The little maid sat and trembled. Her sheepskin coat was worn through,
and in her blue bridal dress she sat, while fits of shivering shook
her whole body. She wanted to run away; but she had not strength to
move, or even to keep her little white teeth from chattering between
her frozen lips.

Suddenly, not far away, she heard Frost crackling among the fir trees,
just as he is crackling now. He was leaping from tree to tree,
crackling as he came.

He leapt at last into the great fir tree, under which the little maid
was sitting. He crackled in the top of the tree, and then called; down
out of the topmost branches,--

"Are you warm, little maid?"

"Warm, warm, little Father Frost."

Frost laughed, and came a little lower in the tree and crackled and
crackled louder than before. Then he asked,--

"Are you still warm, little maid? Are you warm, little red cheeks?"

The little maid could hardly speak. She was nearly dead, but she
answered,--

"Warm, dear Frost; warm, little father."

Frost climbed lower in the tree, and crackled louder than ever, and