their tails they were there.
On the strand where the blue lake lapped against a beach of yellow sand, children waded, their skirts and trousers rolled up to their thighs, and Snowflake loved to play about their fat little legs and hear them scream with joy as the wavelets spanked against their brown skins.
On moonlit nights, lovers came out in skiffs and allowed their oars to drift idly while they sat with their heads together and let their hands trail in the cool water. Then Snowflake and Raindrop would pass by and caress their fingers.
At such times, Snowflake would ask: “Do you still love me as much as when you first saw me?” And Raindrop would reply:
“But of course I do. What a silly question to ask.”
Snowflake would smile contentedly at his answer.
Time passed. There came a day when Raindrop said to Snowflake: “Have you noticed anything?”
“I do believe we are moving again,” she replied.
“Yes. We have come to the end of the lake.”
It was true. They had left the place where they had entered far behind, so far that they could not even see it any more, so far indeed that not even a glimpse of the distant snow-capped mountains was any longer to be had.
They were close to the banks of quite a large city with many churches, towers, stone buildings and green parks. Slowly but surely they felt themselves being swept by.
They came to an opening in the shore where they passed beneath a bridge and thence into a kind of canal, the sides of which were lined with stone and tall gabled houses. They were moving more quickly now. Then the canal led into a broad river into which they were drawn, and soon the city was left behind.
The long, happy rest was over. The journey had begun again.
The river in which Snowflake and Raindrop now found themselves was a broader and more stately one than the first they had encountered after their breathless run down the mountain.
Its pace was more slow, its bends wide and graceful, and there was time to look about to see everything as they moved along with the current.
It was a much busier river too, and because it was both deep and wide, there were almost as many boats on it as there had been on the lake, from small canvas canoes with double paddles, worked by brown young men bare to the waist, to the long barges flying the gay pennants of the family wash from the stern, and the busy tugs and steamers with coloured flags nailed fore and aft, and black smoke rising straight up from their smokestacks.
Snowflake was used to boats now, and she and Raindrop made it a point to pass beneath them whenever one came near so as to help to hold them up. They liked best to go beneath the barges, for there always seemed to be cheerful accordion and harmonica music coming from them, and everyone aboard appeared to be living a happy and carefree life, including the dogs and children.
One day, not long after they had left the lake and were floating with the river through a green valley whose slopes were tiered with vines on which hung great clusters of white and purple grapes, Raindrop said:
“Snowflake, dear, whose are all those many little voices I seem to hear all about us, and to whom you speak from time to time?”
Snowflake smiled shyly and said gently: “I was wondering when you would notice. Those are our children, dear Raindrop.”
Raindrop was greatly pleased, but could only say: “Well . . .” and then once more, “Well, well! How many of them are there?”
Snowflake counted them again to make certain and then said with pride: “Four.”
“Four! That is a fine number. What are their names?”
Snowflake thought first to get them right and in the proper order before she replied: “They are called Snowdrop, Rainflake, Snowcrystal and Raindrop-Minor.”
Raindrop said: “Well, well, well, well.” And then added, “I think those are very nice names.”
Raindrop did not appear to pay much attention to the children after that, though secretly he was very
On the strand where the blue lake lapped against a beach of yellow sand, children waded, their skirts and trousers rolled up to their thighs, and Snowflake loved to play about their fat little legs and hear them scream with joy as the wavelets spanked against their brown skins.
On moonlit nights, lovers came out in skiffs and allowed their oars to drift idly while they sat with their heads together and let their hands trail in the cool water. Then Snowflake and Raindrop would pass by and caress their fingers.
At such times, Snowflake would ask: “Do you still love me as much as when you first saw me?” And Raindrop would reply:
“But of course I do. What a silly question to ask.”
Snowflake would smile contentedly at his answer.
Time passed. There came a day when Raindrop said to Snowflake: “Have you noticed anything?”
“I do believe we are moving again,” she replied.
“Yes. We have come to the end of the lake.”
It was true. They had left the place where they had entered far behind, so far that they could not even see it any more, so far indeed that not even a glimpse of the distant snow-capped mountains was any longer to be had.
They were close to the banks of quite a large city with many churches, towers, stone buildings and green parks. Slowly but surely they felt themselves being swept by.
They came to an opening in the shore where they passed beneath a bridge and thence into a kind of canal, the sides of which were lined with stone and tall gabled houses. They were moving more quickly now. Then the canal led into a broad river into which they were drawn, and soon the city was left behind.
The long, happy rest was over. The journey had begun again.
The river in which Snowflake and Raindrop now found themselves was a broader and more stately one than the first they had encountered after their breathless run down the mountain.
Its pace was more slow, its bends wide and graceful, and there was time to look about to see everything as they moved along with the current.
It was a much busier river too, and because it was both deep and wide, there were almost as many boats on it as there had been on the lake, from small canvas canoes with double paddles, worked by brown young men bare to the waist, to the long barges flying the gay pennants of the family wash from the stern, and the busy tugs and steamers with coloured flags nailed fore and aft, and black smoke rising straight up from their smokestacks.
Snowflake was used to boats now, and she and Raindrop made it a point to pass beneath them whenever one came near so as to help to hold them up. They liked best to go beneath the barges, for there always seemed to be cheerful accordion and harmonica music coming from them, and everyone aboard appeared to be living a happy and carefree life, including the dogs and children.
One day, not long after they had left the lake and were floating with the river through a green valley whose slopes were tiered with vines on which hung great clusters of white and purple grapes, Raindrop said:
“Snowflake, dear, whose are all those many little voices I seem to hear all about us, and to whom you speak from time to time?”
Snowflake smiled shyly and said gently: “I was wondering when you would notice. Those are our children, dear Raindrop.”
Raindrop was greatly pleased, but could only say: “Well . . .” and then once more, “Well, well! How many of them are there?”
Snowflake counted them again to make certain and then said with pride: “Four.”
“Four! That is a fine number. What are their names?”
Snowflake thought first to get them right and in the proper order before she replied: “They are called Snowdrop, Rainflake, Snowcrystal and Raindrop-Minor.”
Raindrop said: “Well, well, well, well.” And then added, “I think those are very nice names.”
Raindrop did not appear to pay much attention to the children after that, though secretly he was very
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