“And you have not done so badly. It will be some days before we are in shape for another run like that. Well, good-by! I think I shall do my famous vanishing act again. How about you, Grandfather?” “Not quite yet. I shall linger on a bit. There are a few touches, a few light touches I neglected in my hurry last night that I would like to attend to this morning. You see,” he explained to Philippe when Uncle Wind had vanished, “I am quite an artist. Some people think I am very little use and only good for lying around. Not at all! I make excellent snowballs, for one thing, and Uncle Wind is not the only member of our family who has knocked a hat off! But of course I would never tell you of such a thing if I did not know that you were too much of a gentleman to use me for such a purpose. No, no, my child, I work as hard for the things that grow, in my own way, as Grandmother Rain does in hers, but chiefly I delight to make things beautiful. See that naked gray tree? How bare and cold it looks! It needs a few high lights that I could not stop to give it last night—” whereupon Grandfather Snow touched each branch and twig with a powdering from his white beard, and the twig and branch of every tree around, until the whole world above the level of the ground was a tracery of gleaming, fairy lace. “Not bad, Philippe, not a bit bad! Can you see anything else that needs touching up? Speak out before it is too late, for my supply is nearly exhausted.” [Illustration] “Please, Grandfather, it is beautiful, but I am cold and tired, and I would like to go where it is warm.” “Of course you would, my child. Look! Below us in the valley it is green, and even from here one can see that there are flowers. Run on down——” “I don’t want to run; I’m tired of running!” “Well, well,” laughed Grandfather, “walk then, if you wish. After a while, when the warm sun comes to view my handiwork, I, too, will slip down into the valley, but I shall not stop there. No, I have a long way to travel before I join Grandmother Rain once more.” Philippe turned slowly away, touched by the purity and peace that surrounded him. “Good-by.... Good-by ...” said Grandfather Snow gently, very, very gently! As Philippe reached the green valley below, the sun broke through a thin veil of silver clouds. It had risen brilliant and white from its all night dip into the distant ocean, and its cheering warmth was gratefully received by the tired adventurer. A fragrance, mingled of evergreens and flowers, herbs and damp earth, filled the motionless air, and from the end of the grass-grown lane, along which he walked lazily, there was an amazing confusion of sounds, as if thousands of birds were singing at one time. The lane led him to a gate, and on the gate was a sign which said: PHILIPPE’S GARDEN “I must have been away a long time for my garden to have grown so big,” Philippe told himself.