And the old bell seemed to speak louder and clearer to the little ones, as they eagerly listened for what it was telling.
“Father says the bell will never ring from the old tower again, for the new one is being built,” said Hans. “And what do you think, brother Carl, our dear mother wept because the old steeple must be broken down, and the dear bell, that is even now a-ringing, must be put into another great tower to ring.”
“Does the great bell know it, brother?”
“No, dear little Carl; but no matter where it is put it will always ring, and be glad to wake the village for the New Year.”
“Will we go and say good-bye to the dear old bell, brother Hans?” whispered little Carl.
“Yes, brother mine; when it is day we will go, for it has rung so many times for us.”
They crept out of the cold into their snug bed again, and the great strokes poured from the tower window long after the little curly heads were full of dreams.
“Wake up, brother Hans! there is the sun.”
This time little Carl was the first to arise. Quickly they were both dressed, and, opening their door noiselessly, they went down the narrow stairs on tiptoe, and then out into the open air.
A swift wind was blowing. It swept over the bare bushes and whirled the snow into the children’s faces, and filled their curly hair with flakes. But the sun was smiling down on them and said: “See what a beautiful day I brought for a New Year’s gift to you!”