Page:Little Daffydowndilly-1887.djvu/53

Rh &ldquo;Not bring her in!&rdquo; exclaimed the kind-hearted man. &ldquo;Why, you are crazy, my little Violet!&mdash;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?&rdquo; 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&rsquo;s neck. It looked just as if, while Violet was shaping out the image, she had given it a gentle pat with her hand, and had neglected to smooth the impression quite away.

&ldquo;After all, husband,&rdquo; said the mother, recurring to her idea that the angels would be as much delighted to play with Violet and Peony as she herself was, &ldquo;after all, she does look strangely like a snow-image! I do believe she is made of snow!&rdquo; A puff of the west-wind blew against the snow-child, and again she sparkled like a star.

&ldquo;Snow!&rdquo; repeated good Mr. Lindsey, drawing the reluctant guest over his hospitable threshold. &ldquo;No wonder she looks like snow. She is half frozen, poor little thing! But a good fire will put everything to rights!&rdquo; Without further talk, and always with the same best intentions, this highly benevolent and common-sensible individual led the little white damsel drooping, drooping, drooping, more and more out of the frosty air, and into his comfortable parlor. A Heidenberg stove, filled to the brim with intensely burning anthracite, was sending a bright gleam through the isinglass of ts iron door and causing the vase of water on its top