HARRIET MYRTLE
WHEN I was a little girl we lived entirely in the country for several years, and one winter there was a great fall of snow. The snow covered the roof of the house, the roofs of the stable and cow shed, and the branches of every tree were so thickly covered with the beautiful white snow that sometimes in the morning, when I looked out of the window, I could, at first, have fancied the trees were all apple and pear trees full of blossoms. You may, therefore, believe that the snow lay very deep in the fields.
We had three fields; one was adjoining our kitchen; and there was often a cow, or horse, or pony allowed to walk in it when the grass was good. This field sloped down into a second which was parted off by a gate; and then by a pathway along the side of a high hedge, we came to a stile, and on the other side of the stile was our largest field. No cattle were allowed to enter this field, as the grass was kept for hay-making. Here, then, the deep snow lay all broad and white and soft, without the marks of a single footstep all over the whole bright expanse, where all was whiteness and silence.
Now there lived in a pretty lane very near us an old parish clerk named Downes. He lived in his cottage with his little granddaughter, and a blackbird. He was a tall, thin old man with straight white hair. His name was Godfred, but we always called him Gaffer Downes.
One morning during this great snow time Mr. Gaffer Downes came to my father and asked permission to make something curious in his large field. He explained what it was and had leave given him directly, for everybody was fond of Gaffer Downes. He had been parish clerk in our village for nearly forty years.
Away went Mr. Downes to get assistants for what he wished to do, and he soon found two who were willing to help him. One was the coachman of Squire Turner’s family, who were neighbors and friends of ours; and the other was the parish sexton. Gaffer brought his spade with him; and the three went off together through the snow.
They took their way down into our great field, and there they each made a great snow ball. Following the directions of Gaffer Downes, these snow balls were rolled along until they collected more and more snow upon their sides all round, and, of course, began to get very large. Each man’s snow ball was soon as large as his head. They went rolling on, and soon each of the snow balls was as large as two heads; then as large as a cow’s head; then as large as a very great cow’s head; and then each man was obliged to stop, as he could roll his snow ball along no more, it was so large and heavy. Mr. Downes then told the coachman and the sexton to leave their snow balls and come and help him to roll his. So all three pushed away, and rolled it nearly all round the great field, by which time it was as large as the head of an elephant.
They stopped to rest and take breath. Mr. Downes now informed them that he wished this large ball to be rolled to the middle of the field, and to remain there while they rolled the others to the same size, and then brought them to the same spot. They were just beginning their work again when they heard a loud, merry laugh at the other side of the hedge, and whom should they see looking over and showing his white teeth and making a funny face at them but George Poole, the black footman at Squire Turner’s.
“Aha!” said George, “Aha, Massa Down, me see you! how you do, Massa Gaffer Down? and how do you do? Is your pretty granddaughter at home? and how you do, you blackbird, Massa Down? aha! very fond of blackybird; he just my colour. How you do, you cold finger, Massa Gaffer Down—and Massa Sexton, and coachy man, too, with cold fingers, all so red, like scraped carrots?”
“George Poole,” said Mr. Downes with a serious look, “George Poole, you interrupt. Come and assist us, or return home to your fire in a quiet and proper manner, I beg of you.”
“Me go home to proper fire,” answered George, “but what you make there with great snow ball, Massa Down?”
“I do not intend to let anyone know at present,” answered Mr. Downes. “Good day, George,” and as he said this he made a sign to the coachman and sexton, and they continued their work of rolling.
“Me come and see him when him finished,” said George. “Good day, Massa Down,” and as he said this the laughing black face of George Poole disappeared from the top of the hedge.
This work of rolling continued all the morning, and, as they found they had nothing else to do, they worked at it all the afternoon, also. By this time they had made seven balls of snow, each as large as the head of an elephant, and had rolled them all into the very middle of the field. But to do this they had been obliged to ask for the help of two men from our house. This my father readily gave; indeed, I believe he himself helped at the last rolling of each ball, as they were so very heavy and moved so slowly. Mr. Downes then took the spade and patted every ball with the flat part of it, in order to make them even and hard, and so left them for the night.
The next morning while we were at breakfast Gaffer Downes passed by the window, with a spade over his shoulder, followed by the sexton and coachman each with a spade over his shoulder, and after them came the beadle, the church bell ringer, and the young man who blew the bellows for the organ.
They all followed Mr. Downes into the large field.
