the idle fellows at the inn. Indeed, he had to stand just twice
the number of treats in return for the compliments paid him as a man and
a Christian. It was noticed, also, that the Dominie took tea more
frequently at Hanz's table; and that Critchel, the little snuffy doctor,
who had practised in the settlement for a quarter of a century, and,
indeed, assisted in bringing at least one-half of its inhabitants into
the world, and of course was considered very safe in such cases, had
increased his visits at the house.

Now these honest old burghers had almanacs made with strict regard to
truth, and if they prognosticated a storm it was sure to come. They
would not consider it safe to navigate the Tappan Zee on a day fixed by
the almanac for a storm. On the 5th day of January, 1805, in the almanac
that never failed Hanz, there was this: "Look out for a snow storm."
This time, however, the snow, if not the storm, was ahead of the
almanac. Indeed, it had been falling slowly and gently for two days; and
a white sheet of it, at least three inches deep, covered the ground on
the morning of the 5th. The weather had changed during the night, and
now the air was sharp and cold. Dark, bleak clouds hung along the
horizon in the northeast, the distant hills stood out sharp and cold,
and a chilling wind whispered and sighed through the leafless trees.
Then the wind grew stronger and stronger, the snow fell thicker and
faster, making fantastic figures in the air, then dancing and scudding
to the force of the gale, and shutting the opposite shore from sight.
Nyack lay buried in a storm, and the Tappan Zee was in a tempest. Snow
drifted through the streets, up the lanes, over the houses, and put
night-caps on the mountain tops. Snow danced into rifts in the roads and
across fields, and sent the traveller to the inn for shelter. Lowing
cattle sought the barn-yard for shelter, or huddled together under the
lee of some hay-stack, covered with snow. Night came, and still the snow
fell, and the wind blew in all its fury.

It was on that cold, stormy night that a bright light might have been
seen burning in the little house where Hanz Toodleburg lived. The storm
had shook its frame from early morning; and now the windows rattled,
discordant sounds were heard on the veranda, wind sighed through the
crevices, and fine snow rifted in under the door and through the
latch-hole, and tossed itself into little drifts on the floor. Nyack was
buried in a