to a pool of water in front of the stove.

"Yes, father," said Violet looking reproachfully at him, through
her tears, "there is all that is left of our dear little
snow-sister!"

"Naughty father!" cried Peony, stamping his foot, and--I shudder
to say--shaking his little fist at the common-sensible man. "We
told you how it would be! What for did you bring her in?"

And the Heidenberg stove, through the isinglass of its door,
seemed to glare at good Mr. Lindsey, like a red-eyed demon,
triumphing in the mischief which it had done!

This, you will observe, was one of those rare cases, which yet
will occasionally happen, where common-sense finds itself at
fault. The remarkable story of the snow-image, though to that
sagacious class of people to whom good Mr. Lindsey belongs it may
seem but a childish affair, is, nevertheless, capable of being
moralized in various methods, greatly for their edification. One
of its lessons, for instance, might be, that it behooves men, and
especially men of benevolence, to consider well what they are
about, and, before acting on their philanthropic purposes, to be
quite sure that they comprehend the nature and all the relations
of the business in hand. What has been established as an element
of good to one being may prove absolute mischief to another; even
as the warmth of the parlor was proper enough for children of
flesh and blood, like Violet and Peony,--though by no means very
wholesome, even for them,--but involved nothing short of
annihilation to the unfortunate snow-image.