Treasures of the Snow

by Patricia St John

  “She’ll be coming back with another,” said Papa, letting her out.

  “Then we had better leave the door open,” said Grandmother. They all sat shivering in an icy draft until Klaus reappeared in a great hurry and dropped a white kitten with tabby smudges in the same place, and streaked off back into the night.

  “Let’s hope that will be the last,” murmured Grandmother, thinking partly of the draft and partly of life in a small chalet with Dani and more than three kittens. But nobody else said anything at all because their eyes were fixed on the door. Dani’s Klaus could do exactly what she liked, and no questions asked.

  Back she came around the corner of the barn, but this time she walked slowly and grandly. Her work was done. She carried in her mouth a pure white kitten, exactly like herself, gathered all three between her front paws, laid herself across Dani’s chest, and started licking and purring for all she was worth.

  “Shut the door, Lucien,” said Grandmother with a little sigh of relief. “Pierre, you had better find a basket for all those cats. The child will suffocate!”

  Papa chuckled. “In the morning, Mother,” he replied. “Tonight they can stop where they are. Klaus knows where they’re welcome, and Dani won’t mind.”

  Very gently he moved Klaus’s right paw from Dani’s chin, then he went off to lock up the cowshed.

  Lucien got up to go. He went over to Grandmother and held out his hand.

  “I must go,” he said simply, “but thank you for letting me come in. I hope Annette’s foot will soon be better.”

  Grandmother, looking down into his face, held his hand for a moment in both of hers. “Yes, you must go,” she replied, “but you must come again. You will always be welcome.”

  Annette said nothing about waking Dani because Grandmother might have said no, but after all, a promise was a promise. She waited until Grandmother was washing up the chocolate cups and then she hopped to his side.

  “Dani,” she whispered, smoothing the damp hair back from his forehead. Dani sighed and flung his arms above his head but he did not wake.

  “Dani,” said Annette more loudly, and this time she pinched him. He opened his eyes, bright with sleep, and stared at her.

  “Look, Dani,” said Annette, “she’s come … and she’s brought you a present!”

  Dani stared at the jumble of fur in his arms, too half-asleep to be astonished, and not quite sure whether he was dreaming or not.

  “She’s found three rats,” he remarked.

  “No, no, Dani,” cried Annette. “Those aren’t rats. They are three dear little kittens. She had them in the barn and now she’s brought them to you. They’re yours, Dani—a present from Klaus.”

  Dani blinked at them. “I knew she’d come,” he murmured. “I asked God.”

  Annette knelt by the bed and gathered the whole bundle of Dani and Klaus and the kittens into her arms.

  “I asked the Lord Jesus to come in,” she whispered. “And He did. That’s two prayers answered in one night!”

  But Dani did not hear. He had fallen asleep again, with the tip of Klaus’s tail in his mouth.

  19

  Annette Wins a Battle

  Grandmother’s cold-water bandages were so successful that when Annette woke next morning the pain and swelling in her ankle were almost gone. It had snowed in the night, too, and the snow drifts were so deep that Papa had to dig a path to reach the cowshed, so it was not a day for going out.

  But Annette and Dani and Klaus and three kittens were just too much for Grandmother, and by afternoon she suggested they should all go over to play in the hay barn.

  Dani carried the kittens across in a basket, and Annette lay comfortably on her tummy in the hay with Grandmother’s big Bible propped up in front of her.

  She wanted to find the verse about Jesus knocking at the door, and she found it quite quickly, as the pastor had said it came in the last book of the Bible. It was Revelation, chapter 3 and verse 20:

  “See, I stand knocking at the door. If anyone hears my voice, and opens the door, I will come in and eat with them, and they with me.”

  Annette learned it so she could say it without looking, and wondered what the last bit meant about eating together. She must remember to ask Grandmother when she next got a proper chance. Then she lay and watched Dani with his kittens.

