I-IX

The first snowfall came early in December.
I remember how the world looked from our
sitting-room window as I dressed behind the
stove that morning: the low sky was like a
sheet of metal; the blond cornfields had faded
out into ghostliness at last; the little pond was
frozen under its stiff willow bushes. Big white
flakes were whirling over everything and dis-
appearing in the red grass.

Beyond the pond, on the slope that climbed
to the cornfield, there was, faintly marked in
the grass, a great circle where the Indians used
to ride. Jake and Otto were sure that when
they galloped round that ring the Indians tor-
tured prisoners, bound to a stake in the cen-
ter; but grandfather thought they merely ran
races or trained horses there. Whenever one
looked at this slope against the setting sun,
the circle showed like a pattern in the grass;
and this morning, when the first light spray of
snow lay over it, it came out with wonderful
distinctness, like strokes of Chinese white on
canvas. The old figure stirred me as it had

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