Once upon a time, in a place far, far away, a young man was plodding through a snow storm, making his way through the wind and drifts. The sky was quite dark and he shivered as he walked past the twisted leafless trees.

Tom Thorpe was the young man's name and Tom was convinced that he had never been so miserable in all of his twenty five years. His feet were numb and his hands were aching. His face was cut by the icy wind and his legs felt as heavy as lead. He wondered why it was his fate to be out in this blizzard when other folks were safe and warm in fine homes and cozy cottages.

Rough times and loneliness were not new to Tom. He had grown up in an orphanage and had learned to look after himself through many difficult adventures. This particular journey was against his better judgement. He had received a letter from a man claiming to be his uncle. The uncle said that he had been searching for Tom for many, many years. Tom didn't trust the letter. In Tom's thinking, this was probably just another trick of life to exploit the labor of a young man with no resources. At this point, however, anything seemed better than his present impoverished condition as a worker in a cold, wet tannery.

The wind was whistling by Tom's ears so fiercely that the young man didn't even hear the sleigh as it rushed up from behind him. The sleigh's bells were jingling and the driver was cracking a whip over the heads of eight powerful steeds, but the young man, lost in his own thoughts, heard nothing until it was too late.

As any of the residents of Lapland can tell you, a reindeer is a powerful animal. They are not at all like a white-tail deer. A reindeer is bigger than any horse. The reindeer that hit Tom Thorpe and knocked him into a snow bank was galloping like the wind.

Though large, reindeer are not insensitive creatures. Even though the sleigh driver had not seen Tom, all eight reindeer came to an abrupt halt. The driver, caught off balance, tumbled into the boot of the sleigh and shouted good naturedly, "Whoa, Boys! What's all this about?"

This was the last obstacle for Tom Thorpe. He lay there in the snow drift unwilling to move again. If freezing to death in the snow was to be his end, Tom was prepared. He had given up completely.

Seeing only the posterior end of Young Tom poking out of the drifted snow, the old sleigh driver grabbed Tom's belt and giving a jerk he shouted, "And what do we have here?"

Surprising as it may seem, Tom was angry! He had made a decision to begin an endless sleep in this wilderness when he was thrown to his feet. "You ran me down!", Tom screamed.

"Won't do you any good to be angry with me", the old driver said. "You can't be angry with a myth. You can just spit your venom somewhere else, young adder, cause I'm a metaphor. There's nothing here to react to your resentment. Mr. Metaphor, that's me. So, you just climb up into that sleigh and pull some of those fur blankets over yourself. The old man looked over his shoulder and added, "Nicholas is my name." With that introduction, the spry old fellow grabbed Tom's hand and hoisted him into the sleigh.

"I'm Thomas Thorpe, Mr. Nicholas." Tom didn't want to say anything else. This eccentric old guy's conversation was crazy, Tom was sure. "He might even be dangerous", Tom thought. Tom pulled the heavy fur blankets all around him and settled back in the sleigh as Mr. Nicholas grabbed the reins, brought the sleigh into motion, and talked on.

"The Spirit of the Season is what I am young man, the Spirit of the Season am I. All hope and promise that's me. Some call me a saint and some a chimney sweep." Tom didn't know what to make of this old fellow. Saints don't run people down in the road and a chimney sweeps surely couldn't afford this fine sleigh and a retinue of reindeer.

"Where are you headed in this storm?", asked Nicholas.

"Providence", said Tom.

"Providence", laughed the old man. "Ho, ho, Providence. Why, you would have found Providence, alright. You would have been frozen stiff in another few minutes. Listen, boys." (He was talking to the reindeer now.) "This young pup is freezing in a snow bank and searching for Providence! Ho, ho, ho!"

Tom saw no humor in his present situation. A few hours earlier and Tom wouldn't have put up with this kind of verbal abuse from anyone, especially a demented old man. Tom had too much pride for that. During those few moments in that snow bank, waiting for death to rescue him, Tom Thorpe lost all pride, however. He was too grateful to be very offended.

"Listen", said Mr. Nicholas, "this sleigh just happens to be going north, right through Providence. Giddy-up my boys, it's on to Providence! Ho, ho, ho!"

The sleigh drove on through the storm and through the forest with bells jingling and Nicholas alternately talking to himself and to the reindeer. Every now and then the old man would sing a song or recite a poem. Tom was amazed at the inconsistency in this outrageous individual. He appeared berserk, but his mastery of the sleigh and its team was amazing. With great love and authority, Nicholas guided the sleigh through the dangerous woods.

After an hour or so, things began to quiet down. The wind and snow had abated and Old Nicholas was silent, lost in his own thoughts. The landscape was smooth with fewer trees. Every now and then a star would appear to be born out of a break in the clouds. Soon, all the clouds were gone as the sleigh rushed over open land.

The starlight turned every snow and frost covered object into a work of diamond-studded art. All was now so quiet that even the sleigh bells seemed silent. The reindeer moved in such unison that their hooves didn't even appear to touch the ground. Tom felt as if the sleigh and the team were riding about a foot off the new-fallen snow.

The warm blankets and the new stillness all around began to still Tom's own thoughts. He watched the brightest star in the sky that night, the one in the north shining ahead of them. Tom's concentration seemed to be focused by that star. His thinking became clear, as clear and still as this winter's night.

Then, somewhere deep within the clouded consciousness of Tom Thorpe, a tiny light was born. Like the star in the north it began to bathe his whole being in light. It was a white light of hope and promise which Tom had never known before. A feeling of peace and acceptance flooded over Tom. From this very moment on, Tom felt that his life was now filled with new possibilities. In some inexplicable way, his life had profoundly changed.

"Providence, ahead!", shouted Nicholas. "Where in this hamlet did you want to visit, Young Sir?"

"Mr. Albert Thorpe's cottage, please", answered Tom.

"Thorpe?" said Nicholas, "You're a Thorpe. You must be a relative of Squire Thorpe and a poor relation from the look of you, but not for long. I can't believe that the good Squire Thorpe will leave anyone wanting, especially his own kin. . . . . . And, by the way, Squire Albert Thorpe doesn't live in a cottage!"

The great Tudor house loomed up in front of them as the sleigh pulled down the long drive. The lighted windows of the mansion gave it an inviting look on this winter's night. Tom climbed out at the large front door. He knocked once and turned to thank Nicholas, but the sleigh, reindeer, and driver were all gone.

A very tall servant answered the door followed by a covey of little ladies in bonnets. Aunt Sarah was in the lead so, she heard Tom announce his name to the butler. "Albert", she called, "come quickly. It's our nephew, Tom. He's finally come!"

Uncle Albert Thorpe greeted Tom warmly as the three sisters, Sarah, Emma, and Myrtle took Tom in hand. Before Tom could say hello, he was rushed to the parlor and seated before a roaring fire. The feeling which now filled Tom was amazement. Sitting in a place where he had never been before and surrounded by people whom he had never met, Tom felt, for the very first time in his life, at home!

When the noise and excitement of Tom's arrival had subsided, Aunt Sarah asked, "How in the world did you find your way here through that horrible blizzard, Tom?"

Tom was at a loss for words to describe the dream-like experience of his travel to Providence. That strange Nicholas man was beyond description. Thus, he opened his mouth and the first thing to come out was, "It was the Spirit of the Season . . . . "

Before Tom could utter another word Aunt Sarah called, "Albert, come listen to this. Our Nephew is a poet. He just said the most beautiful thing. He said it was the Spirit of the Season which brought him safely home to us, the Spirit of Christmas!"