Early one winter a boy arose and looked out of his window. There was snow on the ground, deep and powdery. The trees, the street and the houses in the the distance, the whole countryside were covered with a white blanket of snow.
On the ground were signs that earlier rises had been out. The boy could read the story in the lines on the snow. Rabbit tracks had made a path that curved beyond the bare lilac bushes. Narrow ruts showed where a milk truck had crosses from one side of the street to the other.
Dressing quickly, the boy ran outside. Suddenly a dog barked, and a rabbit dashed across the yard to hide in the bushes. The dog and the rabbit made new prints in the snow.
As the boy walked across the snowy yard, he made fresh track of his own.
The tracks on the snow are like lines drawn on paper by an artist. They make a picture. They tell a story.
The tracks tell us something else. As the frightened rabbit dashed across the snow, he made a different kind of track from the even, unhurried rabbit path curved beyond the lilac bushes. His leaping tracks told the story of his fear.
The lines in a picture tell us a story too. They also tell us something about the artist who drew the picture. They tell us how he felt about the thing he drew. They tell us how he felt about the thing he drew, They tell us what kind of tools he used to draw a picture.
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