  She had opened the door to the Lord Jesus and He had come in and was living in her heart, and it had turned out just as Grandmother had said. The hard, angry thoughts had gone away like shadows before the light, and it had suddenly not seemed difficult to forgive Lucien. In fact, the Lord Jesus had shown her how selfish and unloving and untruthful she had been, and what she was really worrying about now was whether Lucien would forgive her.

  She had told him about the horse, and he had not seemed cross, but after all, he had lost his prize, and Annette knew now that there was still something more she could do about it, if she really wanted to.

  There were the Noah’s ark animals. If she took them to the schoolmaster and told him all about it he would see how beautifully Lucien could make things. He would probably give Lucien another prize even now, if he really knew what had happened.

  She was so afraid of what the master would think and what the other children would say that she decided not to do any more about it. But as soon as she decided that, she found she did not want to think about her new book anymore. It had stopped making her happy.

  Darkness came early, and the children went in to their evening meal. There was a lot of fuss at bedtime because Dani wanted the kittens to sleep in his bed, and Grandmother wanted them in the barn. In the end they both gave way a little and the kittens ended up sleeping under the bed. Grandmother felt quite tired and sank into her chair with a sigh. As Annette drew up her stool beside her, there was a knock at the door.

  Annette got up to open it and Lucien was standing in the doorway, twisting his hands together shyly. Annette felt shy, too, and they both stood there rather awkwardly waiting for each other to say something.

  Grandmother looked up, surprised at the silence. “Come in, Lucien,” she called. “We are glad to see you.”

  They sat down obediently and Lucien said he had come over to see how Annette’s foot was. Annette said, “Much better, thank you,” while staring at the floor. Grandmother looked at them both very hard over the top of her glasses.

  “Annette and Lucien,” said Grandmother suddenly, “you must stop this quarrel and behave like sensible children. Lucien, you did a terrible thing, but you did not really mean to do it, and you have suffered for it. It’s no good thinking about the past.

  Now you must be brave and start again. Annette, you must learn to forgive and be kind, and stop thinking that you are better than other people.”

  “I don’t,” said Annette, rather surprisingly. “I have forgiven him—out on the mountain last night. It wasn’t very difficult to forgive, because I did something nasty to him as well, and when I told him about it, he said he’d forgive me too, didn’t you, Lucien? So we’re as bad as each other.”

  “Yes,” replied Lucien simply. “But it wasn’t such an awful thing as I did. I can make another horse, but I can’t make Dani new legs. And anyhow, everyone says you’re good, and likes you, but nobody likes me.”

  “Perhaps,” replied Annette, “it’s because they all know what you did, and nobody knows what I did. This afternoon I was thinking I ought to tell the schoolmaster, but somehow I don’t think I should ever dare.”

  They were talking to each other, and Grandmother sat listening, but because it was Grandmother, they did not really mind. Now she spoke.

  “Annette,” she said suddenly, “how did you come to feel that you could forgive Lucien? Two nights ago you told me you never could.”

  “Well, Grandmother, I opened the door, like you said, and then it all happened just like you said. When I asked Jesus to come into my heart, somehow it didn’t seem so difficult.”

  “Yes,” said Grandmother, “I
knew it would be like that if you would only open the door. When Jesus with His great love comes into our hearts, there just isn’t room for unkindness and selfishness. There is something else He can get rid of, too. Fetch me my Bible, Annette.”

  Grandmother turned the pages slowly until she arrived at 1 John, chapter 4, verses 18 and 19. Annette read them aloud, slowly and clearly:

  “There is no fear in love; perfect love drives out all fear… . We love because God first loved us.”

  “That’s right,” said Grandmother. When Jesus brings His perfect love into our hearts, it drives out unkindness and selfishness, and it can also drive out fear. If He loves us perfectly—and He does—He will never let anything really bad hurt us, so there is nothing to be afraid of.”

