by the hand, "I have caught you at last, and will make you
comfortable in spite of yourself. We will put a nice warm pair of
worsted stockings on your frozen little feet, and you shall have
a good thick shawl to wrap yourself in. 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.
She followed him, droopingly and reluctant; for all the glow and
sparkle was gone out of her figure; and whereas just before she
had resembled a bright, frosty, star-gemmed evening, with a
crimson gleam on the cold horizon, she now looked as dull and
languid as a thaw. As kind Mr. Lindsey led her up the steps of
the door, Violet and Peony looked into his face,--their eyes full
of tears, which froze before they could run down their
cheeks,--and again entreated him not to bring their snow-image
into the house.

"Not bring her in!" exclaimed the kind-hearted man. "Why, you are
crazy, my little Violet!--quite crazy, my small Peony! She is so
cold, already, that her hand has almost frozen mine, in spite of
my thick gloves. Would you have her freeze to death?"

His wife, as he came up the steps, had been taking another long,
earnest, almost awe-stricken gaze at the little white stranger.
She hardly knew whether it was a dream or no; but she could not
help fancying that she saw the delicate print of Violet's fingers
on the child's neck. It looked just as if, while Violet was