Treasures of the Snow by Patricia St John Page A

of her own chalet, and as she turned the corner, Dani saw her and gave a loud welcoming shout. Something very, very exciting had happened, and if he had been able to he would have raced to meet her. But, being on crutches, he hobbled up the hill as fast as he possibly could.
    “’Nette, ’Nette,” shouted Dani, his eyes shining, “I think there’s been some fairies in the woodpile. I made a little house down by the logs and I found a tiny little elephant with a long trunk, and then I looked again and I found a camel with a hump, and a rabbit with long ears, and cows and goats and tigers and a giraffe with ever such a long neck. Oh, ’Nette, come and look at them. They are so beautiful, and no one but the fairies could have put them down beside the woodpile, could they?”
    “I don’t know,” answered Annette, and her voice sounded quite cross. Dani looked up at her in astonishment. She didn’t seem at all pleased about his news, and it was almost the most wonderful thing that had happened to him since he had found Klaus in his slipper on Christmas morning.
    However, when she saw them she was sure to be pleased. She didn’t yet know how beautiful they were. He hopped bravely along, rather out of breath because Annette was walking faster than she usually did when he was beside her.
    He dragged her to the woodpile and dived behind it, reappearing with the procession of carved animals arranged on a flat log. He looked anxiously at her, but to his great disappointment there was no sign of surprise or pleasure in her face.
    “I expect some other child dropped them, Dani,” she said crossly, “and anyhow it’s nothing to make such a fuss about. They are not all that wonderful. And you’re too big to believe in fairies.”
    She turned away and went up the steps, hating herself. She had been unkind to Dani and spoiled all his happiness. How could she have spoken to him like that? What had happened to her?
    But deep down inside she knew quite well what had happened to her. She had done a mean, deceitful thing, and her heart was heavy and dark at the thought of it. All the light and joy seemed to have gone out of life.
    And now she could never get rid of it or undo it. She ran upstairs to her bedroom and, flinging herself on the bed, she burst into tears.

13
The Old Man’s Story

    L ucien ran home from the fields with a light heart that evening. He had worked hard, and his body was tired, but his little horse was waiting for him. Tomorrow he would carry it to school and everyone would know that he could carve.
    Up the steps he bounded, and then stopped dead. His horse was gone. Only the tools and the wood chips lay on the table.
    Perhaps his mother, who had come home earlier, had taken it in. He hurled himself into the house.
    “Mother! Mother,” he cried, “where have you put my little horse?”
    His mother looked up from the soup pot. “I haven’t seen it,” she replied. “You must have put it somewhere yourself.”
    Lucien began to get seriously alarmed. “I haven’t,” he answered. “I left it on the table, I know I did. Oh, Mother, where can it be? Do help me find it!”
    His mother followed him at once. She was just as keen on Lucien winning the prize as he was himself, and together they hunted high and low. Then Madame Morel had an idea.
    “Perhaps it has fallen over the railing, Lucien,” she said,.“Go and search for it down below.”
    So Lucien went down and searched. He did not need to search for long. He found it all too quickly— the muddy, scattered splinters of wood that had once been his horse.
    He gathered them up in his hand and took them to his mother. Her cry of disappointment brought Marie running out, and both of them stood gazing in dismay.
    “It must have been the cat,” said Marie at last. “I am sorry, Lucien. Haven’t you anything else you could take?”
    His mother said nothing except “Oh, Lucien!” But the voice in which she said it meant quite a lot.
    Lucien said