MIDWINTER

“Good King Wenceslaus looked outOn the Feast of Saint Stephen,When the snow lay round about,Deep and crisp and even.”

King Wenceslaus sat in his palace. He had been watching from the narrow window of the turret chamber where he was, the sunset as its glory hung for a moment in the western clouds, and then died away over the blue hills. Calm and cold was the brightness. A freezing haze came over the face of the land. The moon brightened towards the southwest and the leafless trees in the castle gardens and the quaint turret and spires of the castle itself threw clear dark shadows on the unspotted snow.

Still the king looked out upon the scene before him. The ground sloped down from the castle towards the forest. Here and there on the side of the hill a few bushes grey with moss broke the unvaried sheet of white. And as the king turned his eye in that direction a poor man came up to these bushes and pulled something from them.

“Come hither, page,” called the king. One of the servants of the palace entered in answer to the king’s call. “Come, my good Otto; come stand by me. Do you see yonder poor man on the hillside? Step down to him and learn who he is and where he dwells and what he is doing. Bring me word at once.”

Otto went forth on his errand while the good king watched him go down the hill. Meanwhile, the frost grew more and more intense and an east wind blew from the black mountains. The snow became more crisp and the air more clear. In a few moments the messenger was back.

“Well, who is he?”

“Sire,” said Otto, “it is Rudolph, the swineherd,—he that lives down by the Brunweis.Fire he has none, nor food, and he was gathering a few sticks where he might find them, lest, as he says, all his family perish with the cold. It is a most bitter night, Sire.”

“This should have been better looked to,” said the king. “A grievous fault it is that it has not been done. But it shall be amended now. Go to the ewery, Otto, and fetch some provisions of the best.

“Bring me flesh and bring me wine,Bring me pine logs hither;Thou and I will see him dine,When we bear them hither.”

“Is your Majesty going forth?” asked Otto in surprise.

“Yes, to the Brunweis, and you shall go with me. When you have everything ready meet me at the wood-stacks by the little chapel. Come, be speedy.”

“I pray you, Sire, do not venture out yourself. Let some of the men-at-arms go forth. It is a freezing wind and the place is a good league hence.”

“Nevertheless, I go,” said the king. “Go with me, if you will, Otto; if not, stay. I can carry the food myself.”

“God forbid, Sire, that I should let you go alone. But I pray you be persuaded.”

“Not in this,” said King Wenceslaus. “Meet me then where I said, and not a word to any one besides.”

The noblemen of the court were in the palace hall, where a mighty fire went roaring up the chimney and the shadows played and danced on the steep sides of the dark roof. Gayly they laughed and lightly they talked. And as they threw fresh logs into the great chimney-place one said to another that so bitter a wind had never before been known in the land. But in the midst of that freezing night the king went forth.

“Page and Monarch forth they went,Forth they went together;Through the rude wind’s wild lament,And the bitter weather.”

The king had put on no extra clothing toshelter himself from the nipping air; for he would feel with the poor that he might feel for them. On his shoulders he bore a heap of logs for the swineherd’s fire. He stepped briskly on while Otto followed with the provisions. He had imitated his master and had gone out in his common garments. On the two trudged together, over the crisp snow, across fields, by lanes where the hedge trees were heavy with their white burden, past the pool, over the stile where the rime clustered thick by the wood, and on out upon the moor where the snow lay yet more unbroken and where the wind seemed to nip one’s very heart.

Still King Wenceslaus went on and still Otto followed. The king thought it but little to go forth into the frost and snow, remembering Him who came into the cold night of this world of ours; he disdained not, a king, to go to the beggar, for had not the King of King’s visited slaves? He grudged not, a king, to carry logs on his shoulders, for had not the Kings of Kings borne heavier burdens for his sake?

But at each step Otto’s courage and zeal failed. He tried to hold out with a good heart. For very shame he did not wish to do less than his master. How could he turn back, while the king held on his way? But when they came forth on the white, bleak moor, he cried out with a faint heart:

“My liege, I cannot go on. The wind freezes my very blood. Pray you, let us return.”

“Seems it so much?” asked the king. “Follow me on still. Only tread in my footsteps and you will proceed more easily.”

The servant knew that his master spoke not at random. He carefully looked for the footsteps of the king. He set his own feet in the print of his master’s.

