rth chilled the Dream. The winds whispered of the coming of the
Snow King, and the river grumbled as it listened. Big Ivan kept out
of the way of Poborino, the smith, and Yanansk, the baker. The Dream
was still with him, but autumn is a bad time for dreams.

Winter came, and the Dream weakened. It was only the earthenware pot
that kept it alive, the pot into which the industrious Anna put every
coin that could be spared. Often Big Ivan would stare at the pot as he
sat beside the stove. The pot was the umbilical cord which kept the
Dream alive.

"You are a good woman, Anna," Ivan would say again and again. "It was
you who thought of saving the rubles."

"But it was you who dreamed," she would answer. "Wait for the spring,
husband mine. Wait."

It was strange how the spring came to the Beresina that year. It
sprang upon the flanks of winter before the Ice King had given the
order to retreat into the fastnesses of the north. It swept up the
river escorted by a million little breezes, and housewives opened
their windows and peered out with surprise upon their faces. A
wonderful guest had come to them and found them unprepared.

Big Ivan of the Bridge was fixing a fence in the meadow on the
morning the Spring Maiden reached the village. For a little while
he was not aware of her arrival. His mind was upon his work, but
suddenly he discovered that he was hot, and he took off his overcoat.
He turned to hang the coat upon a bush, then he sniffed the air, and
a puzzled look came upon his face. He sniffed again, hurriedly,
hungrily. He drew in great breaths of it, and his eyes shone with
a strange light. It was wonderful air. It brought life to the Dream.
It rose up within him, ten times more lusty than on the day it was
born, and his limbs trembled as he drew in the hot, scented breezes
that breed the _Wanderlust_ and shorten the long trails of the world.

Ivan clutched his coat and ran to the little cottage. He burst through
the door, startling Anna, who was busy with her housework.

"The Spring!" he cried. "_The Spring!_"

He took her arm and dragged her to the door. Standing together they
sniffed the sweet breezes. In silence they listened to the song of
the river. The Beresina had changed from a whining, fretful tune into
a lilting, sweet song that would set the legs of lovers dancing. Anna
pointed to a green bud on a bush beside the door.

"It came this minute," she murmured.

"Yes," said Ivan. "The little fairi