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The mother, meanwhile, had gone in search of the shawl and stockings; for her own view of the matter, however subtle and delicate, had given way, as it always did, to the stubborn materialism of her husband. Without heeding the remonstrances of his two children, who still kept murmuring that their little snow-sister did not love the warmth, good Mr.
"Husband! husband!" cried his wife, showing her horror-stricken face through the window-panes. "There is no need of going for the child's parents!" "We told you so, father!" screamed Violet and Peony, as he re-entered the parlor. "You would bring her in; and now our poor dear-beau-ti-ful little snow-sister is thawed!"
This is our snow-image, which Peony and I have made, because we wanted another playmate. Did not we, Peony?" "Yes, papa," said crimson Peony. "This be our 'ittle snow-sister. Is she not beau-ti-ful? But she gave me such a cold kiss!" "Poh, nonsense, children!" cried their good, honest father, who, as we have already intimated, had an exceedingly common-sensible way of looking at matters.
"Come, 'ittle snow-sister, kiss me!" cried Peony. "There! she has kissed you," added Violet, "and now her lips are very red. And she blushed a little, too!" "Oh, what a cold kiss!" cried Peony. Just then, there came a breeze of the pure west-wind, sweeping through the garden and rattling the parlor-windows.
"Yes," said Violet, thoughtfully and quietly; "our snow-sister does look very lovely. I did not quite know, Peony, that we could make such a sweet little girl as this."
"Come, 'ittle snow-sister, kiss me!" cried Peony. "There! she has kissed you," added Violet, "and her lips are very 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, sweeping through the garden and rattling the parlour-windows.
"Yes, father," said Violet looking reproachfully at him, through her tears, "there is all that is left of our dear little snow-sister!" "Naughty father!" cried Peony, stamping his foot, and I shudder to say shaking his little fist at the common-sensible man. "We told you how it would be! What for did you bring her in?"
But she must not make her come into the warm parlor; for, you know, our little snow-sister will not love the warmth." And forthwith the children began this great business of making a snow-image that should run about; while their mother, who was sitting at the window and overheard some of their talk, could not help smiling at the gravity with which they set about it.
"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.
"Oh yes!" cried Peony. "And I will hug her, and she shall sit down close by me and drink some of my warm milk!" "Oh no, Peony!" answered Violet, with grave wisdom. "That will not do at all. Warm milk will not be wholesome for our little snow-sister. Little snow people, like her, eat nothing but icicles. No, no, Peony; we must not give her anything warm to drink!"
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