nDomine would behave himself in his cups. Only the Vigils were\nrequested to come with their lanterns to light the gentlefolk home at\nnight.\n\nAll the Days came. Covers were provided for three hundred and\nsixty-five guests at the principal table; with an occasional knife and\nfork at the sideboard for the Twenty-ninth of February.\n\nCards of invitation had been issued. The carriers were the Hours;\ntwelve little, merry, whirligig foot-pages that went all round and\nfound out the person invited, with the exception of Easter Day, Shrove\nTuesday, and a few such movables, who had lately shifted their\nquarters.\n\nWell, they all met at last, foul Days, fine Days, all sorts of Days,\nand a rare din they made of it. There was nothing but \"Hail, fellow\nDay! well met!\" only Lady Day seemed a little scornful. Yet some said\nTwelfth Day cut her out, for she came all royal and glittering and\nEpiphanous. The rest came in green, some in white, but old Lent and\nhis family were not yet out of mourning. Rainy Days came in dripping,\nand Sunshiny Days laughing. Wedding Day was there in marriage finery.\nPay Day came late, and Doomsday sent word he might be expected.\n\nApril Fool took upon himself to marshal the guests, and May Day, with\nthat sweetness peculiar to her, proposed the health of the host. This\nbeing done, the lordly New Year, from the upper end of the table,\nreturned thanks. Ash Wednesday, being now called upon for a song,\nstruck up a carol, which Christmas Day had taught him. Shrovetide,\nLord Mayor's Day, and April Fool next joined in a glee, in which all\nthe Days, chiming in, made a merry burden.\n\nAll this while Valentine's Day kept courting pretty May, who sat next\nhim, slipping amorous billet-doux under the table till the Dog Days\nbegan to be jealous and to bark and rage exceedingly.\n\nAt last the Days called for their cloaks and great-coats, and took\ntheir leave. Shortest Day went off in a deep black fog that wrapped\nthe little gentleman all round. Two Vigils--so watchmen are called in\nHeaven--saw Christmas Day safe home; they had been used to the\nbusiness before. Another Vigil--a stout, sturdy patrol, called the Eve\nof St. Christopher--seeing Ash Wednesday in a condition little better\nthan he should be, e'en whipt him over his shoulders, pick-a-pack\nfashion, and he went floating home, singing:\n\n \"On the bat's back do I fly,\"\n\nand a number of old snatches besides. Longest Day set off westward in\nbeautiful crimson and gold; the rest, some in one fashion, some in\nanother; but Valentine and pretty May took their departure together in\none of the prettiest silvery twilights a Lover's Day could wish to set\nin.\n\n\n\n\nRING OUT, WILD BELLS\n\n\n Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,\n The flying cloud, the frosty light:\n The year is dying in the night;\n Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.\n\n Ring out the old, ring in the new,\n Ring, happy bells, across the snow:\n The year is going, let him go;\n Ring out the false, ring in the true.\n\n Alfred Tennyson.\n\n\n\n\nMIDWINTER\n\n\n\n\nTHE BELLS\n\n\n Hear the sledges with the bells--\n Silver bells!\n What a world of merriment their melody foretells!\n How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,\n In the icy air of night!\n While the stars, that oversprinkle\n All the heavens, seem to twinkle\n With a crystalline delight;\n Keeping time, time, time,\n In a sort of Runic rhyme,\n To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells\n From the bells, bells, bells--\n Bells, bells, bells--\n From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.\n\n Edgar Allen Poe.\n\n\n\n\nA JANUARY THAW\n\nDallas Lore Sharp\n\n\nIt was the twenty-first of January--the dead of winter! The stubborn\ncold had had the out of doors under lock and key since Thanksgiving\nDay. We were having a hard winter, and the novelty of the thing was\nbeginning to wear off--to us grown-ups anyhow, and to the birds and\nwild things which for weeks had found scant picking over the ice and\nsnow. But I was snug enough in my upstairs study, when suddenly the\ndoor opened and four bebundled boys stood before me, with an axe, a\nlong-handled shovel, a basket, and, evidently, a big secret.\n\n\"Come on, father,\" they whispered (as if she hadn't heard them\nclomping with their kit through the house!), \"it's mother's birthday\nto-morrow, and we're going after the flowers.\"\n\n\"Going to chop them down with the axe or dig them up with the\nshovel?\" I asked. \"Going to give her a nice bunch of frost-flowers?\nBetter get the ice-saw then, for we'll need a big block of ice to\nstick their stems in.\"\n\n\"Hurry,\" they answered, dropping my hip-boots on the floor. \"Here are\nyour scuffs.\"\n\nI hurried, and soon the five of us, in single file were out on the\nmeadow, the dry snow squeaking under our feet, while the little winds,\ncapering spitefully about us, blew the snow-dust into our faces or\ncatching up the thin drifts sent them whirling like waltzing wraiths\nof dancers over the meadow's glittering floor.\n\nI was beginning to warm up a little, but it was a numb, stiff world\nabout us, and bleak and stark, a world all black and white, for there\nwas not even blue overhead. The white underfoot ran off to meet the\nblack of the woods, and the woods in turn stood dark against a sky so\nheavy with snow that it seemed to shut us into some vast snow cave. A\ncrow flapping over drew a black pencil line across the picture--the\none sign of life besides ourselves that we could see. Only small boys\nare likely to leave their firesides on such a day--only small boys,\nand those men who can't grow up. Yet never before, perhaps, had even\nthey gone out on such a tramp with an axe, a shovel, and a basket, to\npick flowers!\n\nSuddenly one of the boys dashed off, crying: \"Let's go see if the\nmuskrats have gone to bed yet!\" and, trailing after him, we made for a\nlittle mound that stood about three feet high out in the meadow, more\nlike a big ant hill or a small, snow-piled haycock, than a lodge of\nany sort. Only a practiced eye could have seen it, and only a lover of\nbleak days would have known what might be alive in there.\n\nWe crept up softly and surrounded the lodge; then with the axe we\nstruck the frozen, flinty roof several ringing blows. Instantly\none-two-three muffled, splashy \"plunks\" were heard as three little\nmuskrats, frightened out of their naps and half out of their wits,\nplunged into the open water of their doorways from off their damp, but\ncosy couch.\n\nIt was a mean thing to do--but not very mean as wild animal life goes.\nAnd it did warm me up so, in spite of the chilly plunge the little\nsleepers took! Chilly to them? Not at all and that is why it warmed\nme. To hear the splash of water down under the two feet of ice and\nsnow that sealed the meadow like a sheet of steel! To hear the sounds\nof stirring life, and to picture that snug, steaming bed on the top of\na tough old tussock, with its open water-doors leading into freedom\nand plenty below! \"Why, it won't be long before the arbutus is in\nbloom,\" I began to think. I looked at the axe and the shovel and said\nto myself, \"Well, the boys may know what they are doing after all,\nthough three muskrats do not make a spring.\"\n\nWe had cut back to our path, but had not gone ten paces along it\nbefore another boy was off to the left in the direction of a piece of\nmaple swamp.\n\n\"He's going to see if 'Hairy' is in his hole,\" they informed me, and\nwe all took after him. The \"hole\" was almost twenty-five feet up in a\ndead oak stub that had blown off and lodged against a live tree. The\nmeadow had been bleak and wind-swept, but the swamp was naked and\ndead, filled with ice and touched with a most forbidding emptiness\nand stillness. I was getting cold again, when the boy ahead tapped\nlightly on the old stub, and at the empty hole appeared a head--a\nfierce black and white head, a sharp, long beak, a flashing eye--as\n\"Hairy\" came forth to fight for his castle. He was too wise a fighter\nto tackle all of us, however, so, slipping out, he spread his wings\nand galloped off with a loud, wild call that set all the swamp to\nringing.\n\nIt was a thrilling, defiant challenge that set my blood to leaping\nagain. Black and white, he was a part of the picture, but there was a\nscarlet band at the nape of his neck that, like his call, had fire in\nit and the warmth of life.\n\nAs his woodpecker shout went booming through the hollow halls of the\nswamp, it woke a blue jay who squalled back from a clump of pines,\nthen wavering out into the open on curious wings--flashing ice-blue\nand snow-white wings--he dived into the covert of pines again; and\nfaint, as if from beyond the swamp, the cheep of chickadees! Here a\nlittle troop of them came to peep into the racket, curious but not\nexcited, discussing the disturbance of the solemn swamp in that\ndesultory, sewing-bee fashion of theirs, as if nipping off threads and\nsquinting through needle-eyes between their running comment.\n\nThey, too, were grey and black, grey as the swamp beeches, black as\nthe spotted bark of the birches. And how tiny! But----\n\n \"Here was this atom in full breath\n Hurling defiance at vast death--\n This scrap of valour just for play\n Fronts the north wind in waistcoat grey.\"\n\nAnd this, also, is what Emerson says he sings,\n\n \"Good day, good sir!\n Fine afternoon, old passenger!\n Happy to meet you in these places\n Where January brings few faces.\"\n\nAnd as I brought to mind the poet's lines, I forgot to shiver, and\nquite warmed up again to the idea of flowers, especially as one of the\nboys just then brought up a spray of green holly with a burning red\nberry on it!\n\nWe were tacking again to get back on our course, and had got into the\nedge of the swamp among the pines when the boy with the shovel began\nto study the ground and the trees with a searching eye, moving forward\nand back as if trying to find the location of something.\n\n\"Here it is,\" he said, and set in digging through the snow at the foot\nof a big pine. I knew what he was after. It was gold thread, and here\nwas the only spot, in all the woods about, where we had ever found\nit--a spot not larger than the top of a dining-room table.\n\nSoon we had a fistful of the delicate plants with their evergreen\nleaflets and long, golden thread-like roots, that mixed with the red\nand green of the partridge berry in a finger-bowl makes a cheerful\nlittle winter bouquet. And here with the gold thread, about the butt\nof the pine, was the partridge berry, too, the dainty vines strung\nwith the beads which seemed to burn holes in the snow that had covered\nand banked the tiny fires.\n\nFor this is all that the ice and snow had done. The winter had come\nwith wind enough to blow out every flame in the maple tops, and with\nsnow enough to smother every little fire in the peat bogs of the\nswamp; but peat fires are hard to put out, and here and everywhere the\nwinter had only banked the fires of summer. Dig down through the snow\nashes anywhere and the smouldering fires of life burst into blaze.\n\nBut the boy with the axe had gone on ahead. And we were off again\nafter him, stopping to get a great armful of black alder branches that\nwere literally aflame with red berries.\n\nWe were climbing a piny knoll when almost at our feet, jumping us\nnearly out of our skins, and warming the very roots of our hair, was a\nburrrr--burrrr--burrrr--burrrr--four big partridges--as if four big\nsnow mines had exploded under us, hurling bunches of brown on graceful\nscaling wings over the dip of the hills!\n\nOn we went up over the knoll and down into a low bog where, in the\nsummer, we gather high-bush blueberries, the boy with the axe leading\nthe way and going straight across the ice toward the middle of the\nbog.\n\nMy eye was keen for signs, and soon I saw he was heading for a\nsweet-pepper bush with a broken branch. My eye took in another bush\noff a little to the right with a broken branch. The boy with the axe\nwalked up to the broken sweet-pepper bush and drew a line on the ice\nbetween it and the bush off on the right, pacing along this line till\nhe got the middle; then he started at right angles from it and paced\noff a line to a clump of cat-tails sticking up through the ice of the\nflooded bog. Halfway back on this line he stopped, threw off his coat\nand began to chop a hole about two feet square in the ice. Removing\nthe block while I looked on, he rolled up his sleeve and reached down\nthe length of his arm through the icy water.\n\n\"Give me the shovel,\" he said, \"it's down here,\" and with a few deep,\ndexterous cuts soon brought to the surface a beautiful cluster of\npitcher plants, the strange, almost uncanny leaves filled with muddy\nwater, but every pitcher of them intact, shaped and veined and tinted\nby a master potter's hand.