GRANDFATHER WINTER

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 675, 29 May 1929, Page 16

GRANDFATHER WINTER

GRANDFATHER WINTER called at the Wigwam this morning —a cheerless guest. Ilis breath was as chilly as the wind that whistles through keyholes, and his beard sparkled with rime. He had spent the night on a far mountain top and had only just begun to thaw. “Rain, hail or thunder?” he queried. “1 have plenty of these to spare.” “Nothing today, thank you,” answered the Children of Redfeather, “unless, of course, you have some fine days that you care to dispose of.” “Fine days in winter? What are you thinking of? And what will you give me in exchange for such blessings?” Freedom to warm your hands at the Wigwam fire and to hearken to our tales of good hunting.” “And what is this Wigwam fire that I hear so much about? Who tends it, and why does it burn in all weathers?” “Because it is the fire of friendship, Grandfather Winter. We tend it. Every new friendship sealed makes its flame leap higher/'* “Ah. . . . And how many fine days do you desire, my children ?” REDFEATHER.