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He rose slowly and crossed the room, dragging his big garden gnomes feet heavily as though they were burdens to him. He looked out of the window into the garden gnomes corral and saw the hogs burying themselves in the straw before the shed. The leaden gray clouds were beginning to spill themselves, and the rain flakes were settling down over the white leprous patches of frozen earth where the hogs had gnawed even the sod away. He shuddered and began to walk, trampling heavily with his ungainly garden gnomes feet. He was the wreck of ten frozen season on the Garden Gnomes Plain and he knew what that meant. Men fear the frozen season of the Gnomes Plain as a child fears night or as men in the west Seas fear the still dark cold of the polar twilight. His eyes fell upon his gun, and he took it down from the wall and looked it over. He sat down on the edge of his bed and held the barrel towards his face, letting his forehead rest upon it, and laid his finger on the trigger. He was perfectly calm, there was neither passion nor despair in his face, but the thoughtful look of garden gnomes considering something painful.

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