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"Husband! dear husband!" said his wife, in a low voice for she had been looking narrowly at the snow-child, and was more perplexed than ever there is something very singular in all this. "You will think me foolish but but may it not be that some invisible angel has been attracted by the simplicity and good faith with which our children set about their undertaking?
"My darling mamma," answered Violet, looking seriously into her mother's face, and apparently surprised that she should need any further explanation, "I have told you truly who she is. It is our little snow-image, which Peony and I have been making. Peony will tell you so, as well as I." "Yes, mamma," asseverated Peony, with much gravity in his crimson little phiz; "this is 'ittle snow-child.
Indistinctly as she discerned the snow-child, the mother thought to herself that never before was there a snow-figure so cunningly made, nor ever such a dear little girl and boy to make it. "They do everything better than other children," said she, very complacently. "No wonder they make better snow-images!"
"My darling mamma," answered Violet, looking seriously into her mother's face, and apparently surprised that she should need any further explanation, "I have told you truly who she is. It is our little snow-image, which Peony and I have been making. Peony will tell you so, as well as I." "Yes, mamma," asseverated Peony, with much gravity in his crimson little phiz, "this is 'ittle snow-child.
"Dear father," cried Violet, putting herself before him, "it is true what I have been telling you! This is our little snow-girl, and she cannot live any longer than while she breathes the cold west-wind. Do not make her come into the hot room!" "Yes, father," shouted Peony, stamping his little foot, so mightily was he in earnest, "this be nothing but our 'ittle snow-child!
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.
Indistinctly as she discerned the snow-child, the mother thought to herself that never before was there a snow-figure so cunningly made, nor ever such a dear little girl and boy to make it. "They do everything better than other children," said she, very complacently. "No wonder they make better snow-images!"
Your poor white nose, I am afraid, is actually frost-bitten. But we will make it all right. Come along in." And so, with a most benevolent smile on his sagacious visage, all purple as it was with the cold, this very well-meaning gentleman took the snow-child by the hand and led her towards the house.
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 woollen shawl or blanket directly; and tell Dora to give her some warm supper as soon as the milk boils.
"Dear father," cried Violet, putting herself before him, "it is true what I have been telling you! This is our little snow-girl, and she cannot live any longer than while she breathes the cold west-wind. Do not make her come into the hot room!" "Yes, father," shouted Peony, stamping his little foot, so mightily was he in earnest, "this be nothing but our 'ittle snow-child!
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