“In the master’s steps he trod,Where the snow lay dinted;Heat was in the very sodWhich the saint had printed.”

And so great was the fire of love that kindled in the heart of the king that, as the servanttrod in his steps, he gained life and heat. Otto felt not the wind; he heeded not the frost; for the master’s footprints glowed as with holy fire and zealously he followed the king on his errand of mercy.

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 inBy flickering curtains grey and thin.But cheerily the chickadeeSingeth 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 fallOn bank and briar and broken wall;Over the orchard, waste and brown,All noiselessly they settle down,Tipping the apple-boughs, and eachLight quivering twig of plum and peach.On turf and curb and bower-roofThe snowstorm spreads its ivory woof;It paves with pearl the garden walk;And lovingly round tattered stalkAnd shivering stem, its magic weavesA 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 hidUnder an alabaster lid.All day it snows; the sheeted postGleams in the dimness like a ghost;All day the blasted oak has stoodA muffled wizard of the wood;Garland and airy cap adornThe sumach and the wayside thorn,And clustering spangles lodge and shineIn 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 chickadeeSingeth to me on fence and tree:But in my inmost ear is heardThe music of a holier bird;And heavenly thoughts as soft and whiteAs snowflakes on my soul alight,Clothing with love my lonely heart,Healing with peace each bruiséd part,Till all my being seems to beTransfigured by their purity.John Townsend Trowbridge.

But cheerily the chickadeeSingeth 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 fallOn bank and briar and broken wall;Over the orchard, waste and brown,All noiselessly they settle down,Tipping the apple-boughs, and eachLight quivering twig of plum and peach.

On turf and curb and bower-roofThe snowstorm spreads its ivory woof;It paves with pearl the garden walk;And lovingly round tattered stalkAnd shivering stem, its magic weavesA 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 hidUnder an alabaster lid.

All day it snows; the sheeted postGleams in the dimness like a ghost;All day the blasted oak has stoodA muffled wizard of the wood;Garland and airy cap adornThe sumach and the wayside thorn,And clustering spangles lodge and shineIn 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 chickadeeSingeth to me on fence and tree:But in my inmost ear is heardThe music of a holier bird;And heavenly thoughts as soft and whiteAs snowflakes on my soul alight,Clothing with love my lonely heart,Healing with peace each bruiséd part,Till all my being seems to beTransfigured by their purity.John Townsend Trowbridge.

Old Winter sad, in snow ycladIs 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 driftHis hoary, haggard form,And scowling stand, with his wrinkled handOutstretching to the storm.And let his weird and sleety beardStream loose upon the blast,And, rustling, chime to the tinkling rimeFrom his bald head falling fast.Let his baleful breath shed blight and deathOn herb and flower and tree;And brooks and ponds in crystal bondsBind fast, but what care we?Thomas Noel.

Old Winter sad, in snow ycladIs 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 driftHis hoary, haggard form,And scowling stand, with his wrinkled handOutstretching to the storm.

And let his weird and sleety beardStream loose upon the blast,And, rustling, chime to the tinkling rimeFrom his bald head falling fast.

Let his baleful breath shed blight and deathOn herb and flower and tree;And brooks and ponds in crystal bondsBind fast, but what care we?Thomas Noel.

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 snowball 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 snowball fight did. One side or the other won,—I have forgotten which. The boys at the little brown-shingled house, where the fight took place, became very busy making balls for the next day’s battle. You could hear the “pat—pat, pat—pat,” as they rounded and packed the snowballs in their cold, red hands.

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

Then the snowballs fell to talking,—if it is truethat snowballs talk.

“I wonder what they are going to do with us,” said the top one. “I know what I’dliketo 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 whatI’dlike.I’dlike 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 balls, if one may judge from their big talk. And so it was probably well for the peace of the neighbourhood that the evening had scarcely fallen when, through a sudden change in the weather, snow, too, began to fall. All night long the snow fell, thicker and faster, thicker and faster. The wind rose and piled it in stacks. The house was banked tothe windows, the veranda was heaped up high. The snowballs were buried deep,—so deep that the boys forgot them. It was spring before the thick covering of snow was melted enough so that they could see the light of day.

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

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

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. Itseemed 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 balls at once.

