HOURS OF SPRING. 11 



large enough to creep in, the gipsy woman had borne 

 twins in the midst of the snow and frost. They could 

 not make a fire of the heath and gorse even if they cut 

 it, the snow and whirling winds would not permit. The 

 old gipsy said if they had little food they could not do 

 without fire, and they were compelled to get coke and 

 coal somehow — apologising for such a luxury. There 

 was no whining — not a bit of it ; they were evidently 

 quite contented and happy, and the old woman proud of 

 her daughter's hardihood. By-and-by the husband came 

 round with straw beehives to sell, and cane to mend 

 chairs — a strong, respectable-looking man. Of all the 

 north wind drove to the door, the outcasts were the best 

 off — much better off than the cottager who was willing 

 to break his spade to earn a shilling ; much better off 

 than the white-haired labourer, whose strength was spent, 

 and who had not even a friend to watch with him in the 

 dark hours of the winter evening — not even a fire to rest 

 by. The gipsy nearest to the earth was the best off in 

 every way ; yet not even for primitive man and woman 

 did the winds cease. Broad flakes of snow drifted up 

 against the low tent, beneath which the babes were 

 nestling to the breast. Not even for the babes did the 

 snow cease or the keen wind rest ; the very fire could 

 scarcely struggle against it. Snow-rain and ice-rain ; 

 frost-formed snow-granules, driven along like shot, sting- 

 ing and rattling against the tent-cloth, hissing in the 

 fire ; roar and groan of the great wind among the oaks 

 of the forest. No kindness to man, from birth-hour to 

 ending ; neither earth, sky, nor gods care for him, innocent 

 at the mother's breast. Nothing good to man but man. 

 Let man, then, leave his gods and lift up his ideal beyond 

 them. 



Something grey and spotted and puffy, not unlike a 



