Page:The International - Volume 3.djvu/577



own through the murky air came the first snow flake. As white and delicate as a feather from the breast of some stately swan was this herald of the new winter following fast in its wake—the silent Queen of the North, sailing in, enveloped in a gray veil that trailed far behind her, her icy breath foreboding death to every living thing in nature; her cruel face as calm and beautiful as if her purpose were to scatter blessings rather than death upon the earth.

In simple dignity the snow flake lighted upon a branch of an old linden, in whose crown there still rustled a single yellow leaf, trembling like a child in the arms of its wretched mother.

But no sooner had it settled down than a huge sheepskin cap came flying up into the tree, touched the twig on which the snow flake sat, shaking it down into its woolly embrace, and then returned headlong from its airy pilgrimage into a pair of small, dirty hands.

“Stop, you!” came from the three year old owner of the cap, as the dirty hands pushed it down upon the tangled locks until there was nothing visible of the pretty baby face but the tip of his nose and the dimpled chin. The little fellow was barefooted; around his neck he wore a flowered rag, torn most likely from the corner of his mother’s apron.

“Snow, snow!” shouted the boy whose rough hand had before seized the cap from the little fellow’s head. The cry was caused by the sight of the snow flake which, badly frightened, was crouching in its woolly resting place.

A crowd of boisterous urchins gathered around the cap, inspecting, with eyes of experts, the pale messenger that foretold abundant material for balls, snow men and coasting. The snow flake, finding so many curious eyes fixed upon it, melted with shame, at the very moment a vast army of its brethren came hastening down from the heavens, enveloping all in their feathery whiteness.

“Snow, snow!” The boys jumped and shouted, opening their mouths appallingly wide and stretching out their hands to receive the flakes. They rolled on the ground in their joy, examining with delight the tiny, frozen stars wherever they lighted. The child with the woolly cap followed his comrades’ example, and jumped and shouted and rolled about with the best of them. He even stretched out his little forefinger to touch an icy star that had set- tled on another boy’s nose.

“Get out!” thundered the offended owner of the bestarred nose. The child obeyed, knowing something more effective than words would follow.

Thicker and faster the snow came down, until all nature was hidden beneath the beautiful white blanket. It was winter at last and bitterly cold.

The snow that year had not come, as it usually did, with St. Martin, but waited for a more distinguished companion, which was none less than the good bishop, St. Nicholas. But since that saint was making his journey in a very slow and dignified manner the snow got in a day ahead of him, making the highways over the Christian lands soft and white against his highness’s approach.

The big boys were still shouting and