On a big settle by the fire sat an old man, whose twinkling eyes could
but just see through the shaggy and snowy brows which overhung them,
and whose white beard fell in a flowing mass upon his breast. What could
be seen of his face bore a kind expression.
"Ho, ho, old Bluster!" he cried, in a clear and merry voice, drawing up
and around him the sheepskin mantle which was beside him, "what new
freak is this of yours to enter our peaceful dwelling? Methought you
were so sworn to do the Storm King's bidding that no power other than
his rough sway could compel your presence. Come you on your own account
or on his? Be it either, you are free to partake of our bounty. Ho,
there, Merrythought! heave on more logs and heat the poker, that we may
thrust it fizzing into our tankards: 'tis always bitter cold when Boreas
is abroad."
The dwarf skipped quickly to his task, assisted by a dozen others, and
Boreas, unstrapping his bundle, drew little Flax-Flower, still sleeping,
from the furs.
"Mine is a strange errand, good Claus--so strange, that I hardly know
myself to be myself. Rough and stormy as I am ever, a child's misery has
made me once gentle. You know my mad career, my furious passions, and
that they indeed are the strength of the Storm King's realm. Too well I
knew that I should be but the sport of mocking derision if I appealed to
his mercy in behalf of this suffering child.
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