Silent snow, secret snow

have said; nor perhaps would it even have occurred to him to ask. The thing was above all a secret, something to be

it only a sense of possession-it was also a sense of protection. It was as if, in some delightful way, his secret gave him a fortress, a wall behind which he could retreat into heavenly seclusion. This was almost the first thing he had noticed about it- -apart from the oddness of the thing itself-and it was this that now again, for the fiftieth time, occurred to him, as he sat in the little schoolroom. ft was the half hour for geography. M

rls beside the cheeks, and eyes that swam very brightly, like little minnow

ring a belt, or a sash. Or s

ot that-

swamps, where the birds and butterflies, and even the snakes, were like living jewels. As he listened to these things, he was already, with a pleasant sense of half-effort, putting his secret between himself and the words. Was it really an effort at all? Fo

ked up-or perhaps the moment itself. But was there, to be exact, an exact moment? Was one awake all at once? or was it gradual? Anyway, it was after he had stretched a lazy hand up towards the headrail, and yawned, and then relaxed again among his warm covers, all the more grateful on a December morning, that the thing had happened. Suddenly, for no reason, he had thought of the postman, he remembered the postman. Perhaps there was nothing

st wheat-growing areas in

t placed her left hand ac

y were softer, they had a new secrecy about them, they were muffled and indistinct; and while the rhythm of them was the same, it now said a new thing-it said peace, it said remoteness, it said cold, it said sleep. And he had understood the situation at once-nothing could have seemed simpler-there had been snow in the night, such as all winter he had been longing for; and it was this which had rendered the postman's first footsteps inaudible, and the later

-off voice or two, a bell ringing thinly and softly as if under a sheet of ice-had the same slightly abstracted quality, as if removed by one degree from actuality-as if everything in the world had been insulated by snow. But when at last, pleased, he opened his eyes, and turned them towards the window, to

lf and the world. If he had not dreamed such a thing-and how could he have dreamed it while awake?- how else could one explain it? In any case, the delusion had been so vivid as to affect h

reakfast table- "what has come over you

at very thing ha

h Pole and the Magnetic Pole. Deir-dre was holding up her flickering brow

ps more indistinct. Not only could he not hear the steps come round the corner, he could not even hear them at the first house. It was below the first house that he heard them; and then, a few days later, it was below the second house that he heard them; and a few days later again, below the third. Gradually, gradually, the snow was becoming heavier, the sound of its seething louder, the cobblestones more and more muffled. When he found, each morning, on going to the window, after the ritua

come over you? You don't seem to listen when people speak to you

ming to tea. The house was going to be house cleaned, or "turned out," on Wednesday instead of Friday. A new lamp was provided for his evening work-perhaps it was eyestrain which accounted for this new and so peculiar vagueness of his-Mother was looking at him with amusement as she said this, but with something else as well. A new lamp? Anew lamp. Yes Mother, No Mother, Yes Mother. School is going very well. The geometry is very easy. The history is v

he search for the Northwest Passage,

world which had been opened to him. Nor could there be the slightest doubt-not the slightest-that the new world was the profounder and more wonderful of the two. It was irresistible. It was miraculous. Its beauty was simply beyond anything - beyond speech as beyond thought-utterly incommunicable. But how then, between the two worlds, of which he was thus constantly aware, was he to keep a balance? One must get up, one must go to breakfast, one

per now, it was falling more swiftly and heavily, the sound of its seething was more distinct, more soothing, more persistent. And this morning, it had been- as nearly as he could figure-just above the seventh house-' perhaps only a step or two above: at most, he had heard two or three footsteps before the knock had sounded. . . . And with each such narrowing of the sphere, each nearer approach of the limit at which the postman was first audible, it was odd how sharply was increased the amount of illusion which had to be carried into the ordinary business of daily life. Each day, it was harder to get out of bed, to go to the window, to look out at the-as always-perfectly empty and snowless street. Each day

resting one hand on the brightly varnished desk, and deliberately stared through the snow towards the blackboard. It was an effort, but it was amusing to make it. "Yes," he said slowly, "it was what we now cal

er pain t

ather. Yes, that was all true enough. He wanted to be nice to them, to tell them eve

But what was it she had said? "Live in another world"? "Live so far away"? The word "far" had been in it, he was sure, and then Moth

ng curved parallels of falling snow. He saw Deirdre rise, and

lta of filth: the word ECZEMA appeared in large capitals, and below it was a letter from Mrs. Amelia D. Cravath, 2100 Pine Street, Fort Worth, Texas, to the effect that after being a sufferer for years she had been cured by Caley's Ointment. In the little delta, beside the fan-shaped and deeply runnelled continent of brown mud, were lost twigs, descended from their parent trees, dead matches, a rusty horse-chestnut burr, a small concentration of sparkling gravel on the lip of the sewer, a fragment of egg-shell, a streak of yellow sawdust which had been wet and now was dry and congealed, a brown pebble, and a broken feather. Further on was a cement sidewalk, ruled into geometrical parallelograms, with a brass inlay at one end commemo

ced on their ends, as if by Columbus, and mortared in the very act of balance: a source of perpetual wo

ttle green-painted chain att

iracles. Beyond the thoughts of trees, mere elms. Beyond the thoughts of sidewalks, mere stone, mere brick, mere cement. Beyond the thoughts even of his own shoes, which trod these sidewalks obediently, bearing a burden - far above - of elaborate mystery. He watched them. They were not very well polished; he

