Then, having dropped the little snowflake on Barbara's cheek, the wind
whisked off to the city again. And we can imagine that it played rare
pranks with the proud, haughty folk on its return; for the wind, as you
know, is no respecter of persons.

"Dear Barbara," said the snowflake, "I will watch with thee for the coming
of the prince."

And Barbara was glad, for she loved the little snowflake, that was so pure
and innocent and gentle.

"Tell us, O pine-tree," cried the vine, "what do you see in the east? Has
the prince yet entered the forest?"

"The east is full of black clouds," said the pine-tree, "and the winds
that hurry to the hill-tops sing of the snow."

"But the city is full of brightness," said the fir. "I can see the lights
in the cathedral, and I can hear wondrous music about the prince and his
coming."

"Yes, they are singing of the prince in the cathedral," said Barbara,
sadly.

"But we shall see him first," whispered the vine, reassuringly.

"Yes, the prince will come through the forest," said the little snowdrop,
gleefully.

"Fear not, dear Barbara, we shall behold the prince in all his glory,"