Adventure Magazine Cover, March 20, 1925 — page 65: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

The Snow Driver “That is ili said, younker, for it puts me in mind of the honest Yule log, aye, and the boar’s head, and a pudding with brandy afire. And here us be on Christmas eve, where the very angels would fear to raise a chant, and the good Christ-—” “He would not fear to venture here.” Thorne wrinkled his brows in thought. Peter regarded his companion In some surprize, for he had not noticed that Thorne was given to prayer or meditation. “Tis of Mistress Joan I am thinking,” went on the armiger. ‘Her spirit lags, and if we do not show her some care she will not endure in this life. Now, she is ever mindful of prayer and such-like. How if we hold the Yuletide as best we may?” “Aye, but how?” ‘“‘Why, we can cut us a proper tree and make shift to trim it. Then may we sing a round of carols.” Peter rubbed his chin, and eyed his friend sidewise. | “Fairly said, if we had e’en a nuggin of brandy or a sprig of hollywood. But carols—harumpf! Do you sing the words, Master Ralph, and I'll carry the melody, blast me else! A fine voice have I for mel- ody, but as for words—now that’s a craft of another rig.” NEVERTHELESS, he got his hatch- et from the sled and disappeared into the twilight, while Thorne aided Kyrger in preparing the steaks the Sam- oyed had brought up with the bear skin. By the time the meal was ready, and Joan seated on the sled, he returned, carry- ing a small fir which he set erect in the snow a little distance from the fire and proceeded, with an air of mysterious importance, to set icicles in the branches. . Then he placed the last of the biscuits in Kyrger’s solitary pewter dish and drew from his girdle a small leather flask. “T filled it at the Wardhouse,” he said defensively when he caught Thorne’s eye onhim. “Aye, ’twas cherished ’gainst sore need. Tis the last bilge of the brandy.” With that he took a splinter of wood from the fire and touched the pewter plate with flame. Blue fire sprang up about the bis- cuits, and Kyrger who had been watching with growing interest, hid his face in his arm. It was obvious to the Samoyed that these outlanders were making shaman magic, a 47 magic that involved the cutting of a pine tree and burning what appeared to be water on a common pewter plate. Peter raised the dish on high and his dumpy face split into a grin. “Fair greeting to ye Mistress Joan. My service to ye, lady, on this eve of evenings, this merry Yuletide.” “Ts it truly so?” ‘The dark eyes of the maiden grew somber. ‘“‘Nay, you have taken all our biscuits, and burnt up your brandy.” “No matter.” Peter waved a huge hand grandly. ‘I know where more is to be had. Aye, we will have no more troubles to ward. Now—” he laid the burning dish at her feet and cleared his throat—‘‘a bit of chantry, to ease this down the ways: ‘The boar’s head in hand bring I, With garlands gay and rosemary; I pray you all sing merrily—— “To be sure,” he broke off apologetically, ‘““we do lack summat of a boar’s head, and garlands. We must e’en make shift without the rosemary, but Master Ralph and I will pipe up a song, having, as it were, a pretty face—a fair, sweet face, I say—whereby to lay our course.” He puffed out his cheeks and made his bow, and Thorne, who had been no little surprized at his high spirits and hearty man- ner, saw that the girl had smiled. So he went to stand by the fire and lifted his fine voice against the leaden silence of the night. “Forth they went and glad they were; Going, they did sing, With mirth and solace they made good cheer, For joy of that new tiding.” His voice, which had been hoarse, now rang out clearly: ‘‘Neither in halls, nor yet in bowers, Born would He not be, Neither in castles, nor yet in towers That seemly were to see; But at His Father’s will, Betwixt an ox and an ass, Jesu this king born He was; Heaven he bring us till!” Peter nodded approval beating time with a finger as if he was a criterion of good music. His rasping roar joined in the chorus, while he kept an eye on the maiden: “Forth they went and glad they were; Going, they did smg— Noél!” GOMmiGooo ©