They stopped talking, and sighing, and listened. And as they did so, they could hear words very distinctly, though they were not nearly so loud as a whisper.

“Snowball, Snowball, come up here!My head is hot, my throat feels queer:I’m going to faint, I surely fear.Won’t some cool snowball come up here?”

“Who are you?” asked Snowball Number One, who sat at the tiptop of the pile. “Where are you and what is your name?”

“I’m Life-of-the-Bush,In the bush I dwell;I know not my name,And so I can’t tell.”

“I can’t see you,” said Number One, as he looked intently up at the branches.

“You can’t?” said the Bush,“Then you must be blind.I’m right up here,—But never mind.”

The voice trailed off weakly; then they heard it again:

“I’m going to faint, I really fear.Won’t some kind snowball come up here?”

“But you are up so high. How can one get there? We have neither a ladder nor wings and we do not know how to climb.” Number One did most of the talking; he was nearest the bush.

“I’ll tell you how,” said Life-of-the-Bush, stopping his rhyme and talking plainly and simply and sensibly. “Just roll down the slope on the lawn to the foot of this bush. Make yourself as small as small can be, creep down into the ground, and take an elevator, which is always running, and you will come directly up to me.” The talking ceased, and the snowballs began to look at each other rather uneasily.

“I can’t go,” said Number Two, who was in the second row from the top. “I always tan terribly in the sun. It’s a long way down to the foot of the bush, and I should be brown as a berry before I got half way.”

“I can’t go, either,” said Number Three, by his side. “I don’t tan, but I freckle, and freckles look dreadful on my fair complexion.”

“I’m sorry I can’t go,” said Number Four, from his place in the corner of the third row. “But I feel the heat terribly. My clothes are all sticking to me now.”

“It’s simply out of the question for me,” said a big fat snowball down near the ground. “I know I’d melt before I got there. There isn’t much left of me now.”

Number One was one of the fairest snowballs of the bunch, but he was not afraid of freckles or tan. He was also one of the smallest of the lot. He looked down to the foot of the bush. It seemed a long way. The sun was certainly burning hot. He was not at all sure that he would live long enough in that sun to reach the bush. But some one shouldkeep Life-of-the-Bush from fainting and he would try.

He turned a quick somersault off the pile down to the ground.

At just that moment something disturbed the whole pile and every ball in it tumbled down and out into the sun.

As soon as Number One touched the ground, he began to roll over, and over, and over, as fast as ever he could. It didn’t take him more than a minute to reach the foot of the bush. He remembered what Life-of-the-Bush had said, made himself just as small as small could be, crept down into the ground close to the stem and took the elevator, which seemed to be running all the time.

It took quite a while to go up, but finally the elevator paused just long enough for him to get out. He found himself in a cool, rambling house, that seemed to be almost all long, narrow halls. They ran this way and that way and every—which—way. At one end of each hall, where the buds were opening, there were windows with green shades. Everything was very clean and sweet. Right in the middleof the house he found Life-of-the-Bush. He gave her a drink of water, which he had carried in his water-proof pocket and not only kept her from fainting but made her as lively and well and happy as ever.

Life-of-the-Bush thanked the snowball a thousand times and gave him the freedom of her beautiful house.

“Now that you are here,” she said, “perhaps you will stay a while and help me build my house a little bigger. I must build leaves, and buds and branches and bark. I need your help.”

The snowball stayed and helped. He found it very exciting work. He worked all day and all night, ran here and there, and never stopped for meals. He packed buds and unfolded them; he pushed out the leaves and built out the ends of branches; he made bark, pressed it till it was hard and coloured it grey.

Day after day he worked at his tasks as if they gave him the greatest joy in the world. But now and then Life-of-the-Bush saw him gazing out of the window, as if he were a bithomesick, to get out of doors again.

“Stay with me a little longer,” she said, “to help me build my blossoms, and then I will send you out of doors on a beautiful errand to stay as long as your heart desires.”

So Snowball stayed and helped Life-of-the-Bush build her blossoms. Basket after basket of white stuff, as white as snowflakes but ever so much smaller, he carried out to the ends of the branches. Jar after jar of perfume he carried, too, until the blossoms were quite complete.

Then one evening—it was the last of May, or early June—Life-of-the-Bush called him.

