asked,--

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

The little maid was benumbed all over, but she whispered so that Frost
could just hear her,--

"Warm, little pigeon, warm, dear Frost,"

And Frost was sorry for her, leapt down with a tremendous crackle and
a scattering of frozen snow, wrapped the little maid up in rich furs,
and covered her with warm blankets.

In the morning the old woman said to her husband, "Drive off now to
the forest, and wake the young couple."

The old man wept when he thought of his little daughter, for he was
sure that he would find her dead. He harnessed the mare, and drove off
through the snow. He came to the tree, and heard his little daughter
singing merrily, while Frost crackled and laughed. There she was,
alive and warm, with a good fur cloak about her shoulders, a rich
veil, costly blankets round her feet, and a box full of splendid
presents.

The old man did not say a word. He was too surprised. He just sat in
the sledge staring, while the little maid lifted her box and the box
of presents, set them in the sledge, climbed in, and sat down beside
him.