by Anonymous
XXI
WINTER
After the collapse of the printing business Bobby and Johnny turned toBobby Junior and the little sleigh. They drove often, far into thecountry. It was the dead of winter. The country was wide and still andwhite. Against the prevailing note of the snow the patches of woodsshowed almost black. The landscape looked strangely flattened out, andbereft of life. Nevertheless that impression was false, for the littlesleigh climbed and dipped over many hills and hollows; and the boys werecontinually seeing living things and their indications. Tracks of smallanimals embroidered the snow. Strange tame birds hopped here and thereor rose and swept down wind with plaintive pipings that, in spite oftheir lack of fear, lent them a spirit of wildness akin to the aloofsavaging of winter winds in bared trees. Bobby and Johnny recognized thesnow buntings, tossing in compact big companies like flakes in awhirlwind, the unsoiled white effect of their plumage shaming the snow.Besides these were little red-polls, dressed warmly in magenta and brownfor the winter, hopping and clinging among the seed-weeds exposed by thebreezes; and hardy, impudent, harsh-voiced blue-jays, cloaking muchvillany and cunning under wondrous suits of clothes; and trim, neatcedar wax-wings, perching on elevated twigs, always apparently atleisure; in the woods, whole bands of chickadees and nuthatches,cruising it cheerfully, calling to each other in their varied notes,tiny atoms defying all the cold and famine Old Winter could bring. Oncethey were vastly excited to catch sight of a hoary, wide-winged monstersweeping like a ghost close to the snow. They surmised it might be aGreat Snow Owl, like the stuffed one in the English library, but theynever knew. And again, in some trees alongside the road, they came upona large flock of stocky-built birds, a little smaller than robins, sotame that the boys drove beneath them and could see their thick bills,and the marvellous clarity of the sunset yellow of their heads, shadingto twilight down their backs, to black night on their wings, barred by astrip of clear white moonlight. They agreed that these were mostunusual-looking creatures. How unusual any naturalist would have beenglad to tell them; for these were that great and prized rarity, theEvening Grosbeak. So, too, in the pine woods they were showered by bitsof cones, and looked aloft to make out a distant little bird busilyengaged in tearing the cones to pieces. They laughed at his industry,but would have been immensely interested could they have examined atclose hand the Crossbill's beak and its singular adaption to just thistask. And of course they remarked the stately deliberate-looking printsof the grouse; and the herded tramping of the quail. The winter waspopulous enough, in spite of its rigour. Some of its many creatures theboys knew; many more they did not; but you may be sure they saw all thatdid not exercise the closest circumspection.
For miles about, the little sleigh explored the country: main-road, wornsmooth by countless farmer-sleighs; by-roads, through which the pony hadto wallow belly-deep, making a new track. Not the mere pleasure ofdriving lured them out--that amounted to little after the week ofnovelty--but something of the spirit of exploration was in it. Dukealways accompanied them, plunging powerfully through the deepest drifts,exulting in the snow, rolling in it, frisking in it in all directions,racing down the road and back, glad to be alive and warm this freezingweather. One day in a patch of woods he came to an abrupt halt. Theboys, watching, saw his eye fixed, his upper lip snarl back the least inthe world, his tail stiffen except at its quivering tip, his whole bodylengthen and half-crouch and turn rigid. And as the sleigh wallowed nearhim, suddenly, with an immense scattering of snow and a startling roar,an old cock-partridge burst from beneath the surface of the snow andhurtled away through the frozen trees.
Some days when the wind blew keen and sharp as knives across the broadreaches, it was almost impossible for the boys to keep warm. The heatedsoap-stone wrapped up at their feet, the warm buffalo robes under andover them, their thick overcoats and fur caps alike proved inadequate.Then one took his turn at driving, while the other crouched entirelycovered beneath the robes. The wind drove the hard, sparse flakes fromthe low leaden sky like so many needles against the driver's face,filling his eyes with tears, causing his skin to glow and smart. Even inthis was a certain joy and adventure. But again the sun would shine, thebells jingle louder in the clarified air. Probably, however, the boysliked best of all the warm, still snowstorms, when all the world wasmuffled in the shoes of silence; when nature held her finger on hushedlips; when deliberately, without haste the great white flakes zigzaggeddown from the soft gray above, obscuring and softening the landscape,rendering dear and mysterious the commonest things. Then sounds came,subdued as in a sanctuary, and people approaching showed portentous asthrough a mist, and the boys, looking upward, caught big wet flakes ontheir lashes as they tried in vain to determine the point at which thesnowflakes became visible. There existed no such point. The snowflakesdid not approach as other things approach, beginning small withdistance, and becoming larger as they neared. They flashed into sightfull-grown. It was as though they had fallen wrapped in invisibilityuntil the great Magician had uttered the word. That was Bobby's secretthought, which he told nobody. Often he imagined he could hear the wordrepeated all about him, _presto! presto! presto! presto!_ like thedistant hushed falling of waters. And as the charm was said, he, lookingskyward, could see the big soft flakes flash into view out of nothing.
