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planted before my dwelling, till the first storm has 

 come and the next morning's sun has risen bright and 

 cold. Then I know. Then their long lateral branches, 

 upcurved at the ends, bear great loads of white, in 

 cones and caps and pyramids, and the green pendants 

 of foliage below are like the beards of strange old 

 men, those unseen gnomes, perhaps, who so perplexed 

 Peer Gynt and the critics ! Then a great white birch 

 among them is oddly whiter still the only thing which 

 can look white against new snow, except the feet of 

 Nicolette. Then the spire of a hemlock beyond is like 

 a frosted Christmas card, and farther still, beyond the 

 white obscurity of the hedge, the world simply vanishes 

 into snow and sky, the background of a Japanese print, 

 which is to say, pure suggestion, the blank paper. How 

 curiously shut-in we feel on such a morning, in our little 

 red house among the evergreens ! We feel as shut-in, as 

 deliciously private, as when the mid-winter storm is 

 besieging us, and the fire roars, and we gaze through 

 the windows into a white darkness. But, though we 

 are thus shut in, we can hear from our porch the shouts 

 of our neighbour's children, the shrill screams of little 

 girls going by to school, pursued by wicked little boys 

 with snowballs, and yes! there they are! we can hear 

 the jingle of sleighbells. No work can be done this 

 morning! Down from the attic come the snowshoes, 

 the thongs are tested, moccasins are oiled, and we 

 are off for the deep woods. 



