And listen, good old
Friend, to the wind outside--almost a Christmas wind, is
it not? Merry and boisterous enough, for all the evil
times it stirs among."
Old Christmas seated himself beside the fire, his hands
outstretched towards the flames. Something of his old-time
cheeriness seemed to flicker across his features as he
warmed himself at the blaze.
"That's better," he murmured. "I was cold, sir, cold,
chilled to the bone. Of old I never felt it so; no matter
what the wind, the world seemed warm about me. Why is it
not so now?"
"You see," said Time, speaking low in a whisper for my
ear alone, "how sunk and broken he is? Will you not help?"
"Gladly," I answered, "if I can."
"All can," said Father Time, "every one of us."
Meantime Christmas had turned towards me a questioning
eye, in which, however, there seemed to revive some little
gleam of merriment.
"Have you, perhaps," he asked half timidly, "schnapps?"
"Schnapps?" I repeated.
"Ay, schnapps. A glass of it to drink your health might
warm my heart again, I think."
"Ah," I said, "something to drink?"
"His one failing," whispered Time, "if it is one. Forgive
it him. He was used to it for centuries.
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