“To-morrow,” she said, “there is to be a great Garden Festival. A prize is to be given for the most original and beautiful blossom. All the flowers of the season will be here in the garden. You have been a good friend and a faithful helper. For reward, you may go to the Festival and stay as long as your heart desires.”

“But how shall I go?” queried the snowball.

“Right out through the end of one of my branches,” said Life-of-the-Bush.

“But I shall fall off,” said the snowball.

“I’ll tie you on with a stout string, so that not even the wind can blow you off.”

“But it’s hot outside. I shall melt.”

“O, no. I’ve changed you so the hottest sun cannot melt you.”

“But how can I get out through the end of the branch?” asked the snowball, who could not get it through his head that he could really get out to the end of a branch and stay there all day and not fall off or melt.

“Make yourself very small, just as small as when you came up to me and you can go out as easily as you run along these halls,” said Life-of-the-Bush.

The snowball became quite excited. The Festival was to begin very early in the morning. Besides he wanted to see, if he could, what had become of the other snowballs. So he decided that he would go out on the branch that night, while it was dark, and be there for the whole day’s fun.

So he made himself very small, ran alongthe hall, crept out through a tiny green door and found himself tied securely to a swaying branch. The air was cool and sweet. He didn’t melt, as he half-feared he might, and he didn’t fall off. He looked around. Yes, this was the very bush he had seen before, but it was greener now. Morning came and the great Festival. The garden was full of flowers and folks.

There were lilacs and lilies of shades manifoldThere were daisies, and daffodils, yellow as gold.There were pansies, and peonies, red, white and pink,And every such flower of which you can think.You ought to have heard the “Ah’s!” and the “Oh’s!”Of all the fine people in all their fine clothes.You ought to have seen that wonderful sight,For no rhyme of mine can describe it half right.

There were lilacs and lilies of shades manifoldThere were daisies, and daffodils, yellow as gold.There were pansies, and peonies, red, white and pink,And every such flower of which you can think.

You ought to have heard the “Ah’s!” and the “Oh’s!”Of all the fine people in all their fine clothes.You ought to have seen that wonderful sight,For no rhyme of mine can describe it half right.

People went from bush to bush and from flower to flower. They could not for the lifeof them tell which blossom they thought most beautiful and original.

The judges wandered about uncertainly with the ribbons in their pockets not knowing to what plant or bush to tie them.

The snowball grew very much interested, not to say excited, to see what blossom would finally win the prize.

He noticed that groups of people continually stopped before the bush on which he hung. Apparently they admired it. He soon discovered that they were looking at him and was quite embarrassed.

“Look!” he kept hearing them say. “See this snowball,—and it doesn’t melt! Why, it’s growing on the bush; it’s a blossom!” That was the first thatheknew that Life-of-the-Bush had changed him from a snowball into a flower snowball. Of course he became very happy and twice as excited.

Indeed, he could hardly breathe from excitement, when the judges came over, in a group, to where he grew. They looked at him and at the bush. Apparently they had never seen blossoms of this kind before.

“I never saw such a big, round, white blossom before,” he heard one of them say, as he drew a blue ribbon from his pocket and tied it to the stem on which he hung. He knew and soon, of course, everybody knew that the “Snowball Bush” had won the prize. His heart beat so fast that he thought he was growing red in the face.Perhaps he was melting!But he wasn’t, for he heard a girl say just then, as she passed, “How white and cool it looks!”

Snowball Number One had often wondered what had happened to his friends, the other snowballs. One reason why he had been anxious to get out of the bush was to find out, if he could, what had become of them all. But the doings of the day had driven all thought of them out of his busy head.

Now, as the people began to leave the garden, and excitement grew less, he remembered and looked about him. Here was the yard in which the boys made him. There was the very place under the edge of the veranda where he had spent the winter and where they had all stood that spring morning whenLife-of-the-Bush called to them. There was the place, almost under him, where he knew they had all tumbled down the moment he left them. But not a trace of a snowball could be seen.

Of course not! They had all disappeared long ago, the very day, indeed, in which they tumbled down. Before noon the hot sun had melted them, every one, and carried them away, tan and freckles and all, and no one ever heard of them again.

Number One, who ran right out into the sun, was the only snowball that didn’t melt.

