“Is it?” replied Grandfather Snow coldly. “But I may stay here with you, Grandfather? I was so frightened alone in the black night. I was out walking with Uncle Wind, and—and he seemed to disappear, and then I lost my way.” “You may stay if you do not come too close. So Uncle Wind vanished, did he? Your Uncle Wind is a fickle, changeable, unreliable fellow, but he has a will of his own and will turn up in time. I am very dependent on Uncle Wind; I can do nothing but lie around, without him.” “He is very nice, isn’t he, Grandfather?” ventured Philippe. “Aye, sometimes,” replied the old man. “He was all gentleness this afternoon, but wait until you see him to-night! If I’m not mistaken in the signs, he will be in a fury. Then watch out for yourself, Young Impudence! When Uncle Wind is in a fury, he is a hard master and drives every one before him with a stinging lash. You’ll see!” Since Grandfather was in such a chilling mood, Philippe did not bother to talk with him, but sat at a little distance, thankful for companionship, and watched the winking of the stars, which, even as he watched them, sparkled and went out like sparks in the soot of a chimney, or as if a black curtain were being drawn across the black sky. After a long while, after the last star had vanished and the noiseless quiet of the night hemmed them in like an invisible wall, Grandfather Snow sprang to his feet and stood tensely listening with his hand to his ear. “What is it, Grandfather?” Philippe asked, alarmed. “Hush!... Hush!... Ah—now I hear it plainly!” Philippe put his hand to his ear as he had seen Grandfather do, and listened intently, holding his breath that he should not miss the tiniest sound. Nothing. Yes—a far away and tiny sound. It sounded to Philippe like the little gasping noises he had made when he was learning to whistle, before ever he had been able to attempt a tune, the noise of air breathed in and out through rounded lips. “_He is coming!_” Grandfather told him in a voice trembling with excitement. “And he is perfectly furious; seldom have I heard him whistle more beautifully. _Listen!_” Philippe no longer had to strain to hear the far-away whistling; it was growing nearer every second, and as it approached it became high and shrill. “Is that my Uncle Wind making all that noise, Grandfather?” “Aye!” said Grandfather shortly, crouching close to the ground in the position of a runner about to start a race.