The young man who blew the bellows for the organ was the first who spoke; and he said in a very respectful voice, “I ask your pardon, sir; but could you be so kind as to tell us what has become of Mr. Downes?”
No answer was returned. Everything was as silent as before.
The sexton next spoke; and in a very humble tone he said, “May it please your Majesty! we have lost the clerk of the parish!”
Again we all remained in the same suspense and silence. The moon now went partly behind a cloud so that only a little pale light came across one side of the head and shoulders of the Man of Snow. At last papa was obliged to speak, and he said, “Oh, Man of Snow, we came not to disturb thy tranquillity, but if thy gracious whiteness hath once already spoken to these fields, permit us also to hear thy silent voice!”
There was again a pause and then, would you believe it?—you hardly can—would you believe it, the Man of Snow answered! He did, indeed. In a very slow and solemn voice he said, “Peace be upon ye all—and the silent thoughtfulness of these white fields.”
You may suppose how fearful and astonished and quiet we all stood at hearing these words. Presently, however, my papa took courage, and again addressed the Man of Snow.
“Who art thou—and whence comest thou, oh, most serene Highness of the frost?”
“I am a spirit of Winter!” answered the Man of Snow, in the same solemn tone. “Once in Lapland I was one of the most renowned giants. There my image is built up with white stone, and because this likeness of me has been made, therefore, on the wings of the wind hath my spirit crossed the bleak seas to dwell for a little time in this body of snow. But now depart! I would be alone!—retire! To-morrow, at moon-rise, ye may come again.”
We did not dare to disobey this command to depart, you may be sure; so we all went homewards, too full of thoughts to speak.
Just as we had reached the stile one of the young ladies cried out, “Oh, what’s that under the hedge!” We all looked, and there we saw the head of a man rising out of the dry ditch by the side of the hedge! Who do you think it was? It was the poor beadle. He had been so frightened when the Man of Snow spoke that he had run back, but, being unable to get over the stile, in his confusion, he got into the dry ditch and sat there upon the dead leaves and snow, with his chin just level with the top of the bank. However, the pupils soon lifted him out and comforted him and took him home. They also went to the cottage of Gaffer Downes to know if he had returned safely. But he had not returned.