Publisher's Synopsis
IT is a cold, wintry day. The Old Year is going to die to-night. All the winds have come to hisfuneral, and, while waiting, are sky-larking about the country. It is a very improper thing formourners to do. Here they are in the Black Forest, going on like a parcel of school-boys, waltzingwith leaves, singing in tree-tops, whooping, whistling, making all sorts of odd noises. If the Old Yearhears them, he must think he has a very queer sort of "procession."Max and Thekla are used to the winds, and not afraid of them. They are not afraid of the Foresteither, though the country people avoid it, and tell wonderful stories about things seen and heardthere. The hut in which they and their Grandfather live is in the heart of the wood. No other housestands within miles of them. In summer-time the wild lilies grow close to the door-step, and thefawns creep shyly out to drink at the spring near by; and sometimes, when the wind blows hard onwinter nights, strange barkings can be heard in the distance, and they know that the wolves are out.They do not tremble, though they are but children. Max is eleven, very stout and strong for his age, and able to chop and mark the wood for Grandfather, who for many years has been Woodman.Thekla, who is nine, keeps the house in order, cooks, mends clothes, and knits stockings like a littlehouse-fairy. All their lives they have lived here, and the lonely place is dear to them. The squirrels inthe wood are not more free and fearless than these children, and they are so busy and healthy thatthe days fly fast.This afternoon, in spite of the cold, they are out gathering wood, of which the Ranger allowsthem all they need to use. There is a pile at home already, almost as high as the cottage roof: butThekla is resolved that her fire shall always be bright when Max and the Grandfather come in fromout-doors, blue and cold; and she isn't satisfied yet. For hours they have been at work, and have tiedever so many fagots. The merry winds have been helping in the task, tearing boughs and twigs offoverhead, and throwing them down upon the path, so that the bundles have collected rapidly, andwise little Thekla says, "This has been a good day.""I'm getting tired, though," she goes on. "Let's rest awhile, and take a walk. We never came so faras this before, did we? I want to go up that pretty path, and see where it comes out. Don't you thinkwe have got wood enough, Max?"Yes, Max thought they had. So hand in hand the children went along the path. Every thing wasnew and strange. Into this part of the forest they had never wandered before. The trees were thick.Bushes grew below. Only the little foot-track broke the way. Thekla crept closer to her brother asthe walk grew wilder. A great forest is an awful sort of place; most of all in winter, when the birdsand squirrels are hushed and the trees can be heard talking to one another. Sweet, curious smellscome from you know not where. The wind roars, and the boughs creak back sharply as if the giantsand dwarfs were quarreling. All is strange and wonderful.