\n\nWe wrapped it all carefully in newspapers, and put it in the basket,\nstarting back with our bouquet as cheerful and as full of joy in the\nseason as we could possibly have been in June.\n\nNo, I did not say that we love January as much as we love June.\nJanuary here in New England is a mixture of rheumatism, chillblains,\nfrozen water pipes, mittens, overshoes, blocked trains, and automobile\ntroubles by the hoodsful, whereas any automobile will run in June. I\nhave not room in this essay to tell all that June is; besides, this is\na story of January.\n\nWhat I was saying is that we started home all abloom with our pitcher\nplants, and gold thread, and partridge berry, and holly, and black\nalder, all aglow inside with our vigorous tramp, with the grey, grave\nbeauty of the landscape, with the stern joy of meeting and beating the\ncold, and with the signs of life--of the cosy muskrats in their lodge\nbeneath the ice cap on the meadow; with the hairy woodpecker in his\ndeep, warm hole in the heart of the tree; with the red-warm berries in\nour basket; with the chirping, the conquering chickadee accompanying\nus and singing--\n\n \"For well the soul, if stout within,\n Can arm impregnably the skin;\n And polar frost my form defied\n Made of the air that blows outside.\"\n\nAnd actually as we came over the bleak meadow one of the boys said he\nthought he heard a song sparrow singing; and I thought the\npussywillows by the brook had opened a little since we passed them\ncoming out; and we all declared the weather had changed, and that\nthere were signs of a break-up. But the thermometer stood at fifteen\nabove zero when we got home--one degree colder than when we started!\nSo we concluded that the January thaw must have come off inside of us;\nand if the colour of the four glowing faces is any sign, that was the\ncorrect reading of the weather.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SNOW MAN\n\nHans Christian Andersen\n\n\n\"It is so wonderfully cold that my whole body crackles!\" said the Snow\nMan. \"This is a kind of wind that can blow life into one; and how the\ngleaming one up yonder is staring at me.\" That was the sun he meant,\nwhich was just about to set. \"It shall not make me wink--I shall\nmanage to keep the pieces.\"\n\nHe had two triangular pieces of tile in his head instead of eyes. His\nmouth was made of an old rake, and consequently was furnished with\nteeth.\n\nHe had been born amid the joyous shouts of the boys, and welcomed by\nthe sound of sledge bells and the slashing of whips.\n\nThe sun went down, and the full moon rose, round, large, clear, and\nbeautiful in the blue air.\n\n\"There it comes again from the other side,\" said the Snow Man. He\nintended to say the sun is showing himself again.\n\n\"Ah! I have cured him of staring. Now let him hang up there and shine,\nthat I may see myself. If I only knew how I could manage to move from\nthis place, I should like so much to move. If I could, I would slide\nalong yonder on the ice, just as I see the boys slide; but I don't\nunderstand it; I don't know how to run.\"\n\n\"Away! away!\" barked the old Yard Dog. He was quite hoarse, and could\nnot pronounce the genuine \"Bow, wow.\" He had got the hoarseness from\nthe time when he was an indoor dog, and lay by the fire. \"The sun will\nteach you to run! I saw that last winter in your predecessor, and\nbefore that in his predecessor. Away! away! and away they all go.\"\n\n\"I don't understand you, comrade,\" said the Snow Man.\n\n\"That thing up yonder is to teach me to run?\" He meant the moon. \"Yes,\nit comes creeping from the other side.\"\n\n\"You know nothing at all,\" retorted the Yard Dog. \"But then you've\nonly just been patched up. What you see yonder is the moon, and the\none that went before the sun. It will come again to-morrow, and will\nteach you to run down into the ditch by the wall. We shall soon have a\nchange of weather; I can feel that in my left hind leg, for it pricks\nand pains me; the weather is going to change.\"\n\n\"I don't understand him,\" said the Snow Man; \"but I have a feeling\nthat he's talking about something disagreeable. The one who stared so\njust now, and whom he called the sun, is not my friend. I can feel\nthat.\"\n\n\"Away! Away!\" barked the Yard Dog. \"They told me I was a pretty little\nfellow: then I used to lie in a chair covered with velvet, up in\nmaster's house, and sit in the lap of the mistress of all. They used\nto kiss my nose, and wipe my paws with an embroidered handkerchief. I\nwas called 'Ami--dear Ami--sweet Ami----.' But afterward I grew too\nbig for them, and they gave me away to the housekeeper. So I came to\nlive in the basement story. You can look into that from where you are\nstanding, and you can see into the room where I was master; for I was\nmaster at the housekeeper's. It was certainly a smaller place than\nupstairs, but I was more comfortable and was not continually taken\nhold of and pulled about by children as I had been. I received just as\nmuch good food as ever, and even better. I had my own cushion, and\nthere was a stove, the finest thing in the world at this season. I\nwent under the stove, and could lie down quite beneath it. Ah! I will\nsometimes dream of that stove. Away! Away!\"\n\n\"Does a stove look so beautiful?\" asked the Snow Man. \"Is it at all\nlike me?\"\n\n\"It's just the reverse of you. It's as black as a crow, and has a long\nneck and a brazen drum. It eats firewood, so that the fire spurts out\nof its mouth. One must keep at its side or under it, and there one is\nvery comfortable. You can see it through the window from where you\nstand.\"\n\nAnd the Snow Man looked and saw a bright, polished thing, with a\nbrazen drum, and the fire gleamed from the lower part of it. The Snow\nMan felt quite strangely; an odd emotion came over him; he knew not\nwhat it meant, and could not account for it, but all people who are\nnot men know the feeling.\n\n\"And why did you leave her?\" asked the Snow Man, for it seemed to him\nthat the stove must be of the female sex.\n\n\"How could you quit such a comfortable place?\"\n\n\"I was obliged,\" replied the Yard Dog. \"They turned me out of doors,\nand chained me up here. I had bitten the youngest young master in the\nleg, because he kicked away the bone I was gnawing. 'Bone for bone,' I\nthought. They took that very much amiss, and from that time I have\nbeen fastened to a chain and have lost my voice. Don't you hear how\nhoarse I am? Away! away! I can't talk any more like other dogs. Away!\naway! That was the end of the affair.\"\n\nBut the Snow Man was no longer listening at him. He was looking in at\nthe housekeeper's basement lodging, into the room where the stove\nstood on its four legs, just the same size as the Snow Man himself.\n\n\"What a strange crackling within me!\" he said. \"Shall I ever get in\nthere? It is an innocent wish, and our innocent wishes are certain to\nbe fulfilled. I must go in there and lean against her, even if I have\nto break through the window.\"\n\n\"You'll never get in there,\" said the Yard Dog; \"and if you approach\nthe stove you'll melt away--away!\"\n\n\"I am as good as gone,\" replied the Snow Man. \"I think I am breaking\nup.\"\n\nThe whole day the Snow Man stood looking in through the window. In the\ntwilight hour the room became still more inviting; from the stove came\na mild gleam, not like the sun nor like the moon; it was only as the\nstove can glow when he has something to eat. When the room door opened\nthe flame started out of his mouth; this was a habit the stove had.\nThe flame fell distinctly on the white face of the Snow Man, and\ngleamed red upon his bosom.\n\n\"I can endure it no longer,\" said he. \"How beautiful it looks when it\nstretches out its tongue!\"\n\nThe night was long; but it did not appear long to the Snow Man, who\nstood there lost in his own charming reflections, crackling with the\ncold.\n\nIn the morning the window-panes of the basement lodging were covered\nwith ice. They bore the most beautiful ice flowers that any snow man\ncould desire; but they concealed the stove, which he pictured to\nhimself as a lovely female. It crackled and whistled in him and around\nhim; it was just the kind of frosty weather a snow man must thoroughly\nenjoy.\n\nBut he did not enjoy it; and, indeed, how could he enjoy himself when\nhe was stove-sick?\n\n\"That's a terrible disease for a Snow Man,\" said the Yard Dog. \"I have\nsuffered from it myself, but I got over it. Away! away!\" he barked;\nand he added, \"the weather is going to change.\"\n\nAnd the weather did change; it began to thaw. The warmth increased,\nand the Snow Man decreased. He made no complaint--and that's an\ninfallible sign.\n\nOne morning he broke down. And, behold, where he had stood, something\nlike a broomstick remained sticking up out of the ground. It was the\npole around which the boys had built him up.\n\n\"Ah! now I can understand why he had such an intense longing,\" said\nthe Yard Dog. \"Why, there's a shovel for cleaning out the stove-rake\nin his body, and that's what moved within him. Now he has got over\nthat, too. Away, away!\"\n\nAnd soon they had got over the winter.\n\n\"Away! away!\" barked the hoarse Yard Dog. And nobody thought any more\nof the Snow Man.\n\n\n\n\nTHE HAPPY PRINCE\n\nOscar Wilde\n\n\nHigh above the city, on a tall column, stood the statue of the Happy\nPrince. He was gilded all over with thin leaves of fine gold, for eyes\nhe had two bright sapphires, and a large red ruby glowed on his\nsword-hilt. He was very much admired, indeed.\n\n\"He is as beautiful as a weathercock,\" remarked one of the Town\nCouncillors who wished to gain a reputation for having artistic taste.\n\"Only not quite so useful,\" he added, fearing lest people should think\nhim unpractical, which he really was not.\n\n\"Why can't you be like the Happy Prince?\" asked a sensible mother of\nher little boy who was crying for the moon.\n\n\"The Happy Prince never dreams of crying for anything.\"\n\n\"I am glad there is some one in the world who is quite happy,\"\nmuttered a disappointed man, as he gazed at the wonderful statue.\n\n\"He looks just like an angel,\" said the charity children, as they came\nout of the cathedral in their bright scarlet cloaks and their clean\nwhite pinafores.\n\n\"How do you know?\" said Mathematical Master. \"You have never seen\none.\"\n\n\"Ah! but we have in our dreams,\" answered the children; and the\nMathematical Master frowned and looked very severe, for he did not\napprove of children dreaming.\n\nOne night there flew over the city a little Swallow. His friends had\ngone away to Egypt six weeks before, but he had stayed behind, for he\nwas in love with the most beautiful Reed. He had met her early in the\nspring as he was flying down the river after a big yellow moth, and\nhad been so attracted by her slender waist that he had stopped to talk\nto her.\n\n\"Shall I love you?\" said the Swallow, who liked to come to the point\nat once, and the Reed made him a low bow. So he flew round and round\nher, touching the water with his wings, and making silver ripples.\nThis was his courtship, and it lasted all through the summer.\n\n\"It is a ridiculous attachment,\" twittered the other Swallows, \"she\nhas no money, and far too many relations\"; and, indeed, the river was\nquite full of Reeds. Then, when the autumn came, they all flew away.\n\nAfter they had gone he felt lonely, and began to tire of his\nlady-love. \"She has no conversation,\" he said, \"and I am afraid that\nshe is a coquette, for she is always flirting with the wind.\" And,\ncertainly, whenever the wind blew, the Reed made the most graceful\ncurtsies.\n\n\"I admit that she is domestic,\" he continued, \"but I love traveling,\nand my wife, consequently, should love traveling, also.\"\n\n\"Will you come away with me?\" he said finally to her; but the Reed\nshook her head, she was so attached to her home.\n\n\"You have been trifling with me,\" he cried. \"I am off to the Pyramids.\nGood-bye!\" and he flew away.\n\nAll day long he flew, and at night-time he arrived at the city.\n\"Where shall I put up?\" he said; \"I hope the town has made\npreparations.\"\n\nThen he saw the statue on the tall column. \"I will put up there,\" he\ncried; \"it is a fine position with plenty of fresh air.\" So he\nalighted just between the feet of the Happy Prince.\n\n\"I have a golden bedroom,\" he said softly to himself, as he looked\nround, and he prepared to go to sleep; but just as he was putting his\nhead under his wing a large drop of water fell on him. \"What a curious\nthing!\" he cried, \"there is not a single cloud in the sky, the stars\nare quite clear and bright, and yet it is raining. The climate in the\nnorth of Europe is really dreadful. The Reed used to like the rain,\nbut that was merely her selfishness.\"\n\nThen another drop fell.