Chapter One The Big Snow W hen the storm came, it hit the hills like a hammer. No sky should hold as much snow as this, and because no sky could, the snow fell, fell in a wall of white. There was a small hill of snow where there had been, a few hours ago, a little cluster of thorn trees on an ancient mound. This time last year there had been a few early primroses; now there was just snow. Part of the snow moved. A piece about the size of an apple rose up, with smoke pouring out around it. A hand no larger than a rabbit's paw waved the smoke away. A very small but very angry blue face, with the lump of snow still balanced on top of it, looked out at the sudden white wilderness. "Ach, crivens!" it grumbled. "Will ye no' look at this? 'Tis the work o' the Wintersmith! Noo there's a scunner that willna tak' 'no' fra' an answer!" Other lumps of snow were pushed up. More heads peered out. "Oh waily, waily, waily!" said one of them. "He's found the big wee hag again!" The first head turned toward this head, and said, "Daft Wullie?" "Yes, Rob?" "Did I no' tell ye to lay off that waily business?" "Aye, Rob, ye did that," said the head addressed as Daft Wullie. "So why did ye just do it?"