Not quite like the trees; for your clothes can’t be made new every spring out of little brown buds, but must be put away in the great drawers and trunks of the clothes-press, to wait for you through the winter.
And see how your mother will bring out the woolen stockings, warm hoods and caps, mittens, cloaks and plaided dresses; and try on and make over, that all things may be ready. For it is with such things as these that she arms her little boys and girls to meet the knight who is coming with north wind and storm.
Old Margaret, who lives in the little brown house down at the corner, although she cannot read a word from a book, reads the herald’s message as well as your mother can. But here are her five boys, barefooted and ragged, ever in summer clothes, and her husband lies back with a fever.
She can’t send back so brave an answer as your mother does. But your mother, and Cousin George’s mother, and Uncle James can help her to make a good, brave answer; for here is Frank’s last winter’s jacket, quite too small for him, just right for little Jim; and father’s old overcoat will make warm little ones for two of the other boys. And here are stout new shoes and woolen socks, and comfortable bedclothes for the sick man. Margaret sends a brave answer now, although this morning she was half ready to cry when she saw the message that Winter had sent.
Look about you, children, when the herald comes, and see what answers the people are giving him; I have told you a few. You can tell me many, if you will, before another year goes by.
JACK FROST
The door was shut as doors should be Before you went to bed last night; Yet Jack Frost has got in, you see, And left your windows silver white.
He must have waited till you slept, And not a single word he spoke, But penciled o’er the panes and crept Away before you woke.