\n\n\"What is the use of a statue if it cannot keep the rain off?\" he said.\n\"I must look for a good chimney-pot,\" and he determined to fly away.\n\nBut before he had opened his wings a third drop fell, and he looked\nup, and saw--Ah! what did he see?\n\nThe eyes of the Happy Prince were filled with tears, and tears were\nrunning down his golden cheeks. His face was so beautiful in the\nmoonlight that the little Swallow was filled with pity.\n\n\"Who are you?\" he said.\n\n\"I am the Happy Prince.\"\n\n\"Why are you weeping then?\" asked the Swallow; \"you have quite\ndrenched me.\"\n\n\"When I was alive and had a human heart,\" answered the statue, \"I did\nnot know what tears were, for I lived in the Palace of Sans-Souci,\nwhere sorrow is not allowed to enter. In the daytime I played with my\ncompanions in the garden, and in the evening I led the dance in the\nGreat Hall. Round the garden ran a very lofty wall, but I never cared\nto ask what lay beyond it, everything about me was so beautiful. My\ncourtiers called me the Happy Prince, and happy, indeed, I was, if\npleasure be happiness. So I lived, and so I died. And now that I am\ndead they have set me up here so high that I can see all the ugliness\nand all the misery of my city, and though my heart is made of lead,\nyet I cannot choose but weep.\"\n\n\"What, is he not solid gold?\" said the Swallow to himself. He was too\npolite to make any personal remarks out loud.\n\n\"Far away,\" continued the statue in a low, musical voice, \"far away in\na little street there is a poor house. One of the windows is open, and\nthrough it I can see a woman seated at a table. Her face is thin and\nworn, and she has coarse, red hands, all pricked by the needle, for\nshe is a seamstress. She is embroidering passion-flowers on a satin\ngown for the loveliest of the Queen's maids-of-honour to wear at the\nnext Court-ball. In a bed in the corner of the room her little boy is\nlying ill. He has a fever, and is asking for oranges. His mother has\nnothing to give him but water, so he is crying. Swallow, Swallow,\nlittle Swallow, will you not bring her the ruby out of my sword-hilt?\nMy feet are fastened to this pedestal and I cannot move.\"\n\n\"I am waited for in Egypt,\" said the Swallow. \"My friends are flying\nup and down the Nile, and talking to the large lotus-flowers. Soon\nthey will go to sleep in the tomb of the great King. The King is there\nhimself in his painted coffin. He is wrapped in yellow linen and\nembalmed with spices. Round his neck is a chain of pale green jade,\nand his hands are like withered leaves.\"\n\n\"Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,\" said the Prince, \"will you not\nstay with me for one night, and be my messenger? The boy is so thirsty\nand the mother so sad.\"\n\n\"I don't think I like boys,\" answered the Swallow. \"Last summer, when\nI was staying on the river, there were two rude boys, the miller's\nsons, who were always throwing stones at me. They never hit me, of\ncourse; we swallows fly far too well for that, and, besides, I come of\na family famous for its agility; but still, it was a mark of\ndisrespect.\"\n\nBut the Happy Prince looked so sad that the little Swallow was sorry.\n\"It is very cold here,\" he said; \"but I will stay with you for one\nnight, and be your messenger.\"\n\n\"Thank you, little Swallow,\" said the Prince.\n\nSo the Swallow picked out the great ruby from the Prince's sword, and\nflew away with it in his beak over the roofs of the town.\n\nHe passed by the cathedral tower, where the white marble angels were\nsculptured. He passed by the palace and heard the sound of dancing. A\nbeautiful girl came out on the balcony with her lover. \"How wonderful\nthe stars are,\" he said to her, \"and how wonderful is the power of\nlove!\" \"I hope my dress will be ready in time for the State-ball,\" she\nanswered. \"I have ordered passion-flowers to be embroidered on it; but\nthe seamstresses are so lazy.\"\n\nHe passed over the river, and saw the lanterns hanging to the masts of\nthe ships. He passed over the Ghetto, and saw the old Jews bargaining\nwith each other, and weighing out money in copper scales. At last he\ncame to the poor house and looked in. The boy was tossing feverishly\non his bed, and the mother had fallen asleep, she was so tired. In he\nhopped, and laid the great ruby on the table beside the woman's\nthimble. Then he flew gently round the bed, fanning the boy's forehead\nwith his wings. \"How cool I feel,\" said the boy, \"I must be getting\nbetter,\" and he sank into a delicious slumber.\n\nThen the Swallow flew back to the Happy Prince, and told him what he\nhad done. \"It is curious,\" he remarked, \"but I feel quite warm now,\nalthough it is so cold.\"\n\n\"That is because you have done a good action,\" said the Prince. And\nthe little Swallow began to think, and then he fell asleep. Thinking\nalways made him sleepy.\n\nWhen day broke he flew down to the river and had a bath. \"What a\nremarkable phenomenon,\" said the professor of Ornithology as he was\npassing over the bridge. \"A swallow in winter!\" And he wrote a long\nletter about it to the local newspaper. Everyone quoted it; it was\nfull of so many words that they could not understand.\n\n\"To-night I go to Egypt,\" said the Swallow, and he was in high spirits\nat the prospect. He visited all the public monuments, and sat a long\ntime on top of the church steeple. Wherever he went, Sparrows\nchirruped, and said to each other, \"What a distinguished stranger!\"\nso he enjoyed himself very much.\n\nWhen the moon rose he flew back to the Happy Prince. \"Have you any\ncommissions for Egypt?\" he cried. \"I am just starting.\"\n\n\"Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,\" said the Prince, \"will you not\nstay with me one night longer?\"\n\n\"I am waited for in Egypt,\" answered the Swallow. \"To-morrow my\nfriends will fly up to the Second Cataract. The river-horse couches\nthere among the bulrushes, and on a great granite throne sits the God\nMemnon. All night long he watches the stars, and when the morning star\nshines he utters one cry of joy, and then he is silent. At noon the\nyellow lions came down to the water's edge to drink. They have eyes\nlike green beryls, and their roar is louder than the roar of the\ncataract.\"\n\n\"Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,\" said the Prince, \"far away across\nthe city I see a young man in a garret. He is leaning over a desk\ncovered with papers, and in a tumbler by his side there is a bunch of\nwithered violets. His hair is brown and crisp, and his lips are red as\npomegranate, and he has large and dreamy eyes. He is trying to finish\na play for the Director of the Theater, but he is too cold to write\nany more. There is no fire in the grate, and hunger has made him\nfaint.\"\n\n\"I will wait with you one night longer,\" said the Swallow, who really\nhad a good heart. \"Shall I take him another ruby?\"\n\n\"Alas! I have no ruby now,\" said the Prince; \"my eyes are all that I\nhave left. They are made of rare sapphires, which were brought out of\nIndia a thousand years ago.\n\n\"Pluck out one of them and take it to him. He will sell it to the\njeweller, and buy food and firewood, and finish his play.\"\n\n\"Dear Prince,\" said the Swallow, \"I cannot do that.\"\n\n\"Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,\" said the Prince, \"do as I command\nyou.\"\n\nSo the Swallow plucked out the Prince's eye, and flew away to the\nstudent's garret. It was easy enough to get in, as there was a hole in\nthe roof. Through this he darted, and came into the room. The young\nman had his head buried in his hands, so he did not hear the flutter\nof the bird's wings, and when he looked up he found the beautiful\nsapphire lying on the withered violets.\n\n\"I am beginning to be appreciated,\" he cried; \"this is from some great\nadmirer. Now I can finish my play,\" and he looked quite happy.\n\nThe next day the Swallow flew down to the harbour. He sat on the mast\nof a large vessel and watched the sailors hauling big chests out of\nthe hold with ropes. \"Heave a-hoy!\" they shouted, as each chest came\nup: \"I am going to Egypt!\" cried the Swallow, but nobody minded, and\nwhen the moon rose he flew back to the Happy Prince.\n\n\"I am come to bid you good-bye,\" he cried.\n\n\"Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,\" said the Prince, \"will you not\nstay with me one night longer?\"\n\n\"It is winter,\" answered the Swallow, \"and the chill snow will soon be\nhere. In Egypt the sun is warm on the green palm-trees, and the\ncrocodiles lie in the mud and look lazily about them. My companions\nare building a nest in the Temple of Baalbec, and the pink and white\ndoves are watching them, and cooing to each other. Dear Prince, I\nmust leave you, but I will never forget you, and next spring I will\nbring you back two beautiful jewels in place of those you have given\naway. The ruby shall be redder than a rose, and the sapphire shall be\nas blue as the great sea.\"\n\n\"In the square below,\" said the Happy Prince, \"there stands a little\nmatch-girl. She has let her matches fall in the gutter, and they are\nall spoiled. Her father will beat her if she does not bring home some\nmoney, and she is crying. She has no shoes or stockings, and her\nlittle head is bare. Pluck out my other eye, and give it to her, and\nher father will not beat her.\"\n\n\"I will stay with you one night longer,\" said the Swallow, \"but I\ncannot pluck out your eye. You would be quite blind then.\"\n\n\"Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,\" said the Prince, \"do as I command\nyou.\"\n\nSo he plucked out the Prince's other eye and darted down with it. He\nswooped past the match-girl, and slipped the jewel into the palm of\nher hand. \"What a lovely bit of glass,\" cried the little girl; and\nshe ran home, laughing.\n\nThen the Swallow came back to the Prince. \"You are blind now,\" he\nsaid, \"so I will stay with you always.\"\n\n\"No, little Swallow,\" said the poor Prince, \"you must go away to\nEgypt.\"\n\n\"I will stay with you always,\" said the Swallow, and he slept at the\nPrince's feet.\n\nAll the next day he sat on the Prince's shoulder, and told him stories\nof what he had seen in strange lands. He told him of the red ibises,\nwho stand in long rows on the banks of the Nile and catch gold-fish in\ntheir beaks; of the Sphinx, who is as old as the world itself, and\nlives in the desert, and knows everything; of the merchants, who walk\nslowly by the side of their camels, and carry amber beads in their\nhands; of the King of the Mountains of the moon, who is as black as\nebony, and worships a large crystal; of the great, green snake that\nsleeps in a palm-tree, and has twenty priests to feed it with honey\ncakes; and of the pygmies who sail over a big lake on large, flat\nleaves, and are always at war with the butterflies.\n\n\"Dear little Swallow,\" said the Prince, \"you tell me of marvelous\nthings, but more marvelous than anything is the suffering of men and\nwomen. There is no Mystery so great as Misery. Fly over my city,\nlittle Swallow, and tell me what you see there.\"\n\nSo the Swallow flew over the great city, and saw the rich making merry\nin their beautiful houses, while the beggars were sitting at the\ngates. He flew into the dark lanes, and saw the white faces of\nstarving children looking out listlessly at the black streets. Under\nthe archway of a bridge two little boys were lying in one another's\narms to try and keep themselves warm.\n\n\"How hungry we are!\" they said.\n\n\"You must not lie here,\" shouted the watchman, and they wandered out\ninto the rain.\n\nThen he flew back and told the Prince what he had seen.\n\n\"I am covered with fine gold!\" said the Prince, \"you must take it off,\nleaf by leaf, and give it to my poor; the living always think that\ngold can make them happy.\"\n\nLeaf after leaf of the fine gold the Swallow picked off, till the\nHappy Prince looked quite dull and grey. Leaf after leaf of the gold\nhe brought to the poor, and the children's faces grew rosier, and they\nlaughed and played games in the street. \"We have bread now!\" they\ncried.\n\nThen the snow came, and after the snow came the frost. The streets\nlooked as if they were made of silver, they were so bright and\nglistening; long icicles, like crystal daggers, hung down from the\neaves of the houses, everybody went about in furs, and the little boys\nwore scarlet caps and skated on the ice.\n\nThe poor little Swallow grew colder and colder, but he would not leave\nthe Prince; he loved him too well. He picked up crumbs outside the\nbaker's door when the baker was not looking, and tried to keep himself\nwarm by flapping his wings.\n\nBut at last he knew he was going to die. He had just strength to fly\nup to the Prince's shoulder once more.\n\n\"Good-bye, dear Prince!