Heh. Well, I remember that there was this old maid back home, loved telling stories. Whenever we were lucky enough to have snow, people took their kids and she told everyone a story of Jack Frost. Of course, she told her own variation; like I said, it differs between people.
[He smiled at the memory of his mother retelling Jim what she had overheard; he himself had never been lucky enough to visit the woman.]
The tale always went on about Jack being a kid, about eleven or twelve years old who was carefree, bringing winter and cold to the places he went through. He'd play with the people there, and all would be well. Sometimes she'd say the weather was light snow, sometimes it'd be a storm. That's only a basic version, though; guess my memories fuzzy.
[Chuckling to himself, he added:] But I remember that kids always loved the story. Every time the maid finished the story and their parents bundled them up, they'd go out to play in the snow.
no subject
[He smiled at the memory of his mother retelling Jim what she had overheard; he himself had never been lucky enough to visit the woman.]
The tale always went on about Jack being a kid, about eleven or twelve years old who was carefree, bringing winter and cold to the places he went through. He'd play with the people there, and all would be well. Sometimes she'd say the weather was light snow, sometimes it'd be a storm. That's only a basic version, though; guess my memories fuzzy.
[Chuckling to himself, he added:] But I remember that kids always loved the story. Every time the maid finished the story and their parents bundled them up, they'd go out to play in the snow.