He was a strong, big fellow, dressed in summer clothes and a Panama hat. He had very little luggage with him, for it gave one such a lot of trouble in the hot weather. He had only a bathing cap and drawers with him, which was not much.
Then came old mother August in a big crinoline. She was a wholesale dealer in fruit, the owner of many fish-ponds and a farm. She was fat, and looked very warm; she took part in all kinds of work, and went herself with the beer-keg to the people in the fields. "In the sweat of your brow you shall eat your bread," she said. "That's in the Bible. Afterward we can give a dance in the wood and a harvest festival."
Now a man came out of the coach. He was a painter by profession, — a master of colors, — which the woods soon got to know. The leaves soon had to change color, but he could do it so beautifully when he liked. The woods would soon begin to glow in red, yellow, and brown. The master whistled like the black starling, was a diligent worker, and hung the brownish, greenish hop-vine around his beer-jug; it looked ornamental, and he had an eye for the decorative. Here he now stood with his pot of colors, which was all the luggage he had.
Now came the squire who was thinking of October, of plowing and tilling his fields, and also a little of the pleasures of the chase. He had a dog and a gun with him, and nuts in his bag — crick, crack! He had an awful lot of luggage, amongst which was an English plow. He talked about agricultural affairs, but one could not hear very much for all the coughing and hawking that was going on. It was November that was coming.
He had a cold in his head, — a terrible cold, — so that he had to use sheets instead of handkerchiefs; and yet he had to accompany the servant girls to their situations, he said. But the cold would soon get better when he began cutting firewood; and this he was anxious to do, for he was the master of the guild of sawyers. He spent his evenings in cutting out skates. He knew that before many weeks were over this pleasure-giving foot-gear would be in great demand.
Now came the last passenger, good old mother December, with her warming-pan. She felt very cold, but her eyes beamed like two bright stars. She carried a flower-pot with a small fir-tree. "I will look after it and tend it, so that it will be a big tree by Christmas Eve, and reach right from the floor up to the ceiling. It will be decorated with lighted candles, gilt apples, and garlands of colored paper. The warming-pan warmed like a stove. I take the fairy-tale book out of my pocket and read aloud, so that all the children in the room become quiet; but the dolls on the tree become alive, and the little wax angel at the top of the tree shakes her gold tinsel wings, and flies from the green top to kiss young and old in the room, even the poor children who are standing outside singing Christmas carols about the Star of Bethlehem."
