Theguestwasadmittedintoaparlor，communicatingbyacentral
doorwithaninteriorroomofthesamesize。Asthefirstapartment
wasempty，hepassedtotheentranceofthesecond，withinwhichhis
eyesweregreetedbythoselivingpersonages，aswellastheir
picturedrepresentatives，whohadlongbeentheobjectsofsosingular
aninterest。Heinvoluntarilypausedonthethreshold。
Theyhadnotperceivedhisapproach。WalterandElinorwere
standingbeforetheportraits，whencetheformerhadjustflungback
therichandvoluminousfoldsofthesilkencurtain，holdingits
goldentasselwithonehand，whiletheothergraspedthatofhis
bride。Thepictures，concealedformonths，gleamedforthagainin
undiminishedsplendor，appearingtothrowasombrelightacrossthe
room，ratherthantobedisclosedbyaborrowedradiance。Thatof
Elinorhadbeenalmostprophetic。Apensiveness，andnextagentle
sorrow，hadsuccessivelydweltuponhercountenance，deepening，with
thelapseoftime，intoaquietanguish。Amixtureofaffrightwould
nowhavemadeittheveryexpressionoftheportrait。Walter’sface
wasmoodyanddull，oranimatedonlybyfitfulflashes，whichlefta
heavierdarknessfortheirmomentaryillumination。Helookedfrom
Elinortoherportrait，andthencetohisown，inthecontemplationof
whichhefinallystoodabsorbed。
ThepainterseemedtohearthestepofDestinyapproachingbehind
him，onitsprogresstowardsitsvictims。Astrangethoughtdarted
intohismind。Wasnothisowntheforminwhichthatdestinyhad
embodieditself，andheachiefagentofthecomingevilwhichhe
hadforeshadowed？
Still，Walterremainedsilentbeforethepicture，communingwithit
aswithhisownheart，andabandoninghimselftothespellofevil
influencethatthepainterhadcastuponthefeatures。Graduallyhis
eyeskindled；whileasElinorwatchedtheincreasingwildnessofhis
face，herownassumedalookofterror；andwhenatlastheturned
uponher，theresemblanceofbothtotheirportraitswascomplete。
“Ourfateisuponus！”howledWalter。“Die！”
Drawingaknife，hesustainedher，asshewassinkingtothe
ground，andaimeditatherbosom。Intheaction，andinthelook
andattitudeofeach，thepainterbeheldthefiguresofhissketch。
Thepicture，withallitstremendouscoloring，wasfinished。
“Hold，madman！”criedhe，sternly。
Hehadadvancedfromthedoor，andinterposedhimselfbetweenthe
wretchedbeings，withthesamesenseofpowertoregulatetheir
destinyastoalterasceneuponthecanvas。Hestoodlikeamagician，
controllingthephantomswhichhehadevoked。
“What！”mutteredWalterLudlow，asherelapsedfromfierce
excitementintosilentgloom。“DoesFateimpedeitsowndecree？”
“Wretchedlady！”saidthepainter，“didInotwarnyou？”
“Youdid。”repliedElinor，calmly，asherterrorgaveplaceto
thequietgriefwhichithaddisturbed。“But-Ilovedhim！”
Istherenotadeepmoralinthetale？Couldtheresultofone，
orallourdeeds，beshadowedforthandsetbeforeus，somewouldcall
itFate，andhurryonward，othersbesweptalongbytheirpassionate
desires，andnonebeturnedasidebythePROPHETICPICTURES。
byNathanielHawthorne
ONEAFTERNOONofacoldwinter’sday，whenthesunshoneforthwith
chillybrightness，afteralongstorm，twochildrenaskedleaveof
theirmothertorunoutandplayinthenew-fallensnow。Theelder
childwasalittlegirl，whom，becauseshewasofatenderand
modestdisposition，andwasthoughttobeverybeautiful，herparents，
andotherpeoplewhowerefamiliarwithher，usedtocallViolet。
ButherbrotherwasknownbythestyleandtitleofPeony，on
accountoftheruddinessofhisbroadandroundlittlephiz，which
madeeverybodythinkofsunshineandgreatscarletflowers。Thefather
ofthesetwochildren，acertainMr。Lindsey，itisimportantto
say，wasanexcellentbutexceedinglymatter-of-factsortofman，a
dealerinhardware，andwassturdilyaccustomedtotakewhatiscalled
thecommon-senseviewofallmattersthatcameunderhis
consideration。Withaheartaboutastenderasotherpeople’s，he
hadaheadashardandimpenetrable，andtherefore，perhaps，asempty，
asoneoftheironpotswhichitwasapartofhisbusinesstosell。
Themother’scharacter，ontheotherhand，hadastrainofpoetryin
it，atraitofunworldlybeauty-adelicateanddewyflower，asit
were，thathadsurvivedoutofherimaginativeyouth，andstillkept
