Moominland Midwinter by Tove Jansson Page A

and new, hostile perspectives.
    'Won't do to lose your pluck,' the Hemulen kindly remarked. 'Next time does it!'

    But there was no next time, because Moomintroll lost his pluck. Yes, he really did it, and many times much later he had a dream about how he'd felt that third, triumphant time. He'd have swerved up to the bridge in a sweeping curve, and then stopped and turned round towards the others with a smile. And they'd have shouted in admiration. But now things didn't go that way at all.
    Instead Moomintroll said: 'I'm going home. Ski all you care to, but I'm going home.'

    And without looking at anybody he crawled into the snow-tunnel and into his warm drawing-room, and farthest into his nest under the rocking chair.
    He could hear the Hemulen's whoops from the hill. Moomintroll put his head inside the stove and whispered: 'I don't like him either.'
    The ancestor threw down a flake of soot, perhaps to show his sympathy. Moomintroll took a piece of coal and began peacefully to draw on the back of the sofa. He drew a Hemulen standing on his head in a snowdrift. And inside the stove stood a large jar of strawberry jam.
    *
    During the following week Too-ticky sat doggedly under the ice with her fishing-rod. Beside her under the green ceiling sat a row of guests, also angling. Those were the guests that disliked the Hemulen. Inside the Moomin-house, by and by, gathered all who didn't care to, weren't able to or didn't dare to remonstrate.
    Early in the mornings the Hemulen used to put in his head, and a burning torch, at the broken window. He liked torches and camp-fires - and who doesn't? - but he always put them in the wrong place, as it were.
    The guests loved their long, somewhat slovenly forenoons, when the new day was allowed to break later, while everybody discussed the dreams of the night and listened to Moomintroll making coffee in the kitchen.
    The Hemulen interrupted all that. He always began by telling them that the drawing-room was stuffy, and described the fresh cold weather outside.

    Then he chatted about what could be done this fine new day. He did his utmost to find some amusements for them all, and he was never hurt when they refused his proposals. He only patted them on the back and said: 'Well, well. You'll see for yourself by and by how right I am.'
    The only one who followed him everywhere was Little My. He generously taught her everything he knew about skiing, beaming over her progress.
    'Little Miss My,' said the Hemulen. 'You're born on skis. You'll beat me at my own game soon.'
    'That's exactly what I figure to do,' replied Little My sincerely. But as soon as she was fully trained, she disappeared to her own hills that nobody knew about, and didn't care much for the Hemulen any more.
    As time passed, more and more of the guests became anglers under the ice, and finally the Hemulen's black-and-yellow sweater was the only blob of colour left on the hillside.
    The guests didn't like to be involved in new and troublesome things. They liked to sit together talking about old times, before the Lady of the Cold came and they ran out of food. They told each other how they had furnished their homes, and whom they were related to and used to visit, and how terrible the coming of the Great Cold had been, when everything changed.
    They shifted closer to the stove, listening to each other and patiently waiting for their own turn to speak.
    Moomintroll saw that the Hemulen was left more and more to himself. 'I must get him to leave before he notices it and feels hurt,' Moomintroll thought. 'And before he finishes all the jam.'
    But it wasn't easy to find a pretext that would be both believable and tactful.
    Sometimes the Hemulen went skiing down to the shore and tried to coax Sorry-oo from the bathing-house. But neither dog-sledge nor even ski-jumping could interest Sorry-oo. He used to sit out all the nights, howling at the moon, and in daytime he was sleepy and wanted to be left alone.
    Finally one day the Hemulen