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.
BUTTERWOPS
EDWARD ABBOTT PARRY
[Used by permission of the author.]
Once upon a time there was a black beetle named Butterwops. He was very
old, very wise, and had seen a great deal of the world. He had lived
in a number of different houses, and was said to know more about the
various qualities of sugar than a blue-bottle, and to understand the
ways of men better than a cricket. Therefore, it is not to be wondered
at that he became the leader of a small army of beetles, who called
him “The General.” He had a thick hoarse laugh, and could tell many
tales, both fierce and merry, of battles he had fought against earwigs,
cockroaches, and caterpillars. But for some time his laugh had not
been heard, and he had been sad and melancholy, for his army were dying
by the thousands, and if things went on in the way they were going,
there would soon be not a single beetle left to listen to the tales of
“The General.”
The kitchen he lived in had plenty to eat in it, and was warm and
comfortable, with lots of cracks in the walls and ceiling to live
in during the day; but lately the master of the house had taken to
spreading yellow powder over the floor and the young beetles would
eat it, and it disagreed with them and they died. This yellow powder,
so Butterwops told me, smelled deliciously of sugar and cheese and
all the young beetles, being greedy, ate it up wherever they could
find it. What happened to them after they tasted it was this: as soon
as they had three mouthfuls, they felt a bad pain underneath their
shell, turned over on their backs, kicked a little and died, and in
the morning the cook swept them up and threw them into the garden.
No wonder that Butterwops felt sad. He himself never tasted anything
unless he had seen another beetle try it first and had watched him
walk about for quite five minutes. That is how he came to live to be
old and became general; but he told nobody about that, keeping it a
secret.
Butterwops had a great-grandson called little Jimmy. He was very lively
and adventurous, and was always trotting across the floor in the
daytime to frighten the cook; so it is a wonder he had lived as long as
he had. He did not eat the yellow powder, for he was an obedient little
beetle, and always did what Butterwops told him to do. As he ran about
so much in the daytime he was generally the first to hear the news, and
one day, about this time, he came to Butterwops and told him that the
house on the other side of the street was rented, and he had seen some
people moving into it while he was sitting on the window-sill in the
gloaming on Thursday evening, which was the cook’s night out.