THE STORY OF THE YEAR [1]
spring is coming." And away they flew.
In the country it was really winter, a few degrees colder than
in the town. The sharp winds blew over the snow-covered fields. The
farmer, wrapped in warm clothing, sat in his sleigh, and beat his arms
across his chest to keep off the cold. The whip lay on his lap. The
horses ran till they smoked. The snow crackled, the sparrows hopped
about in the wheel-ruts, and shivered, crying, "Tweet, tweet; when
will spring come? It is very long in coming."
"Very long indeed," sounded over the field, from the nearest
snow-covered hill. It might have been the echo which people heard,
or perhaps the words of that wonderful old man, who sat high on a heap
of snow, regardless of wind or weather. He was all in white; he had on
a peasant's coarse white coat of frieze. He had long white hair, a
pale face, and large clear blue eyes. "Who is that old man?" asked the
sparrows.
"I know who he is," said an old raven, who sat on the fence, and
was condescending enough to acknowledge that we are all equal in the
sight of Heaven, even as little birds, and therefore he talked with
the sparrows, and gave them the information they wanted. "I know who
the old man is," he said. "It is Winter, the old man of last year;
he is not dead yet, as the calendar says, but acts as guardian to
little Prince Spring who is coming. Winter rules here still. Ugh!
the cold makes you shiver, little ones, does it not?"
"There! Did I not tell you so?" said the smallest of the sparrows.
"The calendar is only an invention of man, and is not arranged
according to nature. They should leave these things to us; we are
created so much more clever than they are."
One week passed, and then another. The forest looked dark, the
hard-frozen lake lay like a sheet of lead. The mountains had
disappeared, for over the land hung damp, icy mists. Large black crows
flew about in silence; it was as if nature slept. At length a
sunbeam glided over the lake, and it shone like burnished silver.
But the snow on the fields and the hills did not glitter as before.
The white form of Winter sat there still, with his un-wandering gaze
fixed on the south. He did not perceive that the snowy carpet seemed
to sink as it were into the earth; that here and there a little
green patch of grass appeared, and that these patches were covered
with sparrows.
"Tee-wit, tee-wit; is spring coming at last?"
Spring! How the cry resounded over field and meadow, and through
the dark-brown woods, where the fresh green moss still gleamed on
the trunks of the trees, and from the south came the two first
storks flying through the air, and on the back of each sat a lovely
little child, a boy and a girl. They greeted the earth with a kiss,
and wherever they placed their feet white flowers sprung up from
beneath the snow. Hand in hand they approached the old ice-man,
Winter, embraced him and clung to his breast; and as they did so, in a
moment all three were enveloped in a thick, damp mist, dark and heavy,
that closed over them like a veil. The wind arose with mighty rustling
tone, and cleared away the mist. Then the sun shone out warmly. Winter
had vanished away, and the beautiful children of Spring sat on the
throne of the year.
"This is really a new year," cried all the sparrows, "now we shall
get our rights, and have some return for what we suffered in winter."
Wherever the two children wandered, green buds burst forth on bush
and tree, the grass grew higher, and the corn-fields became lovely
in delicate green.
The little maiden strewed flowers in her path. She held her
apron before her: it was full of flowers; it was as if they sprung
into life there, for the more she scattered around her, the more
flowers did her apron contain. Eagerly she showered snowy blossoms
over apple and peach-trees, so that they stood in full beauty before
even their green leaves had burst from the bud. Then the boy and the
girl clapped their