Up we all jumped from the breakfast table and hurried on our things; papa, mamma and I, and Ellen Turner, who had heard of something that was to be done in our field, and had come over to breakfast with us to see. Away we all went, mamma carrying me where the snow was too deep, and papa carrying Ellen.
When we came into the large field, there we saw them all busy indeed, working under the directions of Gaffer Downes, who was not working himself now, but standing still in the attitude of an artist, giving orders to his pupils. They soon made a sort of flat bank of snow, about a foot and a half high, and patted it down very hard with their spades. The pupils, that is to say, the coachman and sexton and bell ringer and beadle, and the young man who blew the bellows for the organ, then rolled three of the great balls of snow up on this bank, close to one another, so as to form a sort of circle, but leaving a hollow place in the middle of the form of a triangle, which the beadle remarked was very much the figure of the coachman’s Sunday hat. Mr. Downes now came with his spade, and made this three-cornered hollow larger, in fact, large enough for a man to stand in very easily. He then desired the coachman and sexton to assist him with their spades in making the tops of these three balls quite flat. When this was done he directed them to make three more of the balls flat at top and bottom; this also being done, he called all his party together and told them to lift these three balls, one at a time, and carefully place them upon the top of those three that were already placed, as I have told you. So the pupils did as they were directed and Mr. Downes made three notches, like steps, in the side of two of the balls, and up them he slowly walked with his spade, and again made the three-cornered hole in the middle of the three top snow balls, as large as he had made it in those at the bottom. We all thought he was going to get into it, but he did not. He only looked in. He now came down with a very important look, and went up to the one large ball of snow, which still lay there in its round shape. This he trimmed and patted all about into the form he wished, and then all the pupils were called to carry it and lift it by degrees and to place at the very top where it was intended to be made the head of the Man of Snow. It was a great job to get the head safely up, for it was very heavy. However, after much time and many narrow escapes of the head, and all the pupils tumbling down together, they did manage to get it to the top, just over the hole which it covered up and its own weight kept it there safely.
It was now time to go to dinner. We all went but we finished as soon as we could and returned to the large field. Gaffer Downes, the coachman, and sexton moved round and round with their spades, cutting and shoving or patting up the snow to make the figure of a man. And as there were several hollow places where you could look into the inside, they filled them up with hard lumps of snow; all except one hole, which Mr. Downes said he wished left open to let the air in, though, on second thought, he said he would cover it over himself, and so he did, but very lightly. They made a few trenches and ridges down the middle and at the sides of the Man, and this they called his legs and arms, at which we all laughed. Lastly, Mr. Downes went climbing up the sides with his spade and went to work at the head. What he tried to do was to make a face to it, but it was very difficult. He cut out the nose and chin, very large and broad; but some unlucky cut just as he was finishing made them fall off. He then asked the beadle to bring him two short sticks from the hedge; this being done, he stuck them into the face and covered them over with handfuls of snow, which he pressed and patted into the shape of a nose and chin. But when he had finished the weight of the snow made the sticks come out and down they fell. He went on trying again and again, and we all looked on and hoped he would succeed, though we laughed very much also for the nose fell off six times and the chin four. At last, however, with a sudden thought, which could only have occurred to one who had quite a genius for making a Man of Snow, Mr. Downes stuck the two short sticks in not pointing downwards or straight out, but pointing rather upwards, so that the weight of the nose and chin were supported upon the face and they held fast. And a very strange face it was!
Two things were still to be done. Mr. Downes drew from his coat pocket a couple of large round stones of a blue-grey color, and these he fixed in the face for eyes; and over the head, at each side, he stuck a number of small hedge twigs and a wreath from a thorny wild rose-tree, for hair. If more snow should fall he assured us the hair would look quite beautiful. Down came Mr. Gaffer Downes, looking so seriously and modestly upon the snow clumps on his shoes, while we all praised his work and told him how much we liked his Man of Snow.
It was now evening. We all went back through the fields and when we arrived at the house my papa sent out a quantity of hot ale, with sugar and toast in it, for the pupils, and we made Mr. Downes come in to tea with us though he wanted to go home. He said his little granddaughter and the blackbird would think he was lost in the snow.
There did happen to be a slight fall of snow again in the night and we all went down to the large field next morning after breakfast to see what change it had made in the appearance of the great Man. And a fine change, indeed, it had made. He looked much larger and rounder and whiter and colder and seemed more “at home” in the great white field. And he had a wonderful head of hair!
