Thus went Violet through the clear air, and the earth looked
smiling up to her, as, with the bright wreath folded in her
arms, she flew among the soft, white clouds.

On and on she went, over hill and valley, broad rivers and
rustling woods, till the warm sunlight passed away, the winds
grew cold, and the air thick with falling snow. Then far below
she saw the Frost-King's home. Pillars of hard, gray ice supported
the high, arched roof, hung with crystal icicles. Dreary gardens
lay around, filled with withered flowers and bare, drooping trees;
while heavy clouds hung low in the dark sky, and a cold wind
murmured sadly through the wintry air.

With a beating heart Violet folded her fading wreath more closely
to her breast, and with weary wings flew onward to the dreary palace.

Here, before the closed doors, stood many forms with dark faces and
harsh, discordant voices, who sternly asked the shivering little Fairy
why she came to them.

Gently she answered, telling them her errand, beseeching them
to let her pass ere the cold wind blighted her frail blossoms.
Then they flung wide the doors, and she passed in.

Walls of ice, carved with strange figures, were around her;
glittering icicles hung from the high roof, and soft, white snow
covered the hard floors. On a throne hung with clouds sat
the Frost-King; a crown of crystals bound his white locks, and
a dark mantle wrought with delicate frost-work was folded over