The Pearl Story Book Part 29

MIDWINTER

The speckled sky is dim with snow, The light flakes falter and fall slow; Athwart the hill-top, rapt and pale, Silently drops a silvery veil; And all the valley is shut in By flickering curtains grey and thin.

But cheerily the chickadee Singeth to me on fence and tree; The snow sails round him as he sings, White as the down of angels' wings.

I watch the snowflakes as they fall On bank and briar and broken wall; Over the orchard, waste and brown, All noiselessly they settle down, Tipping the apple-boughs, and each Light quivering twig of plum and peach.

On turf and curb and bower-roof The snowstorm spreads its ivory woof; It paves with pearl the garden walk; And lovingly round tattered stalk And s.h.i.+vering stem, its magic weaves A mantle fair as lily-leaves.

The hooded beehive small and low, Stands like a maiden in the snow; And the old door-slab is half hid Under an alabaster lid.

All day it snows; the sheeted post Gleams in the dimness like a ghost; All day the blasted oak has stood A m.u.f.fled wizard of the wood; Garland and airy cap adorn The sumach and the wayside thorn, And cl.u.s.tering spangles lodge and s.h.i.+ne In the dark tresses of the pine.

The ragged bramble dwarfed and old, Shrinks like a beggar in the cold; In surplice white the cedar stands, And blesses him with priestly hands.

Still cheerily the chickadee Singeth to me on fence and tree: But in my inmost ear is heard The music of a holier bird; And heavenly thoughts as soft and white As snowflakes on my soul alight, Clothing with love my lonely heart, Healing with peace each bruised part, Till all my being seems to be Transfigured by their purity.

John Townsend Trowbridge.

WHEN WINTER AND SPRING MET

OLD WINTER

Old Winter sad, in snow yclad Is making a doleful din; But let him howl till he crack his jowl, We will not let him in.

Ay, let him lift from the billowy drift His h.o.a.ry, haggard form, And scowling stand, with his wrinkled hand Outstretching to the storm.

And let his weird and sleety beard Stream loose upon the blast, And, rustling, chime to the tinkling rime From his bald head falling fast.

Let his baleful breath shed blight and death On herb and flower and tree; And brooks and ponds in crystal bonds Bind fast, but what care we?

Thomas Noel.

THE s...o...b..LL THAT DIDN'T MELT

Jay T. Stocking

"Biff!

Flick!

Swat!

Smack!

Biff, biff!

Flick, flick!

Swat, swat!

Smack, smack!"

It was a fine day in midwinter. The sun was just warm and bright enough to make the snow pack easily. The boys in the neighbourhood were having the liveliest kind of a s...o...b..ll fight. So that is why there was this--

"Biff!

Flick!

Swat!

Smack!"

And this--

"Biff, biff!

Flick, flick!

Swat, swat!

Smack, smack!"

Everything ends some time. So this s...o...b..ll fight did. One side or the other won,--I have forgotten which. The boys at the little brown-s.h.i.+ngled house, where the fight took place, became very busy making b.a.l.l.s for the next day's battle. You could hear the "pat--pat, pat--pat," as they rounded and packed the s...o...b..a.l.l.s in their cold, red hands.

When they became quite satisfied that they had enough on hand for a lively battle they piled the b.a.l.l.s up in a neat pyramid just under the edge of the veranda and went off to look for something new to do.

Then the s...o...b..a.l.l.s fell to talking,--_if it is true_ that s...o...b..a.l.l.s talk.

"I wonder what they are going to do with us," said the top one. "I know what I'd _like_ to do. I'd like to hit the nose of that rough, freckle-faced boy who hit the nose of the boy who made me."

"I know what I'd like," said the second. "I'd like to go right through the window of Old Grampy's house. Wouldn't he sputter!"

"Oh! What's the fun in teasing a poor old man?" said another. "I'll tell you what _I'd_ like. _I'd_ like to hit the minister right in the middle of the back and see what he would do."

"Hit the minister in the back!" said a lively-looking chap down in the middle of the pile. "Be a sport! I'd like to knock the policeman's hat off and see him chase the boy that threw me. That would be fun."

It was, you see, a very bold and mischievous lot of b.a.l.l.s, if one may judge from their big talk. And so it was probably well for the peace of the neighbourhood that the evening had scarcely fallen when, through a sudden change in the weather, snow, too, began to fall. All night long the snow fell, thicker and faster, thicker and faster. The wind rose and piled it in stacks. The house was banked to the windows, the veranda was heaped up high. The s...o...b..a.l.l.s were buried deep,--so deep that the boys forgot them. It was spring before the thick covering of snow was melted enough so that they could see the light of day.

It was a long time after this, when there came a day which meant much for at least one of that heap of s...o...b..a.l.l.s.

The sun was bright and hot; the gra.s.s was beginning to show green. The snow had all gone except in a few places on the cold side of the houses and under veranda edges. The s...o...b..a.l.l.s were still piled neatly in the pyramid but they looked as if they might tumble down almost any minute. Although it was cool in their shady spot, every one of them was perspiring and several of them looked thin and pale. I fancy they had felt the heat, for all their lives they had been accustomed to a cooler climate.

As they were busy mopping their brows and sighing for cooler weather they heard a sound, between a sigh and a faint moan. They heard it again and again. It was above their heads, out on the lawn, and not far away. It seemed to be in or around a shrub or bush, with a tall slender stem and a branching top.

"What's that?" asked several of the b.a.l.l.s at once.