Is she not beau-ti-ful? But she gave me such a cold kiss!""Poh, nonsense, children!" cried their good, honest father, who, aswe have already intimated, had an exceedingly common-sensible way oflooking at matters. "Do not tell me of making live figures out ofsnow. Come, wife; this little stranger must not stay out in thebleak air a moment longer. We will bring her into the parlor; andyou shall give her a supper of warm bread and milk, and make her ascomfortable as you can. Meanwhile, I will inquire among the neighbors;or, if necessary, send the city-crier about the streets, to givenotice of a lost child."So saying, this honest and very kind-hearted man was goingtoward the little white damsel, with the best intentions in the world.
But Violet and Peony, each seizing their father by the hand, earnestlybesought him not to make her come in.
"Dear father," cried Violet, putting herself before him, "it istrue what I have been telling you! This is our little snow-girl, andshe cannot live any longer than while she breathes the cold west wind.
Do not make her come into the hot room!"
"Yes, father, shouted Peony, stamping his little foot, somightily was he in earnest, "this be nothing but our 'ittlesnow-child! She will not love the hot fire!""Nonsense, children, nonsense, nonsense!" cried the father, halfvexed, half laughing at what he considered their foolish obstinacy.
"Run into the house, this moment! It is too late to play any longer,now. I must take care of this little girl immediately, or she willcatch her death-a-cold!""Husband! dear husband!" said his wife, in a low voice- for she hadbeen looking narrowly at the snow-child, and was more perplexed thanever- "there is something very singular in all this. You will think mefoolish- but- but- may it not be that some invisible angel has beenattracted by the simplicity and good faith with which our children setabout their undertaking? May he not have spent an hour of hisimmortality in playing with those dear little souls? and so the resultis what we call a miracle. No, no! Do not laugh at me; I see what afoolish thought it is!""My dear wife," replied the husband, laughing heartily, "you are asmuch a child as Violet and Peony."And in one sense so she was, for all through life she had kepther heart full of childlike simplicity and faith, which was as pureand clear as crystal; and, looking at all matters through thistransparent medium, she sometimes saw truths so profound, that otherpeople laughed at them as nonsense and absurdity.
But now kind Mr. Lindsey had entered the garden, breaking away fromhis two children, who still sent their shrill voices after him,beseeching him to let the snow-child stay and enjoy herself in thecold west wind. As he approached, the snow-birds took to flight. Thelittle white damsel, also, fled backward, shaking her head, as if tosay, "Pray, do not touch me!" and roguishly, as it appeared, leadinghim through the deepest of the snow. Once, the good man stumbled,and floundered down upon his face, so that, gathering himself upagain, with the snow sticking to his rough pilot-cloth sack, he lookedas white and wintry as a snow-image of the largest size. Some of theneighbors, meanwhile, seeing him from their windows, wondered whatcould possess poor Mr. Lindsey to be running about his garden inpursuit of a snow-drift, which the west wind was driving hither andthither! At length, after a vast deal of trouble, he chased the littlestranger into a corner, where she could not possibly escape him. Hiswife had been looking on, and, it being nearly twilight, waswonder-struck to observe how the snow-child gleamed and sparkled,and how she seemed to shed a glow all round about her; and when driveninto the corner, she positively glistened like a star! It was a frostykind of brightness, too, like that of an icicle in the moonlight.
The wife thought it strange that good Mr. Lindsey should see nothingremarkable in the snow-child's appearance.
"Come, you odd little thing!" cried the honest man, seizing herby the hand, I have caught you at last, and will make youcomfortable in spite of yourself. We will put a nice warm pair ofworsted stockings on your frozen little feet, and you shall have agood thick shawl to wrap yourself in. Your poor white nose, I amafraid, is actually frost-bitten. But we will make it all right.
Come along in."
And so, with a most benevolent smile on his sagacious visage, allpurple as it was with the cold, this very well-meaning gentlemantook the snow-child by the hand and led her towards the house. Shefollowed him, droopingly and reluctant; for all the glow and sparklewas gone out of her figure; and whereas just before she hadresembled a bright, frosty, star-gemmed evening, with a crimsongleam on the cold horizon, she now looked as dull and languid as athaw. As kind Mr. Lindsey led her up the steps of the door, Violet andPeony looked into his face- their eyes full of tears, which frozebefore they could run down their cheeks- and again entreated him notto bring their snow-image into the house.
"Not bring her in!" exclaimed the kind-hearted man. "Why, you arecrazy, my little Violet!- quite crazy, my small Peony! She is so cold,already, that her hand has almost frozen mine, in spite of my thickgloves. Would you have her freeze to death?"His wife, as he came up the steps, had been taking another long,earnest, almost awe-stricken gaze at the little white stranger. Shehardly knew whether it was a dream or no; but she could not helpfancying that she saw the delicate print of Violet's fingers on thechild's neck. It looked just as if, while Violet was shaping out theimage, she had given it a gentle pat with her hand, and hadneglected to smooth the impression quite away.