itselfaliveamidthedustyrealitiesofmatrimonyandmotherhood。
So，VioletandPeony，asIbeganwithsaying，besoughttheirmother
toletthemrunoutandplayinthenewsnow；for，thoughithad
lookedsodrearyanddismal，driftingdownwardoutofthegraysky，it
hadaverycheerfulaspect，nowthatthesunwasshiningonit。The
childrendweltinacity，andhadnowiderplay-placethanalittle
gardenbeforethehouse，dividedbyawhitefencefromthestreet，and
withapear-treeandtwoorthreeplum-treesovershadowingit，and
somerose-bushesjustinfrontoftheparlorwindows。Thetreesand
shrubs，however，werenowleafless，andtheirtwigswereenveloped
inthelightsnow，whichthusmadeakindofwintryfoliage，withhere
andthereapendenticicleforthefruit。
“Yes，Violet-yes，mylittlePeony。”saidtheirkindmother；“you
maygooutandplayinthenewsnow。”
Accordingly，thegoodladybundledupherdarlingsinwoollen
jacketsandwaddedsacks，andputcomfortersroundtheirnecks，and
apairofstripedgaitersoneachlittlepairoflegs，andworsted
mittensontheirhands，andgavethemakissapiece，bywayofaspell
tokeepawayJackFrost。Forthsalliedthetwochildren，witha
hop-skip-and-jump，thatcarriedthematonceintotheveryheartof
ahugesnow-drift，whenceVioletemergedlikeasnow-bunting，while
littlePeonyflounderedoutwithhisroundfaceinfullbloom。Then
whatamerrytimehadthey！Tolookatthem，frolickinginthe
wintrygarden，youwouldhavethoughtthatthedarkandpitilessstorm
hadbeensentfornootherpurposebuttoprovideanewplaything
forVioletandPeony；andthattheythemselveshadbeencreated，as
thesnow-birdswere，totakedelightonlyinthetempest，andinthe
whitemantlewhichitspreadovertheearth。
Atlast，whentheyhadfrostedoneanotheralloverwithhandfuls
ofsnow，Violet，afterlaughingheartilyatlittlePeony’sfigure，was
struckwithanewidea。
“Youlookexactlylikeasnow-image，Peony。”saidshe，“ifyour
cheekswerenotsored。Andthatputsmeinmind！Letusmakeanimage
outofsnow-animageofalittlegirl-anditshallbeoursisterand
shallrunaboutandplaywithusallwinterlong。Won’titbenice？”
“O，yes！”criedPeony，asplainlyashecouldspeak，forhewasbut
alittleboy。“Thatwillbenice！Andmammashallseeit！”
“Yes。”answeredViolet；“mammashallseethenewlittlegirl。But
shemustnotmakehercomeintothewarmparlor；for，youknow，our
littlesnow-sisterwillnotlovethewarmth。”
Andforthwiththechildrenbeganthisgreatbusinessofmakinga
snow-imagethatshouldrunabout；whiletheirmother，whowas
sittingatthewindowandoverheardsomeoftheirtalk，couldnothelp
smilingatthegravitywithwhichtheysetaboutit。Theyreally
seemedtoimaginethattherewouldbenodifficultywhateverin
creatingalivelittlegirloutofthesnow。And，tosaythetruth，if
miraclesareevertobewrought，itwillbebyputtingourhandsto
theworkinpreciselysuchasimpleandundoubtingframeofmindas
thatinwhichVioletandPeonynowundertooktoperformone，without
somuchasknowingthatitwasamiracle。Sothoughtthemother；and
thought，likewise，thatthenewsnow，justfallenfromheaven，would
beexcellentmaterialtomakenewbeingsof，ifitwerenotsovery
cold。Shegazedatthechildrenamomentlonger，delightingtowatch
theirlittlefigures-thegirl，tallforherage，gracefuland
agile，andsodelicatelycoloredthatshelookedlikeacheerful
thought，morethanaphysicalreality-whilePeonyexpandedinbreadth
ratherthanheight，androlledalongonhisshortandsturdylegs，
assubstantialasanelephant，thoughnotquitesobig。Thenthe
motherresumedherwork。WhatitwasIforget；butshewaseither
trimmingasilkenbonnetforViolet，ordarningapairofstockings
forlittlePeony’sshortlegs。Again，however，andagain，andyet
otheragains，shecouldnothelpturningherheadtothewindow，to
seehowthechildrengotonwiththeirsnow-image。
Indeed，itwasanexceedinglypleasantsight，thosebrightlittle
soulsattheirtasks！Moreover，itwasreallywonderfultoobservehow
knowinglyandskilfullytheymanagedthematter。Violetassumedthe
chiefdirection，andtoldPeonywhattodo，while，withherown
delicatefingers，sheshapedoutallthenicerpartsofthe
snow-figure。Itseemed，infact，notsomuchtobemadebythe
children，astogrowupundertheirhands，whiletheywereplayingand
prattlingaboutit。Theirmotherwasquitesurprisedatthis；and
thelongershelooked，themoreandmoresurprisedshegrew。
“Whatremarkablechildrenmineare！”thoughtshe，smilingwitha
mother’spride；andsmilingatherself，too，forbeingsoproudof
them。“Whatotherchildrencouldhavemadeanythingsolikealittle
girl’sfigureoutofsnow，atthefirsttrial？Well-butnowImust
finishPeony’snewfrock，forhisgrandfatheriscomingtomorrow，
andIwantthelittlefellowtolookhandsome。”
Soshetookupthefrock，andwassoonasbusilyatworkagainwith
herneedleasthetwochildrenwiththeirsnow-image。Butstill，as
theneedletravelledhitherandthitherthroughtheseamsofthe
dress，themothermadehertoillightandhappybylisteningtothe
airyvoicesofVioletandPeony。Theykepttalkingtooneanother
allthetime，theirtonguesbeingquiteasactiveastheirfeetand
hands。Exceptatintervals，shecouldnotdistinctlyhearwhatwas
said，buthadmerelyasweetimpressionthattheywereinamost
lovingmood，andwereenjoyingthemselveshighly，andthatthe
businessofmakingthesnow-imagewentprosperouslyon。Nowand
then，however，whenVioletandPeonyhappenedtoraisetheirvoices，
thewordswereasaudibleasiftheyhadbeenspokeninthevery
parlor，wherethemothersat。O，howdelightfullythosewordsechoed
inherheart，eventhoughtheymeantnothingsoverywiseor
wonderful，afterall！
Butyoumustknowamotherlistenswithherheart，muchmorethan
withherears；andthussheisoftendelightedwiththetrillsof
celestialmusic，whenotherpeoplecanhearnothingofthekind。
“Peony，Peony！”criedViolettoherbrother，whohadgoneto
anotherpartofthegarden，“bringmesomeofthatfreshsnow，
Peony，fromtheveryfurthestcorner，wherewehavenotbeen
trampling。Iwantittoshapeourlittlesnow-sister’sbosomwith。You
knowthatpartmustbequitepure，justasitcameoutofthesky！”
“Hereitis，Violet！”answeredPeony，inhisblufftone-butavery
sweettone，too-ashecameflounderingthroughthehalf-trodden
drifts。“Hereisthesnowforherlittlebosom。O，Violet，how
beau-ti-fulshebeginstolook！”
“Yes。”saidViolet，thoughtfullyandquietly；“oursnow-sisterdoes
lookverylovely。Ididnotquiteknow，Peony，thatwecouldmakesuch
asweetlittlegirlasthis。”
Themother，asshelistened，thoughthowfitanddelightfulan
incidentitwouldbe，iffairies，or，stillbetter，if
angel-childrenweretocomefromparadise，andplayinvisiblywithher
owndarlings，andhelpthemtomaketheirsnow-image，givingitthe
featuresofcelestialbabyhood！VioletandPeonywouldnotbeawareof
theirimmortalplaymatesonlytheywouldseethattheimagegrew
verybeautifulwhiletheyworkedatit，andwouldthinkthatthey
themselveshaddoneitall。
“Mylittlegirlandboydeservesuchplaymates，ifmortal
childreneverdid！”saidthemothertoherself；andthenshesmiled
againatherownmotherlypride。
Nevertheless，theideaseizeduponherimagination；and，everand
anon，shetookaglimpseoutofthewindow，halfdreamingthatshe
mightseethegolden-hairedchildrenofparadisesportingwithherown
golden-hairedVioletandbright-cheekedPeony。
Now，forafewmoments，therewasabusyandearnest，but
in-distincthumofthetwochildren’svoices，asVioletandPeony
wroughttogetherwithonehappyconsent。Violetstillseemedtobethe
guidingspirit，whilePeonyactedratherasalaborer，andbroughther
thesnowfromfarandnear。Andyetthelittleurchinevidentlyhad
aproperunderstandingofthematter，too！
“Peony，Peony！”criedViolet；forherbrotherwasagainatthe
othersideofthegarden。“Bringmethoselightwreathsofsnowthat
haverestedonthelowerbranchesofthepear-tree。Youcanclamberon
thesnow-drift，Peony，andreachthemeasily。Imusthavethemtomake
someringletsforoursnow-sister’shead！”
“Heretheyare，Violet！”answeredthelittleboy。“Takecareyoudo
notbreakthem。Welldone！Welldone！Howpretty！”
“Doesshenotlooksweetly？”saidViolet，withaverysatisfied
tone；“andnowwemusthavesomelittleshiningbitsofice，tomake
thebrightnessofhereyes。Sheisnotfinishedyet。Mammawillsee
howverybeautifulsheis；butpapawillsay，’Tush！nonsense！-come
inoutofthecold！’“
“Letuscallmammatolookout。”saidPeony；andthenheshouted
lustily，“Mamma！mamma！！mamma！！！Lookout，andseewhatanice’ittle
girlwearemaking！