orried, but it was also desirable to be resolute. If they should decide-as appeared likely-to consult the doctor, Doctor Howells, and have Paul inspected, his heart listened to through a kind of dictaphone, his lungs, his stoma

rper importance; something which already teased at the corners of his eyes, teasing also at the corner of his mind. It was funny to think that he so wanted this, so awaited it-and yet found himself enjoying this momentary dalliance with the bird-house, as if for a quite deliberate postponement and enhancement of the approaching pleasure. He was aware of his delay, of his smiling and detached

with it-none had ever given him this extraordinary combination of ethereal loveliness with a something else, unnameable, which was just faintly and deliciously terrifying. What was this thing? As he thought of it, he looked upward toward his own bedroom window, which was open-and it was as if he looked straight into the room and saw himself lying half awake in his bed. There he was-at this very instant he was still pe

the more because of its emptiness it occurred to him to count the houses - a thing which, oddly enough, he hadn't before thought of doing. Of course, he had known there weren't many-many, that is, on his own side of

i

e mistaken-it was just above the seventh house, his own house, that the postman had first been audible this very morning. But in that case-in that case-did it mean that tomorrow he would hear nothing? The knock he had heard must have been the knock of their own door. Did it mean-and this was an idea which gave him a really extraordinary feeling of surprise-that he would neve

ocker should be muffled in the snow-froze

ecret snow, the knock creeping closer each day, and the footsteps nearer, the audible compass of the world thus daily narrowed, narrowed, narrowed, as the snow soothingly and beautifully encroached and deepened, after all this, was he to be defrauded of the one thing he had so wan

ould be better if he were still in bed, in that room; for in that case this must still be the first morning, and the

I

before the doctor, under the lamp, and submitt

you please

A

ase, if you do

y, and hold i

-h-h-

oo

it had anything to do with his

doctor's eyes, and stared towards the fireplace, past his mother's feet (in grey slippers) which projected fr

tainly nothing wr

as if merely to be polite, returned the look,

tell me,-do you

, quite a

ches? no

don't t

ank you, that will do splendidly-and now, Paul, if you'l

the book

. For thou, son of Cronus, our lord Poseidon, hast throned herein this pride, since in these roads first thou didst show forth the curb that cures the rage of steeds. And the shapely oar, apt to

tively, and lower

is certainly no superfi

as aware of the focused scrutiny of

examined-but I believe

e?" This was his

absent-mindedness-" This

octor, they both seemed

to ask you a question or two. You will answer them, won't you-y

h one finger-nail he was scratching the top button of his waistcoat. Beyond the doctor's shoulder was the fire, the finger

ow-is there anythin

ctor's eyes, at the fixed false smile, and then, beyond, once more at his mother's slippers, his father's slippers, the soft flutter of the fire. Even here, even amongst these hostile presences, and in this arranged light, he could see the snow, he could hear it-it was in the corners of the room, where the shadow was deepest, under the sofa, behind the half-opened door which led to the dining-room. It was gentler here, softer, its seethe the quietest of whispers, as if, in deference to a drawing-room, it had quite deliberately put on its "manners"; it kept itself out of sight, obliterated itself, but distinctly with an air of saying, "Ah, but just wait! Wait till we are alone together! Then I will begin to tell you something new! Something white! something cold! something sleep

and coldly then-the familiar

ember we're trying to help you-think

ese gross intelligences, these humdrum minds so bound to the usual, the ordinary? Impossible to tell them about it! Why, even now, even now, with the proof so abundant, so formidable, so imminent, so appallingly present here in this very room, could

ot worried-why

yes, looked from one of them to the other, from one

rew back in his chair, resting a fat white hand on

you perhaps don't quite realize-don't quite realize-" He took a deep quick breath, and turned, as if help

t you have not been quite yourself,

wed attempt at a smile, a queer disorgani

," he said, and again

help you." The doct

y? I'm all right. I'm ju

nt forward, resting a hand on

said. "But my de

e smiled again at what he saw, at what he heard. The little spiral was still there, still softly whirling, like the ghost of a white kitten chasing the gh

about nothing,-you

n-day-dr

o-thin

nking ab

yth

seemed to have upon her. Her mouth had opened in an expression of horror. . . . This was too bad! Unfortunate! He had known it would c

he snow,

her's voice. The brown slippers ca

o you mean!" This wa

or merel

s all. I like to

about it,

There's nothing to tell

no longer to face the doctor, and the better to see the inch of blackness between the window-sill and t

bed, now, please?

hought y

's all these questi

oon as the docto

" This was Father's voice. The brown slippers again came a step nearer

's the us

luck-click-cluck-click of the clock; far and faint, two sudden spurts of laughter from the kitchen, as quickly cut off as begun; a murmur of water in the pipes; and then, the silence seemed to deepen, to spread out, to become worldlong and worldwide, to become timeless and shapeless, and to center inevitably and rightly, with a

humming shook the windows. He shut the door and flung off his clothes in the dark. The bare black floor was like a little raft tossed in waves of snow, almost overwhelmed, washed unde

ou remember? Lie down. Shut your eyes, now-you will no longer see much -in this white dar

floor, then rose fountain-like to the ceiling, swayed, recruited itself from a new stream of flakes which poured laughing in

This thing rushed at him, clutched at him, shook him-and he was not merely horrified, he was filled with such a loathing as he had never known. What was this? this cruel di

ust enough to know the exorcising words. They

her! Go away

less hiss advanced once more, the long white wavering lines rose and fell like eno

s a very small story -a story that gets smaller and smaller-it comes inward instead of opening like a

a vast moving screen of snow-but even now it said p