But her brother was known by the style and title of Peony, onaccount of the ruddiness of his broad and round little phiz, whichmade everybody think of sunshine and great scarlet flowers. The fatherof these two children, a certain Mr. Lindsey, it is important tosay, was an excellent but exceedingly matter-of-fact sort of man, adealer in hardware, and was sturdily accustomed to take what is calledthe common-sense view of all matters that came under hisconsideration. With a heart about as tender as other people's, hehad a head as hard and impenetrable, and therefore, perhaps, as empty,as one of the iron pots which it was a part of his business to sell.
The mother's character, on the other hand, had a strain of poetry init, a trait of unworldly beauty- a delicate and dewy flower, as itwere, that had survived out of her imaginative youth, and still keptitself alive amid the dusty realities of matrimony and motherhood.
So, Violet and Peony, as I began with saying, besought their motherto let them run out and play in the new snow; for, though it hadlooked so dreary and dismal, drifting downward out of the gray sky, ithad a very cheerful aspect, now that the sun was shining on it. Thechildren dwelt in a city, and had no wider play-place than a littlegarden before the house, divided by a white fence from the street, andwith a pear-tree and two or three plum-trees overshadowing it, andsome rose-bushes just in front of the parlor windows. The trees andshrubs, however, were now leafless, and their twigs were envelopedin the light snow, which thus made a kind of wintry foliage, with hereand there a pendent icicle for the fruit.
"Yes, Violet- yes, my little Peony," said their kind mother; "youmay go out and play in the new snow."Accordingly, the good lady bundled up her darlings in woollenjackets and wadded sacks, and put comforters round their necks, anda pair of striped gaiters on each little pair of legs, and worstedmittens on their hands, and gave them a kiss apiece, by way of a spellto keep away Jack Frost. Forth sallied the two children, with ahop-skip-and-jump, that carried them at once into the very heart ofa huge snow-drift, whence Violet emerged like a snow-bunting, whilelittle Peony floundered out with his round face in full bloom. Thenwhat a merry time had they! To look at them, frolicking in thewintry garden, you would have thought that the dark and pitiless stormhad been sent for no other purpose but to provide a new playthingfor Violet and Peony; and that they themselves had been created, asthe snow-birds were, to take delight only in the tempest, and in thewhite mantle which it spread over the earth.
At last, when they had frosted one another all over with handfulsof snow, Violet, after laughing heartily at little Peony's figure, wasstruck with a new idea.
"You look exactly like a snow-image, Peony," said she, "if yourcheeks were not so red. And that puts me in mind! Let us make an imageout of snow- an image of a little girl- and it shall be our sister andshall run about and play with us all winter long. Won't it be nice?""O, yes!" cried Peony, as plainly as he could speak, for he was buta little boy. "That will be nice! And mamma shall see it!""Yes," answered Violet; "mamma shall see the new little girl. Butshe must not make her come into the warm parlor; for, you know, ourlittle snow-sister will not love the warmth."And forthwith the children began this great business of making asnow-image that should run about; while their mother, who wassitting at the window and overheard some of their talk, could not helpsmiling at the gravity with which they set about it. They reallyseemed to imagine that there would be no difficulty whatever increating a live little girl out of the snow. And, to say the truth, ifmiracles are ever to be wrought, it will be by putting our hands tothe work in precisely such a simple and undoubting frame of mind asthat in which Violet and Peony now undertook to perform one, withoutso much as knowing that it was a miracle. So thought the mother; andthought, likewise, that the new snow, just fallen from heaven, wouldbe excellent material to make new beings of, if it were not so verycold. She gazed at the children a moment longer, delighting to watchtheir little figures- the girl, tall for her age, graceful andagile, and so delicately colored that she looked like a cheerfulthought, more than a physical reality- while Peony expanded in breadthrather than height, and rolled along on his short and sturdy legs,as substantial as an elephant, though not quite so big. Then themother resumed her work. What it was I forget; but she was eithertrimming a silken bonnet for Violet, or darning a pair of stockingsfor little Peony's short legs. Again, however, and again, and yetother agains, she could not help turning her head to the window, tosee how the children got on with their snow-image.
Indeed, it was an exceedingly pleasant sight, those bright littlesouls at their tasks! Moreover, it was really wonderful to observe howknowingly and skilfully they managed the matter. Violet assumed thechief direction, and told Peony what to do, while, with her owndelicate fingers, she shaped out all the nicer parts of thesnow-figure. It seemed, in fact, not so much to be made by thechildren, as to grow up under their hands, while they were playing andprattling about it. Their mother was quite surprised at this; andthe longer she looked, the more and more surprised she grew.
