The Babe on the Doorstep It was midnight in Tinkletown, many months after the events mentioned in the foregoing chapters, and a blizzard was raging.

The February wind rasped through the bare trees, shrieked around the corners of lightless houses and whipped its way through the scurrying snow with all the rage of a lion.

The snow, on account of the bitter cold in the air, did not fly in big flakes, but whizzed like tiny bullets, cutting the flesh of men and beasts like the sting of wasps.

It was a good night to be indoors over a roaring fire or in bed between extra blankets.

No one, unless commanded by emergency, had the temerity to be abroad that night.
The Crow family snoozed comfortably in spite of the calliope shrieks of the wind.