Explore "Willi" by Carmen Sylva on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Mother Patience was once again sitting by her window writing. She had often been called that day, and had much to confide to her mighty folios, much too that was good and pleasant; that is why an air of cheerful calm rested on her features. The whole room was filled with the scent of lovely flowers, and on the hearth there burnt a bright fire that threw magic lights and shades upon the industrious scribe. Without it was blowing cold, and like sharp needlepoints the frozen snow flew against the window panes. A light covering of ice lay over the lake, firm enough to hold the ravens. The distant road resounded hard and dry under the quick steps of shivering wanderers, the wind sang melancholy tunes round the lonely little house, as though he would recount to Mother Patience all the misery of the earth. He shook and tussled at the ivy that tenderly inwrapt the house.
Suddenly she stopped to listen; a light, well-known footstep had passed her window, and the next moment Sorrow knelt at her feet, breathless, trembling like a hunted deer.