The white sheet of snow was hiding the brilliant colours of the earth, and still more snow Was failing. It locked soft and dainty as I watched it settle on the trees and shrubs, and every flake seemed to have a magic touch about it. The tall wattle-tree in our backyard apparently did pot want the snow, for it was swaying and shaking its branches to shake off the flakes which fell on it, but the snow soon won its friendship and stayed on the leaves and boughs like a protective layer.
Children were hurrying out of their homes to play in the snow and within a few minutes they were busy making snowmen or having snow fights. Soon the whole scent began to look dirty and slushy as cars passed, people trudged over the snow, and children rolled it into balls.
After an hour or two most of what had been snow was slush, except where no people had walked or where no cars had been driven. Surrounding the town, however, were hills still covered in white and looking like great heaps of sugar.