\" he murmured. \"Will you let me kiss your\nhand?\"\n\n\"I am glad that you are going to Egypt at last, little Swallow,\" said\nthe Prince. \"You have stayed too long here; but you must kiss me on\nthe lips; for I love you.\"\n\n\"It is not to Egypt that I am going,\" said the Swallow. \"I am going to\nthe House of Death. Death is the brother of Sleep, is he not?\"\n\nAnd he kissed the Happy Prince on the lips, and fell down dead at his\nfeet. At that moment a curious crack sounded inside the statue as if\nsomething had broken. The fact is that the leaden heart had snapped\nright in two. It certainly was a dreadfully hard frost.\n\nEarly the next morning the Mayor was walking in the square below in\ncompany with the Town Councillors. As they passed the column he looked\nup at the statue. \"Dear me! how shabby the Happy Prince looks!\" he\nsaid.\n\n\"How shabby, indeed!\" cried the Town Councillors, who always agreed\nwith the Mayor, and they went up to look at it.\n\n\"The ruby has fallen out of his sword, his eyes are gone, and he is\ngolden no longer,\" said the Mayor; \"in fact, he is little better than\na beggar!\"\n\n\"Little better than a beggar,\" said the Town Councillors. \"And here is\nactually a dead bird at his feet!\" continued the Mayor. \"We must\nreally issue a proclamation that birds are not to be allowed to die\nhere.\" And the Town Clerk made a note of the suggestion.\n\nSo they pulled down the statue of the Happy Prince. \"As he is no\nlonger beautiful, he is no longer useful,\" said the Art Professor at\nthe University.\n\nThen they melted the statue in a furnace, and the Mayor held a meeting\nof the Corporation to decide what was to be done with the metal. \"We\nmust have another statue, of course,\" he said, \"and it shall be a\nstatue of myself.\"\n\n\"Of myself,\" said each of the Town Councillors, and they quarreled.\n\n\"What a strange thing!\" said the overseer of the workmen at the\nfoundry. \"This broken lead heart will not melt in the furnace. We must\nthrow it away.\" So they threw it on a dust-heap where the dead\nswallow was also lying.\n\n\"Bring me the two most precious things in the city,\" said God to one\nof His angels; and the angel brought Him the leaden heart and the dead\nbird.\n\n\"You have rightly chosen,\" said God, \"for in my garden of Paradise\nthis little bird shall sing for evermore, and in my city of gold the\nHappy Prince shall praise me.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE LEGEND OF KING WENCESLAUS\n\n(A Legend of Mercy)\n\n\n \"Good King Wenceslaus looked out\n On the Feast of Saint Stephen,\n When the snow lay round about,\n Deep and crisp and even.\"\n\nKing Wenceslaus sat in his palace. He had been watching from the\nnarrow window of the turret chamber where he was, the sunset as its\nglory hung for a moment in the western clouds, and then died away over\nthe blue hills. Calm and cold was the brightness. A freezing haze came\nover the face of the land. The moon brightened towards the southwest\nand the leafless trees in the castle gardens and the quaint turret and\nspires of the castle itself threw clear dark shadows on the unspotted\nsnow.\n\nStill the king looked out upon the scene before him. The ground\nsloped down from the castle towards the forest. Here and there on the\nside of the hill a few bushes grey with moss broke the unvaried sheet\nof white. And as the king turned his eye in that direction a poor man\ncame up to these bushes and pulled something from them.\n\n\"Come hither, page,\" called the king. One of the servants of the\npalace entered in answer to the king's call. \"Come, my good Otto; come\nstand by me. Do you see yonder poor man on the hillside? Step down to\nhim and learn who he is and where he dwells and what he is doing.\nBring me word at once.\"\n\nOtto went forth on his errand while the good king watched him go down\nthe hill. Meanwhile, the frost grew more and more intense and an east\nwind blew from the black mountains. The snow became more crisp and the\nair more clear. In a few moments the messenger was back.\n\n\"Well, who is he?\"\n\n\"Sire,\" said Otto, \"it is Rudolph, the swineherd,--he that lives down\nby the Brunweis. Fire he has none, nor food, and he was gathering a\nfew sticks where he might find them, lest, as he says, all his family\nperish with the cold. It is a most bitter night, Sire.\"\n\n\"This should have been better looked to,\" said the king. \"A grievous\nfault it is that it has not been done. But it shall be amended now. Go\nto the ewery, Otto, and fetch some provisions of the best.\n\n \"Bring me flesh and bring me wine,\n Bring me pine logs hither;\n Thou and I will see him dine,\n When we bear them hither.\"\n\n\"Is your Majesty going forth?\" asked Otto in surprise.\n\n\"Yes, to the Brunweis, and you shall go with me. When you have\neverything ready meet me at the wood-stacks by the little chapel.\nCome, be speedy.\"\n\n\"I pray you, Sire, do not venture out yourself. Let some of the\nmen-at-arms go forth. It is a freezing wind and the place is a good\nleague hence.\"\n\n\"Nevertheless, I go,\" said the king. \"Go with me, if you will, Otto;\nif not, stay. I can carry the food myself.\"\n\n\"God forbid, Sire, that I should let you go alone. But I pray you be\npersuaded.\"\n\n\"Not in this,\" said King Wenceslaus. \"Meet me then where I said, and\nnot a word to any one besides.\"\n\nThe noblemen of the court were in the palace hall, where a mighty fire\nwent roaring up the chimney and the shadows played and danced on the\nsteep sides of the dark roof. Gayly they laughed and lightly they\ntalked. And as they threw fresh logs into the great chimney-place one\nsaid to another that so bitter a wind had never before been known in\nthe land. But in the midst of that freezing night the king went forth.\n\n \"Page and Monarch forth they went,\n Forth they went together;\n Through the rude wind's wild lament,\n And the bitter weather.\"\n\nThe king had put on no extra clothing to shelter himself from the\nnipping air; for he would feel with the poor that he might feel for\nthem. On his shoulders he bore a heap of logs for the swineherd's\nfire. He stepped briskly on while Otto followed with the provisions.\nHe had imitated his master and had gone out in his common garments. On\nthe two trudged together, over the crisp snow, across fields, by lanes\nwhere the hedge trees were heavy with their white burden, past the\npool, over the stile where the rime clustered thick by the wood, and\non out upon the moor where the snow lay yet more unbroken and where\nthe wind seemed to nip one's very heart.\n\nStill King Wenceslaus went on and still Otto followed. The king\nthought it but little to go forth into the frost and snow, remembering\nHim who came into the cold night of this world of ours; he disdained\nnot, a king, to go to the beggar, for had not the King of King's\nvisited slaves? He grudged not, a king, to carry logs on his\nshoulders, for had not the Kings of Kings borne heavier burdens for\nhis sake?\n\nBut at each step Otto's courage and zeal failed. He tried to hold out\nwith a good heart. For very shame he did not wish to do less than his\nmaster. How could he turn back, while the king held on his way? But\nwhen they came forth on the white, bleak moor, he cried out with a\nfaint heart:\n\n\"My liege, I cannot go on. The wind freezes my very blood. Pray you,\nlet us return.\"\n\n\"Seems it so much?\" asked the king. \"Follow me on still. Only tread in\nmy footsteps and you will proceed more easily.\"\n\nThe servant knew that his master spoke not at random. He carefully\nlooked for the footsteps of the king. He set his own feet in the print\nof his master's.\n\n \"In the master's steps he trod,\n Where the snow lay dinted;\n Heat was in the very sod\n Which the saint had printed.\"\n\nAnd so great was the fire of love that kindled in the heart of the\nking that, as the servant trod in his steps, he gained life and heat.\nOtto felt not the wind; he heeded not the frost; for the master's\nfootprints glowed as with holy fire and zealously he followed the king\non his errand of mercy.\n\n\n\n\nMIDWINTER\n\n\n The speckled sky is dim with snow,\n The light flakes falter and fall slow;\n Athwart the hill-top, rapt and pale,\n Silently drops a silvery veil;\n And all the valley is shut in\n By flickering curtains grey and thin.\n\n But cheerily the chickadee\n Singeth to me on fence and tree;\n The snow sails round him as he sings,\n White as the down of angels' wings.\n\n I watch the snowflakes as they fall\n On bank and briar and broken wall;\n Over the orchard, waste and brown,\n All noiselessly they settle down,\n Tipping the apple-boughs, and each\n Light quivering twig of plum and peach.\n\n On turf and curb and bower-roof\n The snowstorm spreads its ivory woof;\n It paves with pearl the garden walk;\n And lovingly round tattered stalk\n And shivering stem, its magic weaves\n A mantle fair as lily-leaves.\n\n The hooded beehive small and low,\n Stands like a maiden in the snow;\n And the old door-slab is half hid\n Under an alabaster lid.\n\n All day it snows; the sheeted post\n Gleams in the dimness like a ghost;\n All day the blasted oak has stood\n A muffled wizard of the wood;\n Garland and airy cap adorn\n The sumach and the wayside thorn,\n And clustering spangles lodge and shine\n In the dark tresses of the pine.\n\n The ragged bramble dwarfed and old,\n Shrinks like a beggar in the cold;\n In surplice white the cedar stands,\n And blesses him with priestly hands.\n\n Still cheerily the chickadee\n Singeth to me on fence and tree:\n But in my inmost ear is heard\n The music of a holier bird;\n And heavenly thoughts as soft and white\n As snowflakes on my soul alight,\n Clothing with love my lonely heart,\n Healing with peace each bruised part,\n Till all my being seems to be\n Transfigured by their purity.\n\n John Townsend Trowbridge.\n\n\n\n\nWHEN WINTER AND SPRING MET\n\n\n\n\nOLD WINTER\n\n\n Old Winter sad, in snow yclad\n Is making a doleful din;\n But let him howl till he crack his jowl,\n We will not let him in.\n\n Ay, let him lift from the billowy drift\n His hoary, haggard form,\n And scowling stand, with his wrinkled hand\n Outstretching to the storm.\n\n And let his weird and sleety beard\n Stream loose upon the blast,\n And, rustling, chime to the tinkling rime\n From his bald head falling fast.\n\n Let his baleful breath shed blight and death\n On herb and flower and tree;\n And brooks and ponds in crystal bonds\n Bind fast, but what care we?\n\n Thomas Noel.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SNOWBALL THAT DIDN'T MELT\n\nJay T. Stocking\n\n\n \"Biff!\n Flick!\n Swat!\n Smack!\n Biff, biff!\n Flick, flick!\n Swat, swat!\n Smack, smack!\"\n\nIt was a fine day in midwinter. The sun was just warm and bright\nenough to make the snow pack easily. The boys in the neighbourhood\nwere having the liveliest kind of a snowball fight. So that is why\nthere was this--\n\n \"Biff!\n Flick!\n Swat!\n Smack!\"\n\nAnd this--\n\n \"Biff, biff!\n Flick, flick!\n Swat, swat!\n Smack, smack!\"\n\nEverything ends some time. So this snowball fight did. One side or the\nother won,--I have forgotten which. The boys at the little\nbrown-shingled house, where the fight took place, became very busy\nmaking balls for the next day's battle. You could hear the \"pat--pat,\npat--pat,\" as they rounded and packed the snowballs in their cold, red\nhands.\n\nWhen they became quite satisfied that they had enough on hand for a\nlively battle they piled the balls up in a neat pyramid just under the\nedge of the veranda and went off to look for something new to do.\n\nThen the snowballs fell to talking,--_if it is true_ that snowballs\ntalk.\n\n\"I wonder what they are going to do with us,\" said the top one. \"I\nknow what I'd _like_ to do. I'd like to hit the nose of that rough,\nfreckle-faced boy who hit the nose of the boy who made me.\"\n\n\"I know what I'd like,\" said the second. \"I'd like to go right through\nthe window of Old Grampy's house. Wouldn't he sputter!\"\n\n\"Oh! What's the fun in teasing a poor old man?\" said another. \"I'll\ntell you what _I'd_ like. _I'd_ like to hit the minister right in the\nmiddle of the back and see what he would do.\"\n\n\"Hit the minister in the back!\" said a lively-looking chap down in the\nmiddle of the pile. \"Be a sport! I'd like to knock the policeman's hat\noff and see him chase the boy that threw me. That would be fun.\"\n\nIt was, you see, a very bold and mischievous lot of balls, if one may\njudge from their big talk. And so it was probably well for the peace\nof the neighbourhood that the evening had scarcely fallen when,\nthrough a sudden change in the weather, snow, too, began to fall. All\nnight long the snow fell, thicker and faster, thicker and faster. The\nwind rose and piled it in stacks. The house was banked to the\nwindows, the veranda was heaped up high. The snowballs were buried\ndeep,--so deep that the boys forgot them. It was spring before the\nthick covering of snow was melted enough so that they could see the\nlight of day.