ir
snow-image into the house.

"Not bring her in!" exclaimed the kind-hearted man. "Why, you are crazy,
my little Violet--quite crazy, my small Peony! She is so cold already
that her hand has almost frozen mine, in spite of my thick gloves. Would
you have her freeze to death?"

His wife, as he came up the steps, had been taking another long, earnest
gaze at the little white stranger. She hardly knew whether it was a
dream or no; but she could not help fancying that she saw the delicate
print of Violet's fingers on the child's neck. It looked just as if,
while Violet was shaping out the image, she had given it a gentle pat
with her hand, and had neglected to smooth the impression quite away.

"After all, husband," said the mother, "after all, she does look
strangely like a snow-image! I do believe she is made of snow!"

A puff of the west wind blew against the snow-child, and again she
sparkled like a star.

"Snow!" repeated good Mr. Lindsey, drawing the reluctant guest over his
hospitable threshold. "No wonder she looks like snow. She is half
frozen, poor little thing! But a good fire will put everything to
rights."

The common-sensible man placed the snow-child on the hearthrug, right in
front of the hissing and fuming stove.

"Now she will be comfortable!" cried Mr. Lindsey, rubbing his hands and
looking about him, with the pleasantest smile you ever saw. "Make
yourself at home, my child."

Sad, sad and drooping, looked the little white maiden as she stood on
the hearthrug, with the hot blast of the stove striking through her like
a pestilence. Once she threw a glance toward the window, and caught a
glimpse, through its red curtains, of the snow-covered roofs and the
stars glimmering frostily and all the delicious intensity of the cold
night. The bleak wind rattled the window panes as if it were summoning
her to come forth. But there stood the snow-child, drooping, before the
hot stove!

But the common-sensible man saw nothing amiss.

"Come, wife," said he, "let her have a pair of thick stockings and a
woolen shawl or blanket directly; and tell Dora to give her some warm
supper as soon as the milk boils. You, Violet and Peony, amuse your
little friend. She is out of spirits, you see, at finding herself in a
strange place. For my part, I will go around among the neighbors and
find out where she belongs."

The mother, meanwhile, had gone in search of the shawl and stockings.
Without heeding the remonstran