play, in
the depth of winter. It made this kind and careful mother shiver only
to look at those small feet, with nothing in the world on them, except
a very thin pair of white slippers. Nevertheless, airily as she was
clad, the child seemed to feel not the slightest inconvenience from
the cold, but danced so lightly over the snow that the tips of her
toes left hardly a print in its surface; while Violet could but just
keep pace with her, and Peony's short legs compelled him to lag
behind.

Once, in the course of their play, the strange child placed herself
between Violet and Peony, and taking a hand of each, skipped merrily
forward, and they along with her. Almost immediately, however, Peony
pulled away his little fist, and began to rub it as if the fingers
were tingling with cold; while Violet also released herself, though
with less abruptness, gravely remarking that it was better not to take
hold of hands. The white-robed damsel said not a word, but danced
about, just as merrily as before. If Violet and Peony did not choose
to play with her, she could make just as good a playmate of the brisk
and cold west-wind, which kept blowing her all about the garden, and
took such liberties with her, that they seemed to have been friends
for a long time. All this while, the mother stood on the threshold,
wondering how a little girl could look so much like a flying
snow-drift, or how a snow-drift could look so very like a little girl.

She called Violet, and whispered to her.

"Violet, my darling, what is this child's name?" asked she. "Does she
live near us?"

"Why, dearest mamma," answered Violet, laughing to think that her
mother did not comprehend so very plain an affair, "this is our little
snow-sister, whom we have just been making!"

"Yes, dear mamma," cried Peony, running to his mother and looking up
simply into her face, "This is our snow-image! Is it not a nice 'ittle
child?"

At this instant a flock of snow-birds came flitting through the air.
As was very natural, they avoided Violet and Peony. But--and this
looked strange--they flew at once to the white-robed child, fluttered
eagerly about her head, alighted on her shoulders, and seemed to claim
her as an old acquaintance. She, on her part, was evidently as glad to
see these little birds, old Winter's grandchildren, as they were to
see her, and welcomed them by holding out both her hands. Hereupon,
they each and all tried to alight on her two palms and ten sm