The very same evening as we were all sitting round the fire, about an hour before supper time, Mr. Downes came to our house and sent in word that he had something very important to say. Mamma said, “Pray tell Mr. Downes to come directly.” In came Gaffer Downes, looking rather paler than usual, and with his face looking longer than usual, and his white hair looking straighter than usual, and his chin sticking out with some frost upon it. He remained standing in the middle of the room without saying a word.
“What is the matter, Mr. Downes?” asked papa.
“Sir,” said Mr. Downes, without moving from the place where he stood, “something has happened!”
“What has happened?” said papa, rising from his chair.
“An event!” said Mr. Downes.
“What event?” said mamma, rising from her chair, “and where has it happened?”
“In the large field,” answered Mr. Gaffer Downes. “An event has happened to the Snow Man.”
At this we all ran up to Gaffer Downes, exclaiming, “What has happened to him, tell us at once.”
“The Snow Man,” said Mr. Downes in a low voice, “The Snow Man talks.”
“Talks?” cried we all.
“Yes,” said he, “the Man speaks. He was addressing the field in a long speech when I passed on the other side of the hedge. It is a fine moonlight night. You can all come and hear him yourselves.”
“That we will!” exclaimed my papa. “We will all go directly.”
So mamma called for bonnets and shawls and handkerchiefs and cloaks and muffs, and tippets and gloves and fur boots and all sorts of things for there were several young ladies staying on a visit with us. And outside the door we found Squire Turner’s coachman with the sexton and the beadle and bell ringer and the young man who blew the bellows for the organ; in fact, all Gaffer Downes’ pupils, waiting to go with us into the large field.
Off we all set, Mr. Downes leading the way. At the end of the first field he made us all stop to listen. He asked us if any of us could hear the Man of Snow speaking. We all listened and at last said, “No!” He then told us to follow him slowly along the hedge of the second field listening all the way. We heard nothing, and again Mr. Downes stopped us at the stile leading into the great field. Very attentively we listened, but all was as silent as possible.
Mr. Downes now told us we had better wait a little and let him go first, and as soon as the Man of Snow spoke he would return and tell us to come softly. So over the stile got Mr. Downes and we soon lost sight of him as he went creeping round closely by the hedge. Well, we waited and waited but Mr. Downes did not return. We listened but we could hear nothing. Still we waited but at last papa got out of patience and said, “What can have become of Mr. Downes?”
“I hope,” said mamma, “nothing has happened to him.”
“I am determined to go and see after him,” said papa.
“Let us all go together,” said mamma. “Let us all go together, straight up towards the Man of Snow, and ask for Mr. Downes.”
It was agreed upon and we all got over the stile and went crowding together along the field, nobody liking to go first, but all keeping close, like sheep when they do not know what to do for the best.
At last we came near the great Man of Snow. Papa and the young man who blew the bellows for the organ stood in front, and next to them came the sexton, and then mamma, with all us girls climbing close around her, wrapped up in our cloaks, with only our eyes and noses to be seen; and behind us stood the rest of the pupils—and behind all, at some distance, stood the beadle. Well, there we all stood in silence, in the great, silent snow field, looking at the great silent Man of Snow with the moon shining upon his head!
The young man who blew the bellows for the organ was the first who spoke; and he said in a very respectful voice, “I ask your pardon, sir; but could you be so kind as to tell us what has become of Mr. Downes?”
No answer was returned. Everything was as silent as before.
The sexton next spoke; and in a very humble tone he said, “May it please your Majesty! we have lost the clerk of the parish!”
Again we all remained in the same suspense and silence. The moon now went partly behind a cloud so that only a little pale light came across one side of the head and shoulders of the Man of Snow. At last papa was obliged to speak, and he said, “Oh, Man of Snow, we came not to disturb thy tranquillity, but if thy gracious whiteness hath once already spoken to these fields, permit us also to hear thy silent voice!”
There was again a pause and then, would you believe it?—you hardly can—would you believe it, the Man of Snow answered! He did, indeed. In a very slow and solemn voice he said, “Peace be upon ye all—and the silent thoughtfulness of these white fields.”
You may suppose how fearful and astonished and quiet we all stood at hearing these words. Presently, however, my papa took courage, and again addressed the Man of Snow.
“Who art thou—and whence comest thou, oh, most serene Highness of the frost?”
“I am a spirit of Winter!” answered the Man of Snow, in the same solemn tone. “Once in Lapland I was one of the most renowned giants. There my image is built up with white stone, and because this likeness of me has been made, therefore, on the wings of the wind hath my spirit crossed the bleak seas to dwell for a little time in this body of snow. But now depart! I would be alone!—retire! To-morrow, at moon-rise, ye may come again.”
