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Oh, here is that copy of verses I told you about. Intra Muros. The sunbeams, lost for half a year, Slant through my pane their morning rays For dry Northwesters cold and clear, The East blows in its thin blue haze. And first the snowdrop's bells are seen, Then close against the sheltering wall The tulip's horn of dusky green, The peony's dark unfolding ball.
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 both her children were kissing the snow-image on its frozen mouth. But, as this did not seem to make the lips quite red enough, Violet next proposed that the snow-child should be invited to kiss Peony's scarlet cheek.
Then the mother resumed her work. What it was I forget; but she was either trimming a silken bonnet for Violet, or darning a pair of stockings for little Peony's short legs. Again, however, and again, and yet other agains, she could not help turning her head to the window to see how the children got on with their snow-image.
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.
At last, when they had frosted one another all over with handfuls of snow, Violet, after laughing heartily at little Peony's figure, was struck with a new idea. "You look exactly like a snow-image, Peony," said she, "if your cheeks were not so red. And that puts me in mind!
Oh, here is that copy of verses I told you about. Intra Muros. The sunbeams, lost for half a year, Slant through my pane their morning rays For dry Northwesters cold and clear, The East blows in its thin blue haze. And first the snowdrop's bells are seen, Then close against the sheltering wall The tulip's horn of dusky green, The peony's dark unfolding ball.
Then the mother resumed her work. What it was I forget; but she was either trimming a silken bonnet for Violet, or darning a pair of stockings for little Peony's short legs. Again, however, and again, and yet other agains, she could not help turning her head to the window to see how the children got on with their snow-image.
At last, when they had frosted one another all over with handfuls of snow, Violet, after laughing heartily at little Peony's figure, was struck with a new idea. "You look exactly like a snow-image, Peony," said she, "if your cheeks were not so red. And that puts me in mind!
"What other children could have made anything so like a little girl's figure out of snow at the first trial? Well; but now I must finish Peony's new frock, for his grandfather is coming to-morrow, and I want the little fellow to look handsome." So she took up the frock, and was soon as busily at work again with her needle as the two children with their snow-image.
She expected to find the witch at home, but only the Dog David and Peony were in the House of Living Alone. David lay on Peony's bed, and Peony under it. Sarah Brown saw them as she passed their open door. "Ow Marmaduke!" said Peony, "is it all over? Are you sure?
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