(Iroquois Legend)

The snow mountain lifted its head close to the sky; the clouds wrapped around it their floating drifts which held the winter’s hail and snowfalls, and with scorn it defied the sunlight which crept over its height, slow and shivering on its way to the valleys.

Close at the foot of the mountain, an old man had built him a lodge “for a time,” said he, as he packed it around with great blocks of ice. Within he stored piles of wood and corn and dried meat and fish. No person, animal, nor bird could enter this lodge, only North Wind, the only friend the old man had. Whenever strong and lusty North Wind passed the lodge he would scream “ugh-e-e-e, ugh-e-e-e,” as with a blast of his blusterings he passed over the earth.

But North Wind came only seldom to the lodge. He was too busy searching the corners of the earth and driving the snow and the hail, but when he had wandered far and was in need of advice, he would visit the lodge to smoke and counsel with the old man about the next snowfall, before journeying to his home in the north sky; and they would sit by the fire which blazed and glowed yet could not warm them.

The old man’s bushy whiskers were heavy with the icicles which clung to them, and when the blazing fire flared its lights, illuminating them with the warm hues of the summer sunset, he would rave as he struck them down, and glare with rage as they fell snapping and crackling at his feet.

One night, as together they sat smoking and dozing before the fire, a strange feeling of fear came over them, the air seemed growing warmer and the ice began to melt. Said North Wind:

“I wonder what warm thing is coming, the snow seems vanishing and sinking lower in the earth.” But the old man cared not, andwas silent. He knew his lodge was strong, and he chuckled with scorn as he bade North Wind abandon his fears and depart for his home. But North Wind went drifting the fast-falling snow higher on the mountain until it groaned under its heavy burden, and scolding and blasting, his voice gradually died away. Still the old man remained silent and moved not, but, lost in thought, sat looking into the fire, when there came a loud knock at his door. “Some foolish breath of North Wind is wandering,” thought he, and he heeded it not.

Again came the rapping, but swifter and louder, and a pleading voice begged to come in.

Still the old man remained silent, and, drawing nearer to the fire, quieted himself for sleep; but the rapping continued, louder, fiercer, and increased his anger. “Who dares approach the door of my lodge?” he shrieked. “You are not North Wind, who alone can enter here. Begone! no refuge here for trifling winds; go back to your home in the sky.” But, as he spoke, the strong bar securingthe door fell from its fastening, the door swung open and a stalwart young warrior stood before him shaking the snow from his shoulders as he noiselessly closed the door.

Safe within the lodge, the warrior heeded not the old man’s anger, but with a cheerful greeting drew close to the fire, extending his hands to its ruddy blaze, when a glow as of summer illumined the lodge. But the kindly greeting and the glowing light served only to incense the old man, and rising in rage, he ordered the warrior to depart.

“Go!” he exclaimed. “I know you not. You have entered my lodge and you bring a strange light. Why have you forced my lodge door? You are young, and youth has no need of my fire. When I enter my lodge, all the earth sleeps. You are strong, with the glow of sunshine on your face. Long ago I buried the sunshine beneath the snowdrifts. Go! you have no place here.

“Your eyes bear the gleam of the summer stars. North Wind blew out the summer star-lights moons ago. Your eyes dazzle my lodge, your breath does not smoke in chill vapour, butcomes from your lips soft and warm; it will melt my lodge. You have no place here.

“Your hair so soft and fine, streaming back like the night shades, will weave my lodge into tangles. You have no place here.

“Your shoulders are bare and white as the snowdrifts. You have no furs to cover them; depart from my lodge. See, as you sit by my fire, how it draws away from you. Depart, I say, from my lodge!”

But the young warrior only smiled, and asked that he might remain to fill his pipe; and they sat down by the fire. Then the old man became garrulous and began to boast of his great powers.

“I am powerful and strong,” said he. “I send North Wind to blow all over the earth and its waters stop to listen to his voice as he freezes them fast asleep. When I touch the sky the snow hurries down and the hunters hide by their lodge fires; the birds fly scared, and the animals creep to their caves. When I lay my hand on the land, I harden it still as the rocks; nothing can forbid me nor loosen my fetters. You, young warrior, though youshine like the Sun, you have no power. Go! I give you a chance to escape me, but I could blow my breath and fold around you a mist which would turn you to ice forever!

