“Aye, sometimes,” replied the old man. “He was all gentleness this afternoon, but wait until you see him to-night! If I’m not mistaken in the signs, he will be in a fury. Then watch out for yourself, Young Impudence! When Uncle Wind is in a fury, he is a hard master and drives every one before him with a stinging lash. You’ll see!”
Since Grandfather was in such a chilling mood, Philippe did not bother to talk with him, but sat at a little distance, thankful for companionship, and watched the winking of the stars, which, even as he watched them, sparkled and went out like sparks in the soot of a chimney, or as if a black curtain were being drawn across the black sky. After a long while, after the last star had vanished and the noiseless quiet of the night hemmed them in like an invisible wall, Grandfather Snow sprang to his feet and stood tensely listening with his hand to his ear.
“What is it, Grandfather?” Philippe asked, alarmed.
“Hush!... Hush!... Ah—now I hear it plainly!”
Philippe put his hand to his ear as he had seen Grandfather do, and listened intently, holding his breath that he should not miss the tiniest sound. Nothing. Yes—a far away and tiny sound. It sounded to Philippe like the little gasping noises he had made when he was learning to whistle, before ever he had been able to attempt a tune, the noise of air breathed in and out through rounded lips.
“He is coming!” Grandfather told him in a voice trembling with excitement. “And he is perfectly furious; seldom have I heard him whistle more beautifully. Listen!”
Philippe no longer had to strain to hear the far-away whistling; it was growing nearer every second, and as it approached it became high and shrill. “Is that my Uncle Wind making all that noise, Grandfather?”
“Aye!” said Grandfather shortly, crouching close to the ground in the position of a runner about to start a race.
“I shall run and meet him,” cried Philippe, delighted at the idea of seeing his old friend again, who was now evidently very close. He had not run twelve steps when something spinning through the dark ran squarely into him, bowled him off his feet and rolled him along the ground as easily as if he had been made of thistledown. It was a terrific struggle he had to gain his feet again, and even when he had, and would have liked to stop to catch his breath and dust off the new suit his mother had made for him, he found himself being shoved roughly from behind.
“Faster! Faster! Faster!” screamed a voice in his very ears. And if he tried to slow up ever so little, “Rush! Rush! Rush!” the voice would command.