  Annette and Lucien sat thinking for a moment, then they smiled at each other. Annette went to the cupboard and fetched her Christmas bear, broke it in half, and gave half to Lucien as a peace offering. They sat on their stools, Lucien munching happily, but Annette still thoughtful and worried. She knew more clearly than ever now what was right, but still she didn’t want to do it.

  Lucien didn’t stay very long, and when he was gone Annette got up to go to bed.

  “Annette,” said Grandmother, “remember that when Jesus comes in, you must do what He tells you, and not what you want any longer.”

  “Yes, Grandmother,” said Annette rather sadly. She went upstairs and knelt down by her bed to pray.

  “Lord Jesus,” she said, “I do want to do what You say. If I’ve really got to tell, please make me brave and stop me being afraid.”

  Annette got into bed with a lighter heart and soon fell asleep. In the morning she woke early, and as she lay sleepily in the darkness she saw a light creeping through a hole in the shutter. Jumping out of bed, she flung back the shutters and the light streamed in. It filled the little room that had been so dark with the sweet, cold freshness of early morning.

  “It’s like Grandmother said, thought Annette. Hating Lucien is like shadows, and being afraid of owning up is like shadows. But letting Jesus in is like opening the shutters.”

  Then, limping a little, she dressed and went to the kitchen, where Grandmother was stirring the coffee.

  “Grandmother,” she said firmly, “I want to go and see the schoolmaster this morning.”

  “What’s this all about?” said Papa, who was knocking the snow off his boots in the doorway. “If Annette wants to see the schoolmaster she can come down with me. I’m taking the cheeses down to the train in the mule cart. I’ll drop Annette at his house and pick her up on the way back from the station.”

  Annette’s face brightened. If she had had to wait, she might have started feeling terribly afraid again.

  Sitting beside Papa in the mule cart, with the cheeses bumping about behind her, and the Noah’s ark animals wrapped carefully in a hanky, she didn’t feel quite so happy. She couldn’t imagine what she would say to the schoolmaster! What if he was very, very angry with her? He might easily be.

  “What do you want to see the schoolmaster for?” asked Papa suddenly. “Are you tired of having no lessons to do?”

  Annette leaned her head against his coat. “No,” she replied shyly. “It’s just something I want to tell him. It’s a secret, Papa.”

  She slipped her hand into his as he held the reins. As he was a good, wise man, he just smiled and asked no more questions. He was a very busy man, working hard from early morning till late at night to make his little farm pay enough to keep his children. He did not often have time to talk to them seriously. He left that to Grandmother. But he usually knew what they were thinking by watching their faces and listening to their chatter. In the quiet of the cattle sheds and the forests as he worked for them, he thought about them and prayed for them. He knew that his little daughter had been miserable, and that something had happened and that she felt happy and peaceful, and he was glad.

  They jogged on in silence until the white house came in sight. “Down you get,” said Papa, “and I’ll be back for you in about half an hour.”

  The mule trotted on, and Annette, with her heart beating very fast, walked up the path, and stood for a long time without daring to knock. She might have stood there until it was time to go home again if the schoolmaster had not seen her out of the window and come and opened the door without her knocking.

  “Come in, come in,” he said kindly, taking her into the little room where they had so often sat and done lessons together. He loved his students, and in holiday time he missed them and liked them to call on him. Annette went straight to the table and undid her handkerchief and arranged the little Noah’s ark animals in a row.

  “Lucien made them,” she announced firmly. “Aren’t they good?”

  The master picked them up and examined them with interest. “They are beautifully done,” he replied. “They are really exceptional for a boy of his age. He will soon be able to earn his living. I had no idea he could carve like that. Why didn’t he enter the handwork competition?”

  “He did,” answered Annette, still very firmly. “That’s what I came to tell you about. He made a little horse, and I smashed it when he wasn’t looking because I was so angry about Dani. But I’m sorry now, and I wondered if he couldn’t have a prize after all—now that you know all about it.”

