"Will you not pluck my blossoms?" plaintively piped the snowdrop.

"No, of course not," said Barbara; "I have come only to watch with you for
the prince."

Then Barbara told them who she was, and how cruelly she had been treated
in the city, and how she longed to see the prince, who was to come on the
morrow. And as she talked, the forest and all therein felt a great
compassion for her.

"Lie at my feet," said the pine-tree, "and I will protect you."

"Nestle close to me, and I will chafe your temples and body and limbs till
they are warm," said the vine.

"Let me rest upon your cheek, and I will sing you my little songs," said
the snowdrop.

And Barbara felt very grateful for all these homely kindnesses. She rested
in the velvety snow at the foot of the pine-tree, and the vine chafed her
body and limbs, and the little flower sang sweet songs to her.

"Whirr-r-r, whirr-r-r!" There was that noisy wind again, but this time it
was gentler than it had been in the city.

"Here you are, my little Barbara," said the wind, in kindly tones. "I have
brought you the little snowflake. I am glad you came away from the city,
for the people are proud and haughty there; oh, but I will have my fun
with them!"