A January Frost 



A fortnight's frost, however, with no signs of 

 it abating, make a man inclined a little to 

 selfishness in his regrets, and it must be ad- 

 mitted that a long frost is terribly monotonous 

 to a hunting man; the probability is that he 

 does not do much else in winter. He may 

 shoot a few days, but a hunting man is seldom 

 a keen shot, and besides, the best of the 

 shooting is over in January. He may skate, 

 and he must take long walks, but his steps 

 ever gravitate to the stable, where he hears 

 the crunch, crunch of his horses' teeth as they 

 eat the oats of idleness. 



Then all at once as he goes across the yard 

 one night he feels the snow a little softer under 

 foot, and he finds that the wind has chopped 

 round to the south-west; a thaw is at hand 

 evidently. Is it? All the next day it thaws. 

 A gloomy sky is overhead, and there are little 

 pools of water on the top of the snow, which is 

 visibly wasting. Then comes a little sighing of 

 the wind, and a splutter of rain every now and 

 again, and the hunting man, hearing that the 

 ice is in bad condition and seeing these signs, 



105 