We did not dare to disobey this command to depart, you may be sure; so we all went homewards, too full of thoughts to speak.
Just as we had reached the stile one of the young ladies cried out, “Oh, what’s that under the hedge!” We all looked, and there we saw the head of a man rising out of the dry ditch by the side of the hedge! Who do you think it was? It was the poor beadle. He had been so frightened when the Man of Snow spoke that he had run back, but, being unable to get over the stile, in his confusion, he got into the dry ditch and sat there upon the dead leaves and snow, with his chin just level with the top of the bank. However, the pupils soon lifted him out and comforted him and took him home. They also went to the cottage of Gaffer Downes to know if he had returned safely. But he had not returned.
Before we went to supper, however, we sent to the cottage, as we were getting very anxious; and his granddaughter answered from the window that her dear grandfather had returned and had a basin of warm broth and was now in bed.
We could hardly eat our supper, any of us, for talking of the Man of Snow and what he had said about having been once upon a time a Lapland giant! For my part I could not sleep for thinking of it, and all the young ladies said the same thing the next morning at breakfast.
You may be sure we were all very anxious for the evening to come when we were again to go and hear what the Man of Snow had to say. He told us, you recollect, to come again at moon-rise; and the moon, papa said, would rise about seven o’clock.
We had a dinner party at our house and nearly all the time we talked of little else except the Man of Snow or rather what he had done when he was a giant in Lapland; and we thought that, perhaps, he might tell us the history of his life. We determined every one of us to go all together down to the great field when the moon rose.
As the time approached we became so anxious that we got ready too soon, and then, as we were all ready, we thought we might just as well go and wait there till the white giant chose to speak. So off we all set, and went very merrily, and yet not without some little fears, down toward the large field.
But when we had all got over the stile who should come running after us but Mr. Downes. He was quite out of breath, but as soon as he could speak he said, “Indeed, you are too soon. It’s too soon by half an hour. You had much better get over the stile again and go into the other field a little while.”
Now this made some of us laugh, for, do you know, we now began to suspect that it was Mr. Downes himself who had spoken for the Man of Snow.
We thought perhaps he had got behind somewhere, or perhaps into the side of the great figure and thus spoken for him. But now, as we had come too soon he had no time to get ready. We were sorry for poor Gaffer Downes, yet still we could not help laughing at the scrape he was in. He went on assuring us the Man of Snow would not speak at all as we had come before the time he ordered. But this made us laugh the more, as we were now almost sure how it had been continued. Meantime, we had slowly advanced toward the Man of Snow, poor Mr. Downes telling us all the time that the Man would be sure not to utter a word as we had disobeyed his directions.
“But see,” said papa, “the moon is now rising!”
“Aha! ’tis no matter now,” answered Mr. Downes in a melancholy tone. “The Man of Snow will not speak a single word.” Mr. Downes had scarcely said this when a voice from the Man of Snow called out in a loud tone:
“How you do, Massa Down—how you lilly granddaughter do—and how you do you black bird, Massa Gaffer Downes?”
All burst into laughter except Mr. Downes, who walked backwards and forwards once or twice saying, “Dear me, how very vexatious!”
Papa and mamma now both went up to Mr. Downes and told him they saw how vexed he was at the change that had somehow or other taken place in the voice of the Man of Snow, because the spirit of the Lapland Giant had certainly flown away and quite a different one had gotten into its place. However, they begged him not to take it to heart, but to go and speak to the Man of Snow, and ask him to explain a little.
Mr. Downes thought for a minute, and then seeming to make up his mind to it, walked a few paces nearer to the Man of Snow, and this curious dialogue took place between them.
Mr. Downes: “Who art thou, oh, rude, familiar voice, who has usurped the place of the frosty Spirit of last night?”
Man of Snow: “Me the King of Lapland! speaky more respectful to him Snow-ball Majesty, Massa Down!”
Mr. Downes: “No Majesty of Snow hast thou, nor art thou Lapland’s king, nor ever wert, nor shalt be.”
Man of Snow: “Why you say so you Massa Gaffer man! Me come from own country Lapland late last night after supper.”
Mr. Downes: “What, then, for supper did the king of Lapland eat?”
Man of Snow: “Berry good supper to be sure—great supper in great big palace surrounded with orange trees and plantain and banana tree. Me have curried chicken plenty and hot rice with treacle, and a pineapple, and watermelon from own garden close by; and then me have chocolate, berry sweet. What you t’ink now, Massa Downes?”