\n\nIt was a long time after this, when there came a day which meant much\nfor at least one of that heap of snowballs.\n\nThe sun was bright and hot; the grass was beginning to show green. The\nsnow had all gone except in a few places on the cold side of the\nhouses and under veranda edges. The snowballs were still piled neatly\nin the pyramid but they looked as if they might tumble down almost any\nminute. Although it was cool in their shady spot, every one of them\nwas perspiring and several of them looked thin and pale. I fancy they\nhad felt the heat, for all their lives they had been accustomed to a\ncooler climate.\n\nAs they were busy mopping their brows and sighing for cooler weather\nthey heard a sound, between a sigh and a faint moan. They heard it\nagain and again. It was above their heads, out on the lawn, and not\nfar away. It seemed to be in or around a shrub or bush, with a tall\nslender stem and a branching top.\n\n\"What's that?\" asked several of the balls at once.\n\nThey stopped talking, and sighing, and listened. And as they did so,\nthey could hear words very distinctly, though they were not nearly so\nloud as a whisper.\n\n \"Snowball, Snowball, come up here!\n My head is hot, my throat feels queer:\n I'm going to faint, I surely fear.\n Won't some cool snowball come up here?\"\n\n\"Who are you?\" asked Snowball Number One, who sat at the tiptop of the\npile. \"Where are you and what is your name?\"\n\n \"I'm Life-of-the-Bush,\n In the bush I dwell;\n I know not my name,\n And so I can't tell.\"\n\n\"I can't see you,\" said Number One, as he looked intently up at the\nbranches.\n\n \"You can't?\" said the Bush,\n \"Then you must be blind.\n I'm right up here,--\n But never mind.\"\n\nThe voice trailed off weakly; then they heard it again:\n\n \"I'm going to faint, I really fear.\n Won't some kind snowball come up here?\"\n\n\"But you are up so high. How can one get there? We have neither a\nladder nor wings and we do not know how to climb.\" Number One did most\nof the talking; he was nearest the bush.\n\n\"I'll tell you how,\" said Life-of-the-Bush, stopping his rhyme and\ntalking plainly and simply and sensibly. \"Just roll down the slope on\nthe lawn to the foot of this bush. Make yourself as small as small can\nbe, creep down into the ground, and take an elevator, which is always\nrunning, and you will come directly up to me.\" The talking ceased, and\nthe snowballs began to look at each other rather uneasily.\n\n\"I can't go,\" said Number Two, who was in the second row from the\ntop. \"I always tan terribly in the sun. It's a long way down to the\nfoot of the bush, and I should be brown as a berry before I got half\nway.\"\n\n\"I can't go, either,\" said Number Three, by his side. \"I don't tan,\nbut I freckle, and freckles look dreadful on my fair complexion.\"\n\n\"I'm sorry I can't go,\" said Number Four, from his place in the corner\nof the third row. \"But I feel the heat terribly. My clothes are all\nsticking to me now.\"\n\n\"It's simply out of the question for me,\" said a big fat snowball down\nnear the ground. \"I know I'd melt before I got there. There isn't much\nleft of me now.\"\n\nNumber One was one of the fairest snowballs of the bunch, but he was\nnot afraid of freckles or tan. He was also one of the smallest of the\nlot. He looked down to the foot of the bush. It seemed a long way. The\nsun was certainly burning hot. He was not at all sure that he would\nlive long enough in that sun to reach the bush. But some one should\nkeep Life-of-the-Bush from fainting and he would try.\n\nHe turned a quick somersault off the pile down to the ground.\n\nAt just that moment something disturbed the whole pile and every ball\nin it tumbled down and out into the sun.\n\nAs soon as Number One touched the ground, he began to roll over, and\nover, and over, as fast as ever he could. It didn't take him more than\na minute to reach the foot of the bush. He remembered what\nLife-of-the-Bush had said, made himself just as small as small could\nbe, crept down into the ground close to the stem and took the\nelevator, which seemed to be running all the time.\n\nIt took quite a while to go up, but finally the elevator paused just\nlong enough for him to get out. He found himself in a cool, rambling\nhouse, that seemed to be almost all long, narrow halls. They ran this\nway and that way and every--which--way. At one end of each hall, where\nthe buds were opening, there were windows with green shades.\nEverything was very clean and sweet. Right in the middle of the house\nhe found Life-of-the-Bush. He gave her a drink of water, which he had\ncarried in his water-proof pocket and not only kept her from fainting\nbut made her as lively and well and happy as ever.\n\nLife-of-the-Bush thanked the snowball a thousand times and gave him\nthe freedom of her beautiful house.\n\n\"Now that you are here,\" she said, \"perhaps you will stay a while and\nhelp me build my house a little bigger. I must build leaves, and buds\nand branches and bark. I need your help.\"\n\nThe snowball stayed and helped. He found it very exciting work. He\nworked all day and all night, ran here and there, and never stopped\nfor meals. He packed buds and unfolded them; he pushed out the leaves\nand built out the ends of branches; he made bark, pressed it till it\nwas hard and coloured it grey.\n\nDay after day he worked at his tasks as if they gave him the greatest\njoy in the world. But now and then Life-of-the-Bush saw him gazing out\nof the window, as if he were a bit homesick, to get out of doors\nagain.\n\n\"Stay with me a little longer,\" she said, \"to help me build my\nblossoms, and then I will send you out of doors on a beautiful errand\nto stay as long as your heart desires.\"\n\nSo Snowball stayed and helped Life-of-the-Bush build her blossoms.\nBasket after basket of white stuff, as white as snowflakes but ever so\nmuch smaller, he carried out to the ends of the branches. Jar after\njar of perfume he carried, too, until the blossoms were quite\ncomplete.\n\nThen one evening--it was the last of May, or early\nJune--Life-of-the-Bush called him.\n\n\"To-morrow,\" she said, \"there is to be a great Garden Festival. A\nprize is to be given for the most original and beautiful blossom. All\nthe flowers of the season will be here in the garden. You have been a\ngood friend and a faithful helper. For reward, you may go to the\nFestival and stay as long as your heart desires.\"\n\n\"But how shall I go?\" queried the snowball.\n\n\"Right out through the end of one of my branches,\" said\nLife-of-the-Bush.\n\n\"But I shall fall off,\" said the snowball.\n\n\"I'll tie you on with a stout string, so that not even the wind can\nblow you off.\"\n\n\"But it's hot outside. I shall melt.\"\n\n\"O, no. I've changed you so the hottest sun cannot melt you.\"\n\n\"But how can I get out through the end of the branch?\" asked the\nsnowball, who could not get it through his head that he could really\nget out to the end of a branch and stay there all day and not fall off\nor melt.\n\n\"Make yourself very small, just as small as when you came up to me and\nyou can go out as easily as you run along these halls,\" said\nLife-of-the-Bush.\n\nThe snowball became quite excited. The Festival was to begin very\nearly in the morning. Besides he wanted to see, if he could, what had\nbecome of the other snowballs. So he decided that he would go out on\nthe branch that night, while it was dark, and be there for the whole\nday's fun.\n\nSo he made himself very small, ran along the hall, crept out through\na tiny green door and found himself tied securely to a swaying branch.\nThe air was cool and sweet. He didn't melt, as he half-feared he\nmight, and he didn't fall off. He looked around. Yes, this was the\nvery bush he had seen before, but it was greener now. Morning came and\nthe great Festival. The garden was full of flowers and folks.\n\n There were lilacs and lilies of shades manifold\n There were daisies, and daffodils, yellow as gold.\n There were pansies, and peonies, red, white and pink,\n And every such flower of which you can think.\n\n You ought to have heard the \"Ah's!\" and the \"Oh's!\"\n Of all the fine people in all their fine clothes.\n You ought to have seen that wonderful sight,\n For no rhyme of mine can describe it half right.\n\nPeople went from bush to bush and from flower to flower. They could\nnot for the life of them tell which blossom they thought most\nbeautiful and original.\n\nThe judges wandered about uncertainly with the ribbons in their\npockets not knowing to what plant or bush to tie them.\n\nThe snowball grew very much interested, not to say excited, to see\nwhat blossom would finally win the prize.\n\nHe noticed that groups of people continually stopped before the bush\non which he hung. Apparently they admired it. He soon discovered that\nthey were looking at him and was quite embarrassed.\n\n\"Look!\" he kept hearing them say. \"See this snowball,--and it doesn't\nmelt! Why, it's growing on the bush; it's a blossom!\" That was the\nfirst that _he_ knew that Life-of-the-Bush had changed him from a\nsnowball into a flower snowball. Of course he became very happy and\ntwice as excited.\n\nIndeed, he could hardly breathe from excitement, when the judges came\nover, in a group, to where he grew. They looked at him and at the\nbush. Apparently they had never seen blossoms of this kind before.\n\n\"I never saw such a big, round, white blossom before,\" he heard one\nof them say, as he drew a blue ribbon from his pocket and tied it to\nthe stem on which he hung. He knew and soon, of course, everybody knew\nthat the \"Snowball Bush\" had won the prize. His heart beat so fast\nthat he thought he was growing red in the face. _Perhaps he was\nmelting!_ But he wasn't, for he heard a girl say just then, as she\npassed, \"How white and cool it looks!\"\n\nSnowball Number One had often wondered what had happened to his\nfriends, the other snowballs. One reason why he had been anxious to\nget out of the bush was to find out, if he could, what had become of\nthem all. But the doings of the day had driven all thought of them out\nof his busy head.\n\nNow, as the people began to leave the garden, and excitement grew\nless, he remembered and looked about him. Here was the yard in which\nthe boys made him. There was the very place under the edge of the\nveranda where he had spent the winter and where they had all stood\nthat spring morning when Life-of-the-Bush called to them. There was\nthe place, almost under him, where he knew they had all tumbled down\nthe moment he left them. But not a trace of a snowball could be seen.\n\nOf course not! They had all disappeared long ago, the very day,\nindeed, in which they tumbled down. Before noon the hot sun had melted\nthem, every one, and carried them away, tan and freckles and all, and\nno one ever heard of them again.\n\nNumber One, who ran right out into the sun, was the only snowball that\ndidn't melt.\n\n\n\n\nGAU-WI-DI-NE AND GO-HAY, WINTER AND SPRING\n\n(Iroquois Legend)\n\n\nThe snow mountain lifted its head close to the sky; the clouds wrapped\naround it their floating drifts which held the winter's hail and\nsnowfalls, and with scorn it defied the sunlight which crept over its\nheight, slow and shivering on its way to the valleys.\n\nClose at the foot of the mountain, an old man had built him a lodge\n\"for a time,\" said he, as he packed it around with great blocks of\nice. Within he stored piles of wood and corn and dried meat and fish.\nNo person, animal, nor bird could enter this lodge, only North Wind,\nthe only friend the old man had. Whenever strong and lusty North Wind\npassed the lodge he would scream \"ugh-e-e-e, ugh-e-e-e,\" as with a\nblast of his blusterings he passed over the earth.\n\nBut North Wind came only seldom to the lodge. He was too busy\nsearching the corners of the earth and driving the snow and the hail,\nbut when he had wandered far and was in need of advice, he would visit\nthe lodge to smoke and counsel with the old man about the next\nsnowfall, before journeying to his home in the north sky; and they\nwould sit by the fire which blazed and glowed yet could not warm them.\n\nThe old man's bushy whiskers were heavy with the icicles which clung\nto them, and when the blazing fire flared its lights, illuminating\nthem with the warm hues of the summer sunset, he would rave as he\nstruck them down, and glare with rage as they fell snapping and\ncrackling at his feet.\n\nOne night, as together they sat smoking and dozing before the fire, a\nstrange feeling of fear came over them, the air seemed growing warmer\nand the ice began to melt. Said North Wind:\n\n\"I wonder what warm thing is coming, the snow seems vanishing and\nsinking lower in the earth.