  The schoolmaster looked at her thoughtfully. Her cheeks were scarlet and her eyes fixed on the ground.

  “But I haven’t another prize,” said the school-master at last. “There were only two. One was given to Pierre and one to you.”

  “Then Lucien ought to have the one that was given to Pierre. It was for the best boy, and Lucien’s carving was much better than Pierre’s.”

  “Oh, no,” replied the schoolmaster, “we couldn’t do that. After all, Pierre won quite fairly. We couldn’t take his prize away. If you really want him to have a prize, you will have to give him yours. It was your fault that he lost, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes,” said Annette. And she sat in silence for three full minutes, thinking. Her prize was a beautiful book full of pictures of all the mountains in Switzerland. It lay in her drawer, wrapped in tissue paper, and was the most precious thing she had.

  Of course she could easily say no, and she knew the master would never force her to give it. But Grandmother had talked about perfect love. The Lord Jesus with his perfect love was living in her heart now, and He wouldn’t want her to keep anything back.

  “All right,” said Annette at last. “Good,” replied the schoolmaster, and there was a look of triumph in his eyes because in those three minutes he knew that Annette had won a very big battle. “You shall bring it to me when school begins, and I will present it to him in class, and the children shall see his carvings.”

  “Very well,” said Annette. She looked up shyly into his face to see if he thought her very, very wicked. But he only smiled down at her, and she went away knowing quite well that the old man loved her just as much as he did before.

  Back up the hill the empty mule cart bumped and jolted over the snow. Home again, Annette climbed the steps and stood on the veranda, and Dani came and stood beside her with his arms full of kittens. Behind her, Grandmother was cooking the dinner, and in front of her the sun had reached the valley.

  “This morning the valley was full of shadows,” thought Annette to herself, “and now it’s full of sunshine.” She knew it was like the Lord Jesus coming into her heart and filling her with love and light and courage.

  20

  Lucien Has an Idea

  Lucien climbed the hill with a light step, and Annette walked by his side. They had never walked home from school together before, but now it was different.

  It had been a very happy morning for Lucien. The schoolmaster, without explaining why, had suddenly said that he had seen such a good piece of wood carving over the holidays that he had decided to award another prize. To everyone’s astonishment Lucien had been called out to receive it. Annette had expected the schoolmaster to te
ll the whole story, so she almost fainted with relief when he said nothing about it. Then all the children gathered around to admire the little wooden animals, and freckle-faced Pierre had admired them louder than anyone else, remarking cheerfully that it was lucky for him they were turned in so late or he would never have won the prize. Everyone agreed.

  They all wanted to see Lucien’s book, and the girls cried out, “Why, it’s just the same as Annette’s book” – and Annette waited uncomfortably for him to say, “It is Annette’s book.”

  But Lucien only replied, “Is it really?” And when no one was looking, he winked at Annette.

  When they were well out of sight of the other children, he held it out to her.

  “It was nice getting a prize after all,” he said, “but I don’t want to keep it. Truly I don’t, Annette. It’s your book, and I should hate to take it away from you.”

  Annette shook her head. “No, you’ve got to keep it,” she said. “It’s your book now.”

  “Well,” said Lucien, “it really belongs to both of us, so I think we’d better share it. Suppose I have it this month and you have it next month, then me the month after that?”

  Annette brightened up. She really wanted her book very badly.

  “All right,” she replied. “On the first day of every month we’ll change.”

  “Let’s sit down on this woodpile and look at it together,” said Lucien. They brushed the snow away from the logs and sat down and turned the pages, for Lucien had never seen it before. He was keen on mountains and often studied guidebooks, and now he pointed out to Annette the different ways of climbing them.

  They sat there for a long time with the hot midday sun beating down on them and the powder-blue sky behind the white peaks. It was such fun looking at the pictures that they forgot about being late for dinner, until a little voice quite close to them said, “Annette, Granny said I should come and meet you. Dinner’s been ready a long time, and I’ve finished mine.”