lie warmly upon the young seed.
Learn to bear it, that another receives homage while thou yet
reignest. Learn to bear being forgotten while thou art yet alive. The
hour of thy release will come when spring appears."

"And when will spring come?" asked Winter.

"It will come when the stork returns."

And with white locks and snowy beard, cold, bent, and hoary, but
strong as the wintry storm, and firm as ice, old Winter sat on the
snowy drift on the hill, looking towards the south, where he had
before sat and gazed. The ice cracked, the snow creaked, the skaters
skimmed to and fro on the smooth lakes, ravens and crows contrasted
picturesquely with the white ground, and not a breath of wind stirred.
And in the quiet air old Winter clenched his fists, and the ice was
fathoms thick between land and land.

Then the sparrows came again out of the town, and asked, "Who is that
old man yonder?" And the raven sat there again, or a son of his, which
comes to quite the same thing, and answered them and said, "It is
Winter, the old man of last year. He is not dead, as the almanack
says, but he is the guardian of Spring, who is coming."

"When will spring come?" asked the sparrows. "Then we shall have good
times, and a better rule. The old one was worth nothing."

And Winter nodded in quiet thought at the leafless forest, where every
tree showed the graceful form and bend of its twigs; and during the
winter sleep the icy mists of the clouds came down, and the ruler
dreamed of his youthful days, and of the time of his manhood; and
towards the morning dawn the whole wood was clothed in glittering hoar
frost. That was the summer dream of winter, and the sun scattered the
hoar frost from the boughs.

"When will spring come?" asked the sparrows.

"The spring!" sounded like an echo from the hills on which the snow
lay. The sun shone warmer, the snow melted, and the birds twittered,
"Spring is coming!"

And aloft through the air came the first stork, and the second
followed him. A lovely child sat on the back of each, and they
alighted on the field, kissed the earth, and kissed the old silent
man, and he disappeared, shrouded in the cloudy mist. And the story of
the year was done.

"That is all very well," said the sparrows; "it is very beautiful too,
but it is not according to the almanack, and therefore it is
irregular."

SHE WAS GOOD FOR NOTHING.

The mayor stood at the open window. His shirt-frill was very fine,