\" But the old man cared not, and was\nsilent. He knew his lodge was strong, and he chuckled with scorn as he\nbade North Wind abandon his fears and depart for his home. But North\nWind went drifting the fast-falling snow higher on the mountain until\nit groaned under its heavy burden, and scolding and blasting, his\nvoice gradually died away. Still the old man remained silent and moved\nnot, but, lost in thought, sat looking into the fire, when there came\na loud knock at his door. \"Some foolish breath of North Wind is\nwandering,\" thought he, and he heeded it not.\n\nAgain came the rapping, but swifter and louder, and a pleading voice\nbegged to come in.\n\nStill the old man remained silent, and, drawing nearer to the fire,\nquieted himself for sleep; but the rapping continued, louder, fiercer,\nand increased his anger. \"Who dares approach the door of my lodge?\" he\nshrieked. \"You are not North Wind, who alone can enter here. Begone!\nno refuge here for trifling winds; go back to your home in the sky.\"\nBut, as he spoke, the strong bar securing the door fell from its\nfastening, the door swung open and a stalwart young warrior stood\nbefore him shaking the snow from his shoulders as he noiselessly\nclosed the door.\n\nSafe within the lodge, the warrior heeded not the old man's anger, but\nwith a cheerful greeting drew close to the fire, extending his hands\nto its ruddy blaze, when a glow as of summer illumined the lodge. But\nthe kindly greeting and the glowing light served only to incense the\nold man, and rising in rage, he ordered the warrior to depart.\n\n\"Go!\" he exclaimed. \"I know you not. You have entered my lodge and you\nbring a strange light. Why have you forced my lodge door? You are\nyoung, and youth has no need of my fire. When I enter my lodge, all\nthe earth sleeps. You are strong, with the glow of sunshine on your\nface. Long ago I buried the sunshine beneath the snowdrifts. Go! you\nhave no place here.\n\n\"Your eyes bear the gleam of the summer stars. North Wind blew out the\nsummer star-lights moons ago. Your eyes dazzle my lodge, your breath\ndoes not smoke in chill vapour, but comes from your lips soft and\nwarm; it will melt my lodge. You have no place here.\n\n\"Your hair so soft and fine, streaming back like the night shades,\nwill weave my lodge into tangles. You have no place here.\n\n\"Your shoulders are bare and white as the snowdrifts. You have no furs\nto cover them; depart from my lodge. See, as you sit by my fire, how\nit draws away from you. Depart, I say, from my lodge!\"\n\nBut the young warrior only smiled, and asked that he might remain to\nfill his pipe; and they sat down by the fire. Then the old man became\ngarrulous and began to boast of his great powers.\n\n\"I am powerful and strong,\" said he. \"I send North Wind to blow all\nover the earth and its waters stop to listen to his voice as he\nfreezes them fast asleep. When I touch the sky the snow hurries down\nand the hunters hide by their lodge fires; the birds fly scared, and\nthe animals creep to their caves. When I lay my hand on the land, I\nharden it still as the rocks; nothing can forbid me nor loosen my\nfetters. You, young warrior, though you shine like the Sun, you have\nno power. Go! I give you a chance to escape me, but I could blow my\nbreath and fold around you a mist which would turn you to ice forever!\n\n\"I am not a friend to the Sun, who grows pale and cold and flees to\nthe Southland when I come; yet I see his glance in your face, where no\nwinter shadows hide. My North Wind will soon return; he hates the\nsummer and will bind fast its hands. You fear me not, and smile\nbecause you know me not. Young man, listen. I am Gau-wi-di-ne, Winter!\nNow fear me and depart. Pass from my lodge and go out to the wind.\"\n\nBut the young warrior moved not; he only smiled as he refilled the\npipe for the trembling old man, saying, \"Here, take your pipe; it will\nsoothe you and make you stronger for a little while longer;\" and he\npacked the o-yan-kwa[A] deep and hard in the pipe.\n\n [A] Indian tobacco.\n\nSaid the warrior, \"Now you must smoke for me, smoke for Youth and\nSpring! I fear not your boasting; you are aged and slow while I am\nyoung and strong. I hear the voice of South Wind. Your North Wind\nhears, and Spirit of the Winds is hurrying him back to his home. Wrap\nyou up warm while yet the snowdrifts cover the earth path, and flee to\nyour lodge in the north sky. I am here now, and you shall know me. I,\ntoo, am powerful!\n\n\"When I lift my hand, the sky opens wide and I waken the sleeping Sun,\nwhich follows me warm and glad. I touch the earth and it grows soft\nand gentle, and breathes strong and swift as my South Wind ploughs\nunder the snows to loosen your grasp. The trees in the forest welcome\nmy voice and send out their buds to my hand. When my breezes blow my\nlong hair to the clouds, they send down gentle showers that whisper to\nthe grasses to grow.\n\n\"I came not to tarry long in my peace talk with you, but to smoke with\nyou and warn you that the sun is waiting for me to open its door. You\nand the North Wind have built your lodge strong, but each wind, the\nNorth and the East, and the West, and the South, has its time for the\nearth. Now South Wind is calling me; return you to your big lodge in\nthe sky. Travel quick on your way that you may not fall in the path\nof the Sun. See! It is now sending down its arrows broad and strong!\"\n\nThe old man saw and trembled. He seemed fading smaller, and grown too\nweak to speak, could only whisper, \"Young warrior, who are you?\"\n\nIn a voice that breathed soft as the breath of wild blossoms, he\nanswered: \"I am Go-hay, Spring! I have come to rule, and my lodge now\ncovers the earth! I have talked to your mountain and it has heard; I\nhave called the South Wind and it is near; the Sun is awake from its\nwinter sleep and summons me quick and loud. Your North Wind has fled\nto his north sky; you are late in following. You have lingered too\nlong over your peace pipe and its smoke now floats far away. Haste\nwhile yet there is time that you may lose not your trail.\"\n\nAnd Go-hay began singing the Sun song as he opened the door of the\nlodge. Hovering above it was a great bird, whose wings seemed blown by\na strong wind, and while Go-hay continued to sing, it flew down to the\nlodge and folding Gau-wi-di-ne to its breast, slowly winged away to\nthe north, and when the Sun lifted its head in the east it beheld the\nbird disappearing behind the far-away sky. The Sun glanced down where\nGau-wi-di-ne had built his lodge, whose fire had burned but could not\nwarm, and a bed of young blossoms lifted their heads to the touch of\nits beams.\n\nWhere the wood and the corn and the dried meat and fish had been\nheaped, a young tree was leafing, and a blue bird was trying its wings\nfor a nest. And the great ice mountain had melted to a swift running\nriver which sped through the valley bearing its message of the\nspringtime.\n\nGau-wi-di-ne had passed his time, and Go-hay reigned over the earth!\n\n\n\n\nNAMING THE WINDS\n\n(Indian Legend)\n\n\nGa-oh the great master of the winds decided to choose his helpers from\nthe animals of the earth. He blew a strong blast that shook the rocks\nand hills and when his reverberating call had ceased its thunderous\nechoes he opened the north gate wide across the sky and called\nYa-o-gah, the Bear.\n\nLumbering over the mountains as he pushed them from his path,\nYa-o-gah, the bulky bear, who had battled the boisterous winds as he\ncame, took his place at Ga-oh's gate and waited the mission of his\ncall. Said Ga-oh, \"Ya-o-gah, you are strong; you can freeze the waters\nwith your cold breath; in your broad arms you can carry the wild\ntempests, and clasp the whole earth when I bid you destroy. I will\nplace you in my far North, there to watch the herd of my winter winds\nwhen I loose them in the sky. You shall be North Wind. Enter your\nhome.\" And the bear lowered his head for the leash with which Ga-oh\nbound him, and submissively took his place in the north sky.\n\nIn a gentler voice Ga-oh called Ne-o-ga, the Fawn, and a soft breeze\nas of the summer crept over the sky; the air grew fragrant with the\nodour of flowers, and there were voices as of babbling brooks telling\nthe secrets of the summer to the tune of birds, as Ne-o-ga came\nproudly lifting her head.\n\nSaid Ga-oh, \"You walk with the summer sun, and know all its paths; you\nare gentle, and kind as the sunbeam, and will rule my flock of the\nsummer winds in peace. You shall be the South Wind. Bend your head\nwhile I leash you to the sky, for you are swift, and might return from\nme to the earth.\" And the gentle Fawn followed Ga-oh to his great gate\nwhich opens the south sky.\n\nAgain Ga-oh trumpeted a shrill blast, and all the sky seemed\nthreatening; an ugly darkness crept into the clouds that sent them\nwhirling in circles of confusion. A quarrelsome, shrieking voice\nsnarled through the air, and with a sound as of great claws tearing\nthe heavens into rifts, Da-jo-ji, the Panther, sprang to the gate.\n\nSaid Ga-oh, \"You are ugly, and fierce, and can fight the strong\nstorms; you can climb the high mountains, and tear down the forests;\nyou can carry the whirlwind on your strong back, and toss the great\nsea waves high in the air, and snarl at the tempests if they stray\nfrom my gate. You shall be the West Wind. Go to the west sky, where\neven the Sun will hurry to hide when you howl your warning to the\nnight.\" And Da-jo-ji, dragging his leash as he stealthily crept along,\nfollowed Ga-oh to the furthermost west sky.\n\nYet Ga-oh rested not. The earth was flat, and in each of its four\ncorners he must have an assistant. One corner yet remained, and again\nGa-oh's strong blast shook the earth. And there arose a moan like the\ncalling of a lost mate; the sky shivered in a cold rain; the whole\nearth clouded in mist; a crackling sound as of great horns crashing\nthrough the forest trees dinned the air, and O-yan-do-ne, the Moose,\nstood stamping his hoofs at the gate.\n\nSaid Ga-oh, as he strung a strong leash around his neck, \"Your breath\nblows the mist, and can lead the cold rains; your horns spread wide,\nand can push back the forests to widen the path for my storms as with\nyour swift hoofs you race with my winds. You shall be the East Wind,\nand blow your breath to chill the young clouds as they float through\nthe sky.\" Said Ga-oh as he led him to the east sky, \"Here you shall\ndwell forevermore.\"\n\nThus, with his assistants, does Ga-oh control his storms. And although\nhe must ever remain in his sky lodge, his will is supreme, and his\nfaithful assistants will obey!\n\n\n\n\nNORTH WIND'S FROLIC\n\n\nIn a large, airy castle on the borders of a country far away, lived\nthe King of the Winds with his four children, North Wind, South Wind,\nEast Wind, and West Wind. They were a happy family, for the four\nchildren were always making merry with the old Wind King.\n\nNorth Wind, however, was a boisterous fellow, forever causing disorder\neven in their play.\n\nOne summer day North Wind said that he was going out of the castle for\na frolic.\n\n\"Go,\" called out the King, \"but be careful, North Wind, what you do.\nYour pranks are all very well while you are in the castle here, but\nout in the world they may do great harm.\"\n\n\"Woo--oo--oo----,\" was all the King heard in answer, and away\nblustered North Wind out of the castle to the garden near by.\n\nThe roses and lilies were just in bloom, and the ripe peaches hung on\nthe trees ready to be picked.\n\n\"Woo--oo--oo----,\" cried the North Wind in his loudest voice, and in a\nmoment the rose petals were scattered all over the ground, the lilies\nwere broken from their stems, and the ripe peaches dropped down right\ninto the mud.\n\nIn the fields he caused even greater damage. He broke the wheat stems,\nthrew the unripe apples about. He tore the leaves from their branches\nand tossed them about in the air in all directions. Indeed, one old\ntree he completely uprooted.\n\nThe people could stand it no longer. They went to the King of the\nWinds, who, in his castle had control over the coming and going of all\nthe Winds, and told him what the wicked North Wind had done and how\nthe garden and fields had suffered from the misery he had caused them.\n\n\"I will summon North Wind,\" said his father. \"He shall answer for all\nthis.\"\n\nWhen North Wind appeared, the King repeated what the people had said.\n\"Is this true, North Wind?\" he asked.\n\nNorth Wind could not deny it, for the devastated garden and fields lay\nbefore every one's eyes.\n\n\"Why did you do it?\" asked the King.\n\n\"Oh,\" answered North Wind, \"I didn't mean it wickedly. I wanted to\nplay with the roses and the lilies and the peaches--and all the rest.