It was winter in our orchard of old delights then , -- so truly winter that it was hard to believe summer had ever dwelt in it , or that spring would ever return to it . There were no birds to sing the music of the moon ; and the path where the apple blossoms had fallen were heaped with less fragrant drifts . But it was a place of wonder on a moonlight night , when the snowy arcades shone like avenues of ivory and crystal , and the bare trees cast fairy-like traceries upon them . Over Uncle Stephen 's Walk , where the snow had fallen smoothly , a spell of white magic had been woven . Taintless and wonderful it seemed , like a street of pearl in the new Jerusalem . On New Year 's Eve we were all together in Uncle Alec 's kitchen , which was tacitly given over to our revels during the winter evenings . The Story Girl and Peter were there , of course , and Sara Ray 's mother had allowed her to come up on condition that she should be home by eight sharp . Cecily was glad to see her , but the boys never hailed her arrival with over-much delight , because , since the dark began to come down early , Aunt Janet always made one of us walk down home with her . We hated this , because Sara Ray was always so maddeningly self-conscious of having an escort . We knew perfectly well that next day in school she would tell her chums as a `` dead '' secret that `` So-and-So King saw her home '' from the hill farm the night before . Now , seeing a young lady home from choice , and being sent home with her by your aunt or mother are two entirely different things , and we thought Sara Ray ought to have sense enough to know it . Outside there was a vivid rose of sunset behind the cold hills of fir , and the long reaches of snowy fields glowed fairily pink in the western light . The drifts along the edges of the meadows and down the lane looked as if a series of breaking waves had , by the lifting of a magician 's wand , been suddenly transformed into marble , even to their toppling curls of foam . Slowly the splendour died , giving place to the mystic beauty of a winter twilight when the moon is rising . The hollow sky was a cup of blue . The stars came out over the white glens and the earth was covered with a kingly carpet for the feet of the young year to press . `` I 'm so glad the snow came , '' said the Story Girl . `` If it had n't the New Year would have seemed just as dingy and worn out as the old . There 's something very solemn about the idea of a New Year , is n't there ? Just think of three hundred and sixty-five whole days , with not a thing happened in them yet . ''
`` I do n't suppose anything very wonderful will happen XXXXX them , '' said Felix pessimistically .
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