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Each sang his own little song and fretted his whining prayer. Above all this rose the dull toot of the baker's horn, as he kept on shouting: "Hot bread! Hot bread!" High hung the moon and blinked the stars; and fine white shafts fell through the air, upon everything around, like silver pollen. "Maarten of the mountain!" whispered the children behind the window. "Maarten the Freezyman!"
They sat wrapped up in their game, bending over their little table, very quiet. Now and then came a half-oath and the thud of a fist on the table and then again peaceful shuffling and stacking and playing of their cards. The Freezyman sat in the midst of the children, who listened open-mouthed to his tale of The Mighty Hunter. His star stood in the corner.
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