"They do everything better than other children," said she, verycomplacently. "No wonder they make better snow-images!"She sat down again to her work, and made as much haste with it aspossible; because twilight would soon come, and Peony's frock wasnot yet finished, and grandfather was expected, by railroad, prettyearly in the morning. Faster and faster, therefore, went her flyingfingers. The children, likewise, kept busily at work in the garden,and still the mother listened, whenever she could catch a word. Shewas amused to observe now their little imaginations had got mixed upwith what they were doing, and were carried away by it. They seemedpositively to think that the snow-child would run about and playwith them.
"What a nice playmate she will be for us, all winter long!" saidViolet. "I hope papa will not be afraid of her giving us a cold!
Shan't you love her dearly, Peony?"
"O, yes!" cried Peony. "And I will hug her, and she shall sitdown close by me, and drink some of my warm milk!""O, no, Peony!" answered Violet, with grave wisdom. "That willnot do at all. Warm milk will not be wholesome for our littlesnow-sister. Little snow-people, like her, eat nothing but icicles.
No, no, Peony; we must not give her anything warm to drink!"There was a minute or two of silence; for Peony, whose short legswere never weary, had gone on a pilgrimage again to the other sideof the garden. All of a sudden, Violet cried out, loudly and joyfully,"Look here, Peony! Come quickly! A light has been shining on her cheekout of that rose-colored cloud! and the color does not go away! Is notthat beautiful?""Yes; it is beau-ti-ful," answered Peony, pronouncing the threesyllables with deliberate accuracy. "O, Violet, only look at her hair!
It is all like gold!"
"O, certainly," said Violet, with tranquillity, as if it werevery much a matter of course. "That color, you know, comes from thegolden clouds, that we see up there in the sky. She is almost finishednow. But her lips must be made very red- redder than her cheeks.
Perhaps, Peony, it will make them red, if we both kiss them!"Accordingly, the mother heard two smart little smacks, as if bothher children were kissing the snow-image on its frozen mouth. But,as this did not seem to make the lips quite red enough, Violet nextproposed that the snow-child should be invited to kiss Peony's scarletcheek.
"Come, 'ittle snow-sister, kiss me!" cried Peony.
"There! she has kissed you," added Violet, "and now her lips arevery red. And she blushed a little, too!""O, what a cold kiss!" cried Peony.
Just then, there came a breeze of the pure west wind, sweepingthrough the garden and rattling the parlor windows. It sounded sowintry cold, that the mother was about to tap on the window-panewith her thimbled finger, to summon the two children in, when theyboth cried out to her with one voice. The tone was not a tone ofsurprise, although they were evidently a good deal excited; itappeared rather as if they were very much rejoiced at some eventthat had now happened, but which they had been looking for, and hadreckoned upon all along.
"Mamma! mamma! We have finished our little snow-sister, and sheis running about the garden with us!""What imaginative little beings my children are!" thought themother, putting the last few stitches into Peony's frock. "And it isstrange, too, that they make me almost as much a child as theythemselves are! I can hardly help believing, now, that thesnow-image has really come to life!""Dear mamma!" cried Violet, "pray look out and see what a sweetplaymate we have!"The mother, being thus entreated, could no longer delay to lookforth from the window. The sun was now gone out of the sky, leaving,however, a rich inheritance of his brightness among those purple andgolden clouds which make the sunsets of winter so magnificent. Butthere was not the slightest gleam or dazzle, either on the window oron the snow; so that the good lady could look all over the garden, andsee everything and everybody in it. And what do you think she sawthere? Violet and Peony, of course, her own two darling children.
Ah, but whom or what did she besides? Why, if you will believe me,there was a small figure of a girl, dressed all in white, withrose-tinged cheeks and ringlets of golden hue, playing about thegarden with the two children! A stranger though she was, the childseemed to be on as familiar terms with Violet and Peony, and they withher, as if all the three had been playmates during the whole oftheir little lives. The mother thought to herself that it mustcertainly be the daughter of one of the neighbors, and that, seeingViolet and Peony in the garden, the child had run across the street toplay with them. So this kind lady went to the door, intending toinvite the little runaway into her comfortable parlor; for, now thatthe sunshine was withdrawn, the atmosphere, out of doors, wasalready growing very cold.
But, after opening the house-door, she stood an instant on thethreshold, hesitating whether she ought to ask the child to come in,or whether she should even speak to her. Indeed, she almost doubtedwhether it were a real child, after all, or only a light wreath of thenew-fallen snow, blown hither and thither about the garden by theintensely cold west wind. There was certainly something verysingular in the aspect of the little stranger. Among all thechildren of the neighborhood, the lady could remember no such face,with its pure white, and delicate rose-color, and the goldenringlets tossing about the forehead and cheeks. And as for herdress, which was entirely of white, and fluttering in the breeze, itwas such as no reasonable woman would put upon a little girl, whensending her out to play, in the depth of winter. It made this kind andcareful mother shiver only to look at those small feet, with nothingin the world on them, except a very thin pair of white slippers.