\nI didn't think I would do them any harm.\"\n\n\"I see,\" said the King. \"If you are such a clumsy fellow, then I do\nnot dare to let you out for a frolic again. I must keep you a prisoner\nin the castle the whole summer. In the winter, when there are no more\nflowers and fruit, you may go out and be as boisterous as you like. I\nsee you are fit only for the time of ice and snow and not for flowers\nand fruit.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE MONTHS: A PAGEANT\n\nChristina Rossetti\n\n\n _Boys_\n\n January\n March\n July\n August\n October\n December\n\n _Girls_\n\n February\n April\n May\n June\n September\n November\n\n Robin Redbreast; Lambs and Sheep; Nightingale and Nestlings;\n various Flowers, Fruits, etc.\n\nSCENE:--_A Cottage with its grounds._\n\n(_A room in a large comfortable cottage; a fire burning on the hearth;\na table on which the breakfast things have been left standing. JANUARY\ndiscovered seated by the fire._)\n\nJANUARY\n\n Cold the day and cold the drifted snow,\n Dim the day until the cold dark night.\n\n(_Stirs the fire_)\n\n Crackle, sparkle, faggot; embers glow:\n Some one may be plodding through the snow\n Longing for a light,\n For the light that you and I can show.\n If no one else should come,\n Here Robin Redbreast's welcome to a crumb,\n And never troublesome:\n Robin, why don't you come and fetch your crumb?\n\n Here's butter for my hunch of bread,\n And sugar for your crumb;\n Here's room upon the hearthrug,\n If you'll only come.\n\n In your scarlet waistcoat,\n With your keen bright eye,\n Where are you loitering?\n Wings were made to fly!\n\n Make haste to breakfast,\n Come and fetch your crumb,\n For I'm as glad to see you\n As you are glad to come.\n\n(_Two Robin Redbreasts are seen tapping with their beaks at the\nlattice, which JANUARY opens. The birds flutter in, hop about the\nfloor, and peck up the crumbs and sugar thrown to them. They have\nscarcely finished their meal when a knock is heard at the door.\nJANUARY hangs a guard in front of the fire, and opens to FEBRUARY, who\nappears with a bunch of snowdrops in her hand._)\n\n Good-morrow, sister.\n\nFEBRUARY\n\n Brother, joy to you!\n I've brought some snowdrops; only just a few,\n But quite enough to prove the world awake,\n Cheerful and hopeful in the frosty dew\n And for the pale sun's sake.\n\n(_She hands a few of her snowdrops to JANUARY, who retires into the\nbackground. While FEBRUARY stands arranging the remaining snowdrops in\na glass of water on the window-sill, a soft butting and bleating are\nheard outside. She opens the door, and sees one foremost lamb with\nother sheep and lambs bleating and crowding towards her._)\n\n O you, you little wonder, come--come in,\n You wonderful, you woolly soft white lamb:\n You panting mother ewe, come too,\n And lead that tottering twin\n Safe in:\n Bring all your bleating kith and kin,\n Except the horny ram.\n\n(_FEBRUARY opens a second door in the background, and the little flock\nfiles through into a warm and sheltered compartment out of sight._)\n\n The lambkin tottering in its walk\n With just a fleece to wear;\n The snowdrop drooping on its stalk\n So slender,--\n Snowdrop and lamb, a pretty pair,\n Braving the cold for our delight,\n Both white\n Both tender.\n\n(_A rattling of doors and windows; branches seen without, tossing\nviolently to and fro._)\n\n How the doors rattle, and the branches sway!\n Here brother March comes whirling on his way\n With winds that eddy and sing:--\n\n(_She turns the handle of the door, which bursts open, and discloses\nMARCH hastening up, both hands full of violets and anemones._)\n\n Come, show me what you bring;\n For I have said my say, fulfilled my day,\n And must away.\n\nMARCH\n\n(_Stopping short on the threshold_)\n\n I blow an arouse\n Through the world's wide house\n To quicken the torpid earth;\n Grappling I fling\n Each feeble thing,\n But bring strong life to the birth.\n I wrestle and frown,\n And topple down;\n I wrench, I rend, I uproot;\n Yet the violet\n Is born where I set\n The sole of my flying foot.\n\n(_Hands violet and anemones to FEBRUARY, who retires into the\nbackground._)\n\n And in my wake\n Frail wind-flowers quake,\n And the catkins promise fruit.\n I drive ocean ashore\n With rush and roar,\n And he cannot say me nay:\n My harpstrings all\n Are the forests tall,\n Making music when I play.\n\n(_Before MARCH has done speaking, a voice is heard approaching\naccompanied by a twittering of birds. APRIL comes along singing, and\nstands outside and out of sight to finish her song._)\n\nAPRIL\n\n(_Outside_)\n\n Pretty little three\n Sparrows in a tree,\n Light upon the wing;\n Though you cannot sing\n You can chirp of Spring:\n Chirp of Spring to me,\n Sparrows, from your tree.\n\n Never mind the showers,\n Chirp about the flowers\n While you build a nest:\n Straws from east and west,\n Feathers from your breast,\n Make the snuggest bowers\n In a world of flowers.\n\n(_Appearing at the open door_)\n\n Good-morrow and good-bye: if others fly,\n Of all the flying months you're the most flying.\n\nMARCH\n\n You're hope and sweetness, April.\n\nAPRIL\n\n I've a rainbow in my showers\n And a lapful of flowers,\n And these dear nestlings aged three hours;\n And here's their mother sitting;\n Their father's merely flitting\n To find their breakfast somewhere in my bowers.\n\n(_As she speaks APRIL shows MARCH her apron full of flowers and nest\nfull of birds. MARCH wanders away into the grounds. APRIL, without\nentering the cottage, hangs over the hungry nestlings watching them.\nMAY arrives unperceived by APRIL, and gives her a kiss. APRIL starts\nand looks round._)\n\n Ah, May, good-morrow, May, and so good-bye.\n\nMAY\n\n That's just your way, sweet April, smile and sigh:\n Your sorrow's half in fun,\n Begun and done\n And turned to joy while twenty seconds run.\n I've gathered flowers all as I came along,\n At every step a flower\n Fed by your last bright shower,--\n\n(_She divides an armful of all sorts of flowers with APRIL, who\nstrolls away through the garden._)\n\n And gathering flowers I listened to the song\n Of every bird in bower.\n\n Here are my buds of lily and rose,\n And here's my namesake blossom may;\n And from a watery spot\n See here forget-me-not,\n With all that blows\n To-day.\n\n(_JUNE appears at the further end of the garden, coming slowly\ntowards MAY, who, seeing her, exclaims:_)\n\n Surely you're come too early, sister June.\n\nJUNE\n\n Indeed I feel as if I came too soon\n To round your young May moon\n And set the world a-gasping at my noon.\n Yet come I must. So here are strawberries\n Sun-flushed and sweet, as many as you please;\n And here are full-blown roses by the score,\n More roses, and yet more.\n\n(_MAY, eating strawberries, withdraws among the flower beds. JUNE\nseats herself in the shadow of a laburnum._)\n\n Or if I'm lulled by note of bird and bee,\n Or lulled by noontide's silence deep,\n I need but nestle down beneath my tree\n And drop asleep.\n\n(_JUNE falls asleep; and is not awakened by the voice of JULY, who,\nbehind the scenes, is heard, half singing, half calling._)\n\nJULY\n\n(_Behind the scenes_)\n\n Blue flags, yellow flags, flags all freckled,\n Which will you take? yellow, blue, speckled!\n\n Take which you will, speckled, blue, yellow,\n Each in its way has not a fellow.\n\n(_Enter JULY, a basket of many-coloured irises slung upon his\nshoulders, a bunch of ripe grass in one hand, and a plate piled full\nof peaches balanced upon the other. He steals up to JUNE, and tickles\nher with the grass. She wakes._)\n\nJUNE\n\n What, here already?\n\nJULY\n\n Nay, my tryst is kept;\n The longest day slipped by you while you slept.\n I've brought you one curved pyramid of bloom,\n\n(_Hands her the plate_)\n\n Not flowers but peaches, gathered where the bees,\n As downy, bask and boom\n In sunshine and in gloom of trees.\n But get you in, a storm is at my heels;\n The whirlwind whistles and wheels,\n Lightning flashes and thunder peals,\n Flying and following hard upon my heels.\n\n(_JUNE takes shelter in a thickly-woven arbour_)\n\n The roar of a storm sweeps up\n From the east to the lurid west,\n The darkening sky, like a cup,\n Is filled with rain to the brink;\n The sky is purple and fire,\n Blackness and noise and unrest;\n The earth, parched with desire\n Opens her mouth to drink.\n Have done with thunder and fire,\n O sky with the rainbow crest;\n O earth, have done with desire,\n Drink, and drink deep, and rest.\n\n(_Enter AUGUST, carrying a sheaf made up of different kinds of\ngrain._)\n\n Hail, brother August, flushed and warm\n And scathless from my storm,\n Your hands are full of corn, I see,\n As full as hands can be:\n And earth and air both smell as sweet as balm\n In their recovered calm,\n And that they owe to me.\n\n(_JULY retires into a shrubbery_)\n\nAUGUST\n\n Wheat sways heavy, oats are airy,\n Barley bows a graceful head,\n Short and small shoots up canary,\n Each of these is some one's bread;\n Bread for man or bread for beast,\n Or, at very least,\n A bird's savoury feast.\n\n(_AUGUST descries SEPTEMBER toiling across the lawn_)\n\n My harvest home is ended; and I spy\n September drawing nigh,\n With the first thought of Autumn in her eye,\n And the first sigh\n Of Autumn wind among her locks that fly.\n\n(_SEPTEMBER arrives, carrying upon her head a basket heaped high with\nfruit_)\n\nSEPTEMBER\n\n Unload me, brother. I have brought a few\n Plums and these pears for you,\n A dozen kinds of apples, one or two\n Melons, some figs all bursting through\n Their skins, and pearled with dew\n These damsons violet-blue.\n\n(_While SEPTEMBER is speaking, AUGUST lifts the basket to the ground,\nselects various fruits, and withdraws slowly along the gravel walk,\neating a pear as he goes._)\n\n My song is half a sigh\n Because my green leaves die;\n Sweet are my fruits, but all my leaves are dying;\n And well may Autumn sigh,\n And well may I\n Who watch the sere leaves flying.\n\n(_OCTOBER enters briskly, some leafy twigs bearing different sorts of\nnuts in one hand, and a long ripe hop-bine trailing after him from the\nother. A dahlia is stuck in his buttonhole._)\n\nOCTOBER\n\n Nay, cheer up, sister. Life is not quite over,\n Even if the year has done with corn and clover,\n With flowers and leaves; besides, in fact, it's true\n Some leaves remain and some flowers too.\n For me and you.\n Now see my crops:\n\n(_Offering his produce to SEPTEMBER_)\n\n I've brought you nuts and hops;\n And when the leaf drops, why, the walnut drops.\n\n(_OCTOBER wreathes the hop-bine about SEPTEMBER'S neck, and gives her\nthe nut twigs. They enter the cottage together, but without shutting\nthe door. She steps into the background; he advances to the hearth,\nremoves the guard, stirs up the smouldering fire, and arranges several\nchestnuts ready to roast._)\n\n Crack your first nut and light your first fire,\n Roast your first chestnut crisp on the bar;\n Make the logs sparkle, stir the blaze higher,\n Logs are cheery as sun or as star,\n Logs we can find wherever we are.\n Spring one soft day will open the leaves,\n Spring one bright day will lure back the flowers;\n Never fancy my whistling wind grieves,\n Never fancy I've tears in my showers:\n Dance, nights and days! and dance on, my hours!\n\n(_Sees NOVEMBER approaching_)\n\n Here comes my youngest sister, looking dim\n And grim\n With dismal ways.\n What cheer, November?\n\nNOVEMBER\n\n(_Entering and shutting the door_)\n\n Nought have I to bring,\n Tramping a-chill and shivering,\n Except these pine cones for a blaze,--\n Except a fog which follows,\n And stuffs up all the hollows,--\n Except a hoar frost here and there,--\n Except some shooting stars\n Which dart their luminous cars\n Trackless and noiseless through the keen night air.\n\n(_OCTOBER, shrugging his shoulders, withdraws into the background,\nwhile NOVEMBER throws her pine cones on the fire, and sits down\nlistlessly._)\n\n The earth lies asleep, grown tired\n Of all that's high or deep;\n There's nought desired and nought required\n Save a sleep.\n I rock the cradle of the earth,\n I lull her with a sigh;\n And know that she will wake to mirth\n By and by.\n\n(_Through the window DECEMBER is seen running and leaping in the\ndirection of the door. He knocks._)\n\n Ah, here's my youngest brother come at last:\n\n(_Calls out without rising._)\n\n Come in, December.\n\n(_He opens the door and enters, loaded with evergreens in berry,\netc._)\n\n Come, and shut the door,\n For now it's snowing fast;\n It snows, and will snow more and more;\n Don't let it drift in on the floor.\n But you, you're all aglow; how can you be\n Rosy and warm and smiling in the cold?\n\nDECEMBER\n\n Nay, no closed doors for me,\n But open doors and open hearts and glee\n To welcome young and old.