350 OLD PLYMOUTH TRAILS 



He may glimpse his white steed whirling by and 

 see plainly in the upflaring light of his fire the 

 army of white souls that scurries behind the 

 winter-god as he rides on his way. Black eagles 

 fly with him and the wolves of the air gallop on 

 before. The world-ash was a gigantic evergreen 

 in whose branches were the abodes of giants and 

 dwarfs as well as men and gods. Screened by 

 night within the forest this tree may well be near 

 with the springs of being and non-being within 

 its roots and the Nornen sitting by, silent and 

 grave. He may catch the gleam of the eyes of 

 Loki as the firelight glints on the frost crystals 

 among the snow-laden branches. Thus easily 

 does a thousand years of civilization slip f rorfi us 

 when face to face with night and the forest. 



Yet if night and the winter ghosts of old ride 

 just beyond the circle of his firelight, within it he 

 is in the magic ring of comfort and safety. 

 Around the Yule logs of centuries the race has 

 warmed its heart as well as its hands, its soul 

 as well as its body, and the old gods of terror 

 have become the saints of good will. Out of the 

 winter night Wotan steps into the light of the 

 Yule fire, transformed into St. Nicholas, the very 

 spirit of genial generosity. If we will go from 



