We had three fields; one was adjoining our kitchen; and there was often a cow, or horse, or pony allowed to walk in it when the grass was good. This field sloped down into a second which was parted off by a gate; and then by a pathway along the side of a high hedge, we came to a stile, and on the other side of the stile was our largest field. No cattle were allowed to enter this field, as the grass was kept for hay-making. Here, then, the deep snow lay all broad and white and soft, without the marks of a single footstep all over the whole bright expanse, where all was whiteness and silence.
Now there lived in a pretty lane very near us an old parish clerk named Downes. He lived in his cottage with his little granddaughter, and a blackbird. He was a tall, thin old man with straight white hair. His name was Godfred, but we always called him Gaffer Downes.
One morning during this great snow time Mr. Gaffer Downes came to my father and asked permission to make something curious in his large field. He explained what it was and had leave given him directly, for everybody was fond of Gaffer Downes. He had been parish clerk in our village for nearly forty years.
Away went Mr. Downes to get assistants for what he wished to do, and he soon found two who were willing to help him. One was the coachman of Squire Turner’s family, who were neighbors and friends of ours; and the other was the parish sexton. Gaffer brought his spade with him; and the three went off together through the snow.
They took their way down into our great field, and there they each made a great snow ball. Following the directions of Gaffer Downes, these snow balls were rolled along until they collected more and more snow upon their sides all round, and, of course, began to get very large. Each man’s snow ball was soon as large as his head. They went rolling on, and soon each of the snow balls was as large as two heads; then as large as a cow’s head; then as large as a very great cow’s head; and then each man was obliged to stop, as he could roll his snow ball along no more, it was so large and heavy. Mr. Downes then told the coachman and the sexton to leave their snow balls and come and help him to roll his. So all three pushed away, and rolled it nearly all round the great field, by which time it was as large as the head of an elephant.
They stopped to rest and take breath. Mr. Downes now informed them that he wished this large ball to be rolled to the middle of the field, and to remain there while they rolled the others to the same size, and then brought them to the same spot. They were just beginning their work again when they heard a loud, merry laugh at the other side of the hedge, and whom should they see looking over and showing his white teeth and making a funny face at them but George Poole, the black footman at Squire Turner’s.
“Aha!” said George, “Aha, Massa Down, me see you! how you do, Massa Gaffer Down? and how do you do? Is your pretty granddaughter at home? and how you do, you blackbird, Massa Down? aha! very fond of blackybird; he just my colour. How you do, you cold finger, Massa Gaffer Down—and Massa Sexton, and coachy man, too, with cold fingers, all so red, like scraped carrots?”
“George Poole,” said Mr. Downes with a serious look, “George Poole, you interrupt. Come and assist us, or return home to your fire in a quiet and proper manner, I beg of you.”
“Me go home to proper fire,” answered George, “but what you make there with great snow ball, Massa Down?”
“I do not intend to let anyone know at present,” answered Mr. Downes. “Good day, George,” and as he said this he made a sign to the coachman and sexton, and they continued their work of rolling.