“I am not a friend to the Sun, who grows pale and cold and flees to the Southland when I come; yet I see his glance in your face, where no winter shadows hide. My North Wind will soon return; he hates the summer and will bind fast its hands. You fear me not, and smile because you know me not. Young man, listen. I am Gau-wi-di-ne, Winter! Now fear me and depart. Pass from my lodge and go out to the wind.”

But the young warrior moved not; he only smiled as he refilled the pipe for the trembling old man, saying, “Here, take your pipe; it will soothe you and make you stronger for a little while longer;” and he packed the o-yan-kwa[A]deep and hard in the pipe.

[A]Indian tobacco.

Said the warrior, “Now you must smoke for me, smoke for Youth and Spring! I fear not your boasting; you are aged and slow while I am young and strong. I hear the voice ofSouth Wind. Your North Wind hears, and Spirit of the Winds is hurrying him back to his home. Wrap you up warm while yet the snowdrifts cover the earth path, and flee to your lodge in the north sky. I am here now, and you shall know me. I, too, am powerful!

“When I lift my hand, the sky opens wide and I waken the sleeping Sun, which follows me warm and glad. I touch the earth and it grows soft and gentle, and breathes strong and swift as my South Wind ploughs under the snows to loosen your grasp. The trees in the forest welcome my voice and send out their buds to my hand. When my breezes blow my long hair to the clouds, they send down gentle showers that whisper to the grasses to grow.

“I came not to tarry long in my peace talk with you, but to smoke with you and warn you that the sun is waiting for me to open its door. You and the North Wind have built your lodge strong, but each wind, the North and the East, and the West, and the South, has its time for the earth. Now South Wind is calling me; return you to your big lodge in the sky. Travel quick on your way that youmay not fall in the path of the Sun. See! It is now sending down its arrows broad and strong!”

The old man saw and trembled. He seemed fading smaller, and grown too weak to speak, could only whisper, “Young warrior, who are you?”

In a voice that breathed soft as the breath of wild blossoms, he answered: “I am Go-hay, Spring! I have come to rule, and my lodge now covers the earth! I have talked to your mountain and it has heard; I have called the South Wind and it is near; the Sun is awake from its winter sleep and summons me quick and loud. Your North Wind has fled to his north sky; you are late in following. You have lingered too long over your peace pipe and its smoke now floats far away. Haste while yet there is time that you may lose not your trail.”

And Go-hay began singing the Sun song as he opened the door of the lodge. Hovering above it was a great bird, whose wings seemed blown by a strong wind, and while Go-hay continued to sing, it flew down to the lodgeand folding Gau-wi-di-ne to its breast, slowly winged away to the north, and when the Sun lifted its head in the east it beheld the bird disappearing behind the far-away sky. The Sun glanced down where Gau-wi-di-ne had built his lodge, whose fire had burned but could not warm, and a bed of young blossoms lifted their heads to the touch of its beams.

Where the wood and the corn and the dried meat and fish had been heaped, a young tree was leafing, and a blue bird was trying its wings for a nest. And the great ice mountain had melted to a swift running river which sped through the valley bearing its message of the springtime.

Gau-wi-di-ne had passed his time, and Go-hay reigned over the earth!

(Indian Legend)

Ga-oh the great master of the winds decided to choose his helpers from the animals of the earth. He blew a strong blast that shook the rocks and hills and when his reverberating call had ceased its thunderous echoes he opened the north gate wide across the sky and called Ya-o-gah, the Bear.

Lumbering over the mountains as he pushed them from his path, Ya-o-gah, the bulky bear, who had battled the boisterous winds as he came, took his place at Ga-oh’s gate and waited the mission of his call. Said Ga-oh, “Ya-o-gah, you are strong; you can freeze the waters with your cold breath; in your broad arms you can carry the wild tempests, and clasp the whole earth when I bid you destroy. I will place you in my far North, there to watch the herd of my winter winds when Iloose them in the sky. You shall be North Wind. Enter your home.” And the bear lowered his head for the leash with which Ga-oh bound him, and submissively took his place in the north sky.

In a gentler voice Ga-oh called Ne-o-ga, the Fawn, and a soft breeze as of the summer crept over the sky; the air grew fragrant with the odour of flowers, and there were voices as of babbling brooks telling the secrets of the summer to the tune of birds, as Ne-o-ga came proudly lifting her head.