\n\n Dimmest and brightest month am I;\n My short days end, my lengthening days begin;\n What matters more or less sun in the sky,\n When all is sun within?\n\n(_He begins making a wreath as he sings_)\n\n Ivy and privet dark as night,\n I weave with hips and haws a cheerful show,\n And holly for a beauty and delight,\n And milky mistletoe.\n\n While high above them all I set\n Yew twigs and Christmas roses pure and pale;\n Then Spring her snowdrop and her violet\n May keep, so sweet and frail;\n\n May keep each merry singing bird,\n Of all her happy birds that singing build:\n For I've a carol which some shepherds heard\n Once in a wintry field.\n\n(_While DECEMBER concludes his song all the other Months troop in from\nthe garden, or advance out of the background. The Twelve join hands in\na circle, and begin dancing round to a stately measure as the curtain\nfalls._)\n\n(_Abridged._)\n\n\n\n\nPRINCE WINTER\n\nCarl Ewald\n\n\nThe Prince of Winter sat on the mountains: an old man with white hair\nand beard. His naked breast was shaggy, shaggy his legs and hands. He\nlooked strong and wild with cold stern eyes.\n\nBut he was not angry as when Spring drove him from the valley and when\nAutumn did not go quickly enough. He looked out over the kingdom\ncalmly for he knew that it was his. And, when he found anything dead\nor empty or desolate, he plucked at his great white beard and gave a\nharsh and satisfied laugh.\n\nBut all that lived in the land was struck with terror when it looked\ninto his cold eyes.\n\nThe trees shook in their thick bark, and the bushes struck their\nbranches together in consternation. The mouse became quite\nsnow-blind, when she peeped outside the door; the stag looked\nmournfully over the white meadow.\n\n\"My muzzle can still break thro' the ice, when I drink,\" he said. \"I\ncan still scrape the snow to one side and find a tuft of grass. But,\nif things go on like this for another week, then it's all up with me.\"\n\nThe crow and the chaffinch and the sparrow and the tit had quite lost\ntheir voices. They thought of the other birds, who had departed in\ntime, and they who remained knew not where to turn in their distress.\nAt last they set out in a row to carry their humble greeting to the\nnew lord of the land.\n\n\"Here come your birds, O mightiest of all Princes!\" said the crow and\nstood and marked time in the white snow. \"The others left the country\nas soon as you announced your coming, but we have remained to submit\nus to your sway. Now be a gracious lord to us and grant us food.\"\n\n\"We bow before Your Highness!\" said the chaffinch.\n\n\"We have so longed for you,\" said the tit, and he put his head on one\nside.\n\nAnd the sparrow said the same as the others, in a tone of deep\nrespect.\n\nBut the Prince of Winter laughed at them disdainfully.\n\n\"Ha, you time-serving birds! In Summer's time you amused yourselves\nmerrily, in Autumn's, you ate yourselves stout and fat; and as soon as\nSpring strikes up you will dance to his piping like the others. I hate\nyou and your screaming and squalling and the trees you hop about in.\nYou are all here to defy me and I shall do for you if I can.\" Then he\nrose in all his strength.\n\n\"I have my own birds and now you shall see them.\"\n\nHe clapped his hands and sang:\n\n \"Wee snow-birds, white snow-birds,\n White snow-birds, wee snow-birds,\n Through fields skim along!\n To jubilant Spring I grudge music of no birds,\n To Summer, no song.\n\n \"Come, Winter's mute messengers,\n Swift birds and slow birds,\n White snow-birds, wee snow-birds,\n Till the valley be soft as down for your nestling\n Of numberless ice-eggs by frosty rims spanned!\n Now rushing, now resting,\n White snow-birds, wee snow-birds,\n Skim soft thro' the land!\"\n\nAnd Winter's birds came.\n\nSuddenly, it darkened, and the air became full of little black specks,\nwhich descended and turned into great white snow-flakes.\n\nThey fell over the ground in an endless multitude. There was now not a\nblade of grass, nor yet a stone to be seen: everything was smooth and\nsoft and white. Only the trees stood out high in the air and the river\nflowed black thro' the meadow.\n\n\"I know how to crush you,\" said the Prince of Winter.\n\nAnd, when evening came, he told the wind to go down. Then the waves\nbecame small and still, Winter stared at them with his cold eyes, and\nthe ice built its bridge from bank to bank. In vain the waves tried to\nhum Spring's song. There was no strength in their voices.\n\nNext morning there was nothing left to the river but a narrow channel;\nand, when one more night had passed, the bridge was finished. Again\nthe Prince of Winter called for his white birds; and soon the carpet\nwas drawn over the river till it was no longer possible to see where\nland began or water ended.\n\nBut the trees stood boldly out of the deep snow, the firs had kept all\ntheir leaves and were so green that it was quite shocking to behold.\nWherever they stood, they were a protection against the frost and a\nshelter against the snow; and the chaffinch and the other small birds\nfound refuge under their roofs.\n\nThe Prince of Winter looked at them angrily.\n\n\"If I could but break you!\" he said. \"You stand in the midst of my\nkingdom keeping guard for Summer and you give shelter to the birds\nwho disturb the peace of my land. If only I had snow enough to bury\nyou!\"\n\nBut the trees stood strong under Winter's wrath and waved their long\nbranches.\n\n\"You have taken from us what you can,\" they said. \"Farther than that\nyou cannot go. We will wait calmly for better times.\"\n\nWhen they had said this Winter suddenly set eyes upon tiny little buds\nround about the twigs. He saw the little brown mice trip out for a run\nin the snow and disappear again into their snug parlours before his\neyes. He heard the hedgehog snoring in the hedge; and the crows kept\non screaming in his ears. Through his own ice he saw the noses of the\nfrogs stick up from the bottom of the pond.\n\n\"Am I the master or not?\" he shouted. He tore at his beard with both\nhands.\n\nHe heard the anemones breathe peacefully and lightly in the mould; he\nheard thousands of grubs bore deep into the wood of the trees as\ncheerfully as though Summer were in the land. He saw the bees crawl\nabout in their busy hive and share the honey they had collected in\nsummer, and have a happy time. He saw the bat in the hollow tree, the\nworm deep in the ground; and, wherever he turned, he saw millions of\neggs and grubs and chrysalides, well guarded and waiting confidently\nfor him to go away.\n\nHe stamped on the ground and shouted in his loud, hoarse voice:\n\n \"Roar forth, mine anger, roar, and rouse,\n What breathes below earth's girder!\n By thousands slay them!\"\n\nHe shouted it over the land.\n\nThe ice broke and split into long cracks. It sounded like thunder from\nthe bottom of the river.\n\nThen the storm broke loose. The gale roared so that you could hear the\ntrees fall crashing in the forest. The ice was split in two and the\nhuge floes heaped up into towering icebergs. The snow fell and drifted\nover meadow and hill; sky and earth were blended into one. It was\npiercingly cold, and where the snow had been blown away the ground was\nhard as stone.\n\nThe Prince of Winter stood in the valley and looked upon all this\nwith content. He went into the forest, where the snow was frozen to\nwindward right up to the tips of the smooth beech-trunks; but in the\nboughs of the fir-trees it lay so thick that they were weighted right\ndown to the ground.\n\n\"You may be Summer's servants,\" he said, \"but still you have to resign\nyourselves to wearing my livery. And now the sun shall shine on you;\nand I will have a glorious day.\"\n\nHe bade the sun come out and he came.\n\nHe rode over a bright blue sky, and all that was still alive in the\nvalley raised itself towards him for warmth.\n\n\"Call Spring back to the valleys! Give us Summer again!\"\n\nThe sun gleamed upon the hoar-frost but could not melt it; he stared\ndown at the snow, but could not thaw it. The valley lay silent.\n\n\"That's how I like to see the land,\" said Winter.\n\nThe Prince of Winter sat on his mountain throne again and surveyed his\nkingdom and was glad. His great cold eyes stared, while he growled in\nhis beard.\n\n Proud of speed and hard of hand,\n A cruel lord to follow,\n Winter locks up sea and land,\n Blocks up every hollow.\n\n Summer coaxes, sweet and bland,\n Flowers in soft vigour,\n At Winter's harsh and grim command\n They die of ruthless rigour.\n\n Short and cold is Winter's Day,\n Long and worse night's hours,\n Few birds languish in his pay\n And yet fewer flowers.\n\nThe days wore on and Winter reigned over the land.\n\nThe little brown mice had eaten their last nut; the hedgehog was\nhungry and the crows were nearly giving in.\n\nThen suddenly there came the sound of singing.\n\n Play up! Play soon,\n Keep time! Keep time!\n Ye wavelets blue and tender,\n Keep time! Keep time!\n Burst ice and rime\n In equinoctial splendor.\n\nUp leaped Winter and stared with his hands over his brows.\n\nDown below in the valley stood the Prince of Spring, young and\nstraight in his green garb, with the lute slung over his shoulder. His\nlong hair waved in the wind and his face was soft and round, his mouth\nwas ever smiling and his eyes were dreamy and moist.\n\n\n\n\nHOW SPRING AND WINTER MET\n\n\n The Winter and the Spring were met:\n The Winter threw a fleecy net,\n And caught the young Spring over night.\n He put to sleep the budding tree\n Within a cloister dim and white;\n And the little golden crocus flower,\n That comes too early for the bee,\n He hid away from sunrise hour.\n The brook was conscious of his power\n And lost its trick of babbling words.\n\n But Spring awoke, despite his craft,\n And out of windows looked and laughed.\n\n At first he set to sing all birds,\n With twittering voices small and clear,\n And bade them say they felt no grief\n To find the snow and mildewed leaf\n Heaped up in nests they built last year.\n Then found a crystal alcove high\n The bluebird carolled to the sky.\n The robin whistled cheer, good cheer!\n The sparrow rung his matin bells,\n And far away in reedy dells\n The quail a friendly greeting sent.\n Then was the stifled pine not loth\n To shuffle off the dull white sloth;\n Then leaped the brook by icy stair,\n And snapped his fetters as he went;\n The sun shone out most full and fair,\n And Winter rose and struck his tent.\n\n Edith M. Thomas.\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's Note\n\nOn pp. 13-14 the text reads, \"The king took up the sack nearest to\nhim, their surprise, when out rushed a great heap of brown leaves,\nwhich flew all over the floor and half choked them with dust!\" It\nappears there may be some missing text between \"nearest to him\" and\n\"their surprise\"; there does not appear to be any damage or obscured\ntext in the original book, and the line count matches that of other\npages, so it may be that a line was omitted during typesetting. The\ntranscriber was unable to locate an alternative printing of the story,\nso, as it is impossible to determine what that text may be, the\nomission is preserved as printed.\n\nPoe is referred to in this text as Edgar Allen Poe, rather than the\nmore usual Edgar Allan Poe. This is preserved as printed.\n\nAlthough authors and translators are listed in the Table of Contents,\ntheir names are not always included with their prose in the main text.\nThis convention is retained here to match the original book.\n\nMinor punctuation errors have been repaired.\n\nHyphenation and capitalisation has been made consistent within\nindividual pieces in the book.\n\nThe following amendments have been made:\n\n First page of Acknowledgments--Edinburg amended to\n Edinburgh--\"To T. C. and E. C. Jack of Edinburgh ...\"\n\n Second page of Acknowledgments--Procter amended to\n Proctor--\"... James Russell Lowell, Edna Dean Proctor, ...\"\n\n Second page of Contents--Horatio amended to Horatia--\"...\n _Juliana Horatia Ewing_ ...\"\n\n Third page of Contents--Spring and Winter reversed--\"How\n Spring and Winter Met ...\"\n\n Page 19--Parain amended to Parian--\"... On coop or kennel he\n hangs Parian wreaths; ...\"\n\n Page 52--truely amended to truly--\"I have told you truly who\n she is.\"\n\n Page 75--place amended to placed--\"... they are placed\n alternately on each side ...\"\n\n Page 279--stone amended to stove--\"I went under the stove\n and could lie down ...\"\n\n Page 360--hop-vine amended to hop-bine--\"... and a long ripe\n hop-bine trailing after him ...\"\n\nThe frontispiece illustration has been moved to follow the title page.\nThe caption in {brackets} has been added by the transcriber for the\nconvenience of the reader.\n\n\n\n\n\n
","title":"The Pearl Story Book: Stories and Legends of Winter, Christmas, and New Year's Day","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":60942}