Never, in the memory of the people, had such a snowfall been seen in that section. Yet it could scarcely be called a snowstorm, for there was no wind, not a single whiff, and therefore, of course, no snowdrifts. The snow fell slowly, evenly, steadily, dropping over the earth a soft, thick, white mantle.
“We shall be all snowed up, and there’s an end to our New Year’s dance at Oldfield,” said Wynnette, as she stood at the front window of the little parlor, on the third day of the snowfall, looking drearily out over the white earth and powdering sky.
“It can’t snow forever!” exclaimed Elva, who was seated at the center table, playing “jacks” with hazelnuts.
“I believe it will snow forever! It looks like it. Just look out and see! All the low fences are covered, and nothing but the tops of the high fences can be seen, and the Scotch firs are so loaded down with snow I should think the limbs would snap right off! And it is still snowing as steadily as ever! It just reminds one of the snowbound traveler at the ‘Holly Tree Inn,’ when—‘It snowed, and it snowed, and it snowed, and it continued to snow, and it never ceased from snowing.’ No, nor it never will!” said Wynnette, flattening her nose against the cold window pane.
“Call this snow?” rather slightingly demanded the lady from Wild Cats’, as she sat in front of the wood fire, with her feet on the fender and her skirts drawn up to toast her shins, while she was eating hazelnuts, of which she had a lap full, and which she cracked with her strong, white teeth. “Call this snow, indeed! You don’t know what snow is! Hush, honeys! You ought to see the Nevadas after a midwinter snowfall! Yes! where whole trains of wagons are stopped and whole camps snowed up, until all hands perish of cold and hunger. Don’t tell me! You don’t know nothin’ about snow here.” And she stopped talking to put another nut between her teeth and crack it.
“I wouldn’t mind if it wasn’t for the New Year’s Eve party,” said Wynnette.
“Never mind, it will be clear to-morrow. You know we never do have more than three days at a time of any sort of bad weather—wind, or rain, or snow, or anything! I am sure it will clear off to-morrow,” hopefully suggested Elva, deftly throwing a “jack” into the air and snatching two from the table in time to catch the falling one.
“I know it won’t be clear to-morrow! Just look how it comes. I can hardly see the fir trees now through the thick falling powder. No! it is going to keep on this way forever and ever,” growled Wynnette, who was, for her, in a very despondent mood.
Next day, being New Year’s Eve, it did clear off, however. And in the most delightful way. Not with a high wind, as it often does, to drift the new-fallen snow and obstruct the roads and make matters worse than before; but with a still, cold, bright, frosty air that hardened the snow and glazed its surface and made—such splendid sleighing.
“Oh, good-morning, Sun!” said little Elva, standing at the front window of the parlor and looking eastward. “Good-morning, Sun! We are very glad to see you again!”