Said Ga-oh, “You walk with the summer sun, and know all its paths; you are gentle, and kind as the sunbeam, and will rule my flock of the summer winds in peace. You shall be the South Wind. Bend your head while I leash you to the sky, for you are swift, and might return from me to the earth.” And the gentle Fawn followed Ga-oh to his great gate which opens the south sky.

Again Ga-oh trumpeted a shrill blast, and all the sky seemed threatening; an ugly darkness crept into the clouds that sent them whirling in circles of confusion. A quarrelsome,shrieking voice snarled through the air, and with a sound as of great claws tearing the heavens into rifts, Da-jo-ji, the Panther, sprang to the gate.

Said Ga-oh, “You are ugly, and fierce, and can fight the strong storms; you can climb the high mountains, and tear down the forests; you can carry the whirlwind on your strong back, and toss the great sea waves high in the air, and snarl at the tempests if they stray from my gate. You shall be the West Wind. Go to the west sky, where even the Sun will hurry to hide when you howl your warning to the night.” And Da-jo-ji, dragging his leash as he stealthily crept along, followed Ga-oh to the furthermost west sky.

Yet Ga-oh rested not. The earth was flat, and in each of its four corners he must have an assistant. One corner yet remained, and again Ga-oh’s strong blast shook the earth. And there arose a moan like the calling of a lost mate; the sky shivered in a cold rain; the whole earth clouded in mist; a crackling sound as of great horns crashing through the forest trees dinned the air, and O-yan-do-ne,the Moose, stood stamping his hoofs at the gate.

Said Ga-oh, as he strung a strong leash around his neck, “Your breath blows the mist, and can lead the cold rains; your horns spread wide, and can push back the forests to widen the path for my storms as with your swift hoofs you race with my winds. You shall be the East Wind, and blow your breath to chill the young clouds as they float through the sky.” Said Ga-oh as he led him to the east sky, “Here you shall dwell forevermore.”

Thus, with his assistants, does Ga-oh control his storms. And although he must ever remain in his sky lodge, his will is supreme, and his faithful assistants will obey!

In a large, airy castle on the borders of a country far away, lived the King of the Winds with his four children, North Wind, South Wind, East Wind, and West Wind. They were a happy family, for the four children were always making merry with the old Wind King.

North Wind, however, was a boisterous fellow, forever causing disorder even in their play.

One summer day North Wind said that he was going out of the castle for a frolic.

“Go,” called out the King, “but be careful, North Wind, what you do. Your pranks are all very well while you are in the castle here, but out in the world they may do great harm.”

“Woo—oo—oo——,” was all the King heard in answer, and away blustered North Wind out of the castle to the garden near by.

The roses and lilies were just in bloom, and the ripe peaches hung on the trees ready to be picked.

“Woo—oo—oo——,” cried the North Wind in his loudest voice, and in a moment the rose petals were scattered all over the ground, the lilies were broken from their stems, and the ripe peaches dropped down right into the mud.

In the fields he caused even greater damage. He broke the wheat stems, threw the unripe apples about. He tore the leaves from their branches and tossed them about in the air in all directions. Indeed, one old tree he completely uprooted.

The people could stand it no longer. They went to the King of the Winds, who, in his castle had control over the coming and going of all the Winds, and told him what the wicked North Wind had done and how the garden and fields had suffered from the misery he had caused them.

“I will summon North Wind,” said his father. “He shall answer for all this.”

When North Wind appeared, the Kingrepeated what the people had said. “Is this true, North Wind?” he asked.

North Wind could not deny it, for the devastated garden and fields lay before every one’s eyes.

“Why did you do it?” asked the King.

“Oh,” answered North Wind, “I didn’t mean it wickedly. I wanted to play with the roses and the lilies and the peaches—and all the rest. I didn’t think I would do them any harm.”

“I see,” said the King. “If you are such a clumsy fellow, then I do not dare to let you out for a frolic again. I must keep you a prisoner in the castle the whole summer. In the winter, when there are no more flowers and fruit, you may go out and be as boisterous as you like. I see you are fit only for the time of ice and snow and not for flowers and fruit.”

Christina Rossetti

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