This roof is as clear as it is
in summer. These pine trees, whose boughs hang over the roof, are all
green. The chimney has not even an icicle on it. I hear people saying
that we have no old-fashioned winters any more. Even old Mother Cary
said to me the other day, "Jack Frost," said she, "when are you going
to give them a real snow-storm?" But I told her not to be impatient:
I would attend to it all in good time. And when I do begin, it doesn't
take me long to get up a fine old storm, I can tell you. _Now he walks
up to the Chimney, and knocks on the side of it_. Say, old fellow.
_He waits a moment; then knocks again_. Wake up there. _He waits
a moment; then knocks again_. Wake up, I say.
_And now--would you believe it?--the Chimney opens, first, one of his
eyes, then the other; and then his mouth and nose appear together. Each
of his eyes is exactly the shape and size of one brick. So is his nose.
And his mouth is as long as two bricks side by side. They all turn a
very bright red, when they appear, as though light were shining through
them._
JACK FROST _goes on talking_: What do you mean, Mr. Chimney, by
going to sleep in winter, I'd like to know? Summer is the time for you
chimneys to go to sleep; but in winter when the people in the houses
have their fires burning, you ought to keep wide awake, so as to carry
off the smoke; don't you know that? Sleepy head! You ought to be ashamed
of yourself.
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