Mr. Downes: “I think the King of Lapland dreams.”
Man of Snow: “What he dream of then?”
Mr. Downes: “He dreams that he had supper in some West Indian isle; for in Lapland no oranges, no pinies, no watermelons grow, no plantains, no banana.”
Man of Snow: “Me never say they did grow there.”
When the Man of Snow said this we all of us together cried out, “Oh! Oh!” meaning what a story he was telling.
Man of Snow: “Me never mean to say so. Me have great big hothouse, all glass, where fruit grow; and other t’ing me have brought over in fine large ship. Me very rich king; hab everything me wish.”
Mr. Downes: “Rich, dost thou say, in money or in land?”
Man of Snow: “In money, to be sure. Me have large chest full of gold—Lapland gold and guineas, too—my friend and brother, the King of England, send me; and me have plenty land, too. Large fields of rice—no, not rice; rice not grow in Lapland—me know dat very well. Me mean to say, large plantation of sugar cane.”
Mr. Downes: “Nor doth the sugar cane in Lapland grow.”
Man of Snow: “Me know that very well—me just going to say so. But me try to make him grow; me try to bring new tings into my country; me try to get horses and oxen, and sheep, and deer, and dogs, and many bullfrogs, and rattlesnakes. Me want to change scorpions and mosquitoes into butterflies and lady-birds. Me want to have all manner of fine house for fine birds—parrots and macaws, with green wings and scarlet tails and blue breasts, and topknots; and peacocks and birds of paradise and a great pond of gold and silver fishes. And me mean to build great big bamboo house for all these, twice as high as my head.”
As the Man of Snow said this, we all saw his head shake a little, as if he was in a great fuss with what he was thinking about doing; and we even thought we saw the upper part of the figure shake a little, and some pieces of snow began to crumble and fall. But he went on speaking again.
Man of Snow: “And me mean to have elephants and rhinoceroses and apes with long arms and blue noses. And me mean to build a house for elephants very large and very strong; so that when we catch wild elephant, he no can get out. He try, and try—but he can’t.”
Here we all saw the Man of Snow shake again.
Man of Snow: “Makey house all sides very strong bamboo. See him angry-trunk poke through the bars of cage—but all too fast and strong. He no can get out. Then he make trumpet noise with trunk, and him lilly cunning eye look so very angry; and then he run him head right against the front of cage to try and push him down! but it is all too strong, and he can’t—yet he push! and push!—and trumpet with trunk—and push! and, oh, Massa Down!”
As the Man of Snow uttered these words off rolled his head and broke into twenty pieces!—and the next instant the whole figure cracked, and opened in the middle and fell to pieces—and out rolled George Poole upon the snow, crying out: “Oh, Massa Down, why you no build him stronger?”
You may suppose how we all laughed. One of the young ladies almost went into a fit of laughing and most of us laughed till we had a pain at both sides of the face, and yet we were unable to stop.
Even Mr. Downes laughed; not at first, though; at first he made a very long face, then he began, “te! he! he!”—and “he! he! he!” till at last he went into “ha! ha! ha! Oh, dear me!”—and was obliged to sit down upon the snow and wipe his forehead to recover himself.
We all returned to the house very merrily laughing all the way. We brought the King of Lapland with us, for George had always been a favourite in the village. So we told the cook to give his Majesty a large basin of rice, milk, and sugar, and mamma sent him afterwards a large slice of plum cake, and a tumbler with some sugar and lemons. Papa requested Mr. Downes to come in to supper with us, but he said that he really must go home, as his granddaughter and the blackbird would think something had happened to him. Papa, however, would take no denial, so we made Mr. Downes come in, and then we sent a man for his granddaughter with a message that she was to bring the blackbird with her.
So, in a few minutes afterwards, in came a pretty little girl of ten years of age, with blue eyes and flaxen hair, and a complexion like a rose, bringing in her hand a large milk-white wicker cage with the blackbird sitting in the middle. He was as black as coal with a yellow bill, and oh! such a bright, black eye. He sat on his perch with his head bent on one side a little, then he jumped down to the bottom of the cage, and, poking his head between the bars, gave a look all round. He then hopped back into the middle of the cage, bowed very low and very quickly several times, and then hopped upon his perch with his tail toward us, but instantly whisked round, as if he was afraid somebody was going to touch his tail. Then he began to sing. He sang nearly all supper time, and flapped his black wings while we all stood up and drank the health of Mr. Gaffer Downes, the artist who had made the Man of Snow.