THE SCYTHE-BEARER 33 



chattered and cursed against brown sedges, and seemed 

 to pray for a coat of ice to shelter its bosom from this 

 tyrant. 



Beasts turned their backs upon him and huddled 

 together for warmth ; in cots and uplifted homesteads 

 the old folk grumbled and felt his steel claws through 

 stone walls, for the very fires beside which they 

 cowered flickered sulkily and failed of their proper 

 warmth. When the sun was gone, this wind panted 

 before he rested ; then he slept awhile and, returning 

 refreshed at dawn, scattered his curdled agonies on 

 all living things and went upon his way indifferent to 

 every frown. 



And because he is wholly unloved, it becomes one 

 to find the reason and learn whether the character 

 he bears is earned. What does he do, beyond the 

 passing scorch and bite of him, to anger all living 

 things ? He slays his thousands ; he is a murderer of 

 murderers ; his knife cuts off countless sleeping lives 

 that other lives may have the happier wakening. He 

 breaks up the clod and probes the dark chink and 

 cranny ; he searches each crevice in the wall and 

 thrusts icy fingers into every nook. He freezes to 

 death the chrysalides of the butterflies, and decimates 

 the hungry soft things that would tatter all our summer 

 green if allowed to live. For love of young Spring 

 he slays the slayers ; and aloft he meets hooded 

 plagues in air and sweeps away the poisons that kill 

 man. 



He is of the stuff that heroes are made. He stirred 



