“Sweep!” he said in a voice like a big wind. “You call that sweeping? You should see me when I get at it. I scoop up all the leaves in the world at once, and send them spinning. Whole snow-storms go into my dust-pan. Ho! ho!”
“But I am so little,” replied Thekla, in her bird’s voice; “and, beside, I have brushed up all there are.”
“All there are? Nonsense,” cried March; “but no matter. Am I, or am I not to tell a story? If not, let me know at once; for I have an engagement with a couple of hurricanes, and want to be off. A pretty business,” he went on, glaring fiercely, “to sit here by this melting fire to amuse a couple of thieving brats, when I have so much to do. Ho! ho!”
“Oh!” whispered Thekla to Max, “let’s give him his moments, and let him go: he makes me afraid.”
“Not I,” said Max, who was plucking up courage, “not if I know it!—Of course you are to tell a story,” he continued aloud: “you promised, and you ought to be a Month of your word. Thekla, put away that broom. Now we’re all ready, sir.”
March scowled, but made no resistance. As Max had said, he was a Month of his word; and he began in a queer voice, which was now loud and then soft, now dying away to a murmur and then bellowing out again in a way that made you jump.
“Once upon a time, as I was driving across a prairie, I saw a house.”
“I don’t know what a prairie is,” said Thekla, gently.
“I don’t suppose you do,” growled March: “that’s one of the things you don’t know, and there are a good many more of ’em. A prairie’s a big field without any fences, and several thousand miles square. People live there,—some people do: I spend a good deal of time there myself. First-rate place for a promenade,—no corners to turn, plenty of room. As I said, I saw a house.
“There was a snow-storm along with me. We had nine hundred billion horses, all white as wool; and we went fast. Killing pace. Horses kept dropping down dead, lay in heaps wherever we went; and we left ’em there. About four million dashed up against the house I was telling you about. They ’most covered it up, for it wasn’t a big house. There were two little windows and a door. Windows had curtains; but one was slipped aside, and the fire looked out like a red eye. I didn’t like that; so I put my eye to the other side, to see if I couldn’t look him down.