Themotherputdownherwork，foraninstant，andlookedoutofthe
window。Butitsohappenedthatthesun-forthiswasoneofthe
shortestdaysofthewholeyear-hadsunkensonearlytotheedgeof
theworld，thathissettingshinecameobliquelyintothelady’seyes。
Soshewasdazzled，youmustunderstand，andcouldnotverydistinctly
observewhatwasinthegarden。Still，however，throughallthat
bright，blindingdazzleofthesunandthenewsnow，shebehelda
smallwhitefigureinthegarden，thatseemedtohaveawonderfuldeal
ofhumanlikenessaboutit。AndshesawVioletandPeony-indeed，
shelookedmoreatthemthanattheimage-shesawthetwochildren
stillatwork；Peonybringingfreshsnow，andVioletapplyingitto
thefigureasscientificallyasasculptoraddsclaytohismodel。
Indistinctlyasshediscernedthesnow-child，themotherthoughtto
herselfthatneverbeforewasthereasnow-figuresocunninglymade，
noreversuchadearlittlegirlandboytomakeit。
“Theydoeverythingbetterthanotherchildren。”saidshe，very
complacently。“Nowondertheymakebettersnow-images！”
Shesatdownagaintoherwork，andmadeasmuchhastewithitas
possible；becausetwilightwouldsooncome，andPeony’sfrockwas
notyetfinished，andgrandfatherwasexpected，byrailroad，pretty
earlyinthemorning。Fasterandfaster，therefore，wentherflying
fingers。Thechildren，likewise，keptbusilyatworkinthegarden，
andstillthemotherlistened，whenevershecouldcatchaword。She
wasamusedtoobservenowtheirlittleimaginationshadgotmixedup
withwhattheyweredoing，andwerecarriedawaybyit。Theyseemed
positivelytothinkthatthesnow-childwouldrunaboutandplay
withthem。
“Whataniceplaymateshewillbeforus，allwinterlong！”said
Violet。“Ihopepapawillnotbeafraidofhergivingusacold！
Shan’tyouloveherdearly，Peony？”
“O，yes！”criedPeony。“AndIwillhugher，andsheshallsit
downclosebyme，anddrinksomeofmywarmmilk！”
“O，no，Peony！”answeredViolet，withgravewisdom。“Thatwill
notdoatall。Warmmilkwillnotbewholesomeforourlittle
snow-sister。Littlesnow-people，likeher，eatnothingbuticicles。
No，no，Peony；wemustnotgiveheranythingwarmtodrink！”
Therewasaminuteortwoofsilence；forPeony，whoseshortlegs
wereneverweary，hadgoneonapilgrimageagaintotheotherside
ofthegarden。Allofasudden，Violetcriedout，loudlyandjoyfully，
“Lookhere，Peony！Comequickly！Alighthasbeenshiningonhercheek
outofthatrose-coloredcloud！andthecolordoesnotgoaway！Isnot
thatbeautiful？”
“Yes；itisbeau-ti-ful。”answeredPeony，pronouncingthethree
syllableswithdeliberateaccuracy。“O，Violet，onlylookatherhair！
Itisalllikegold！”
“O，certainly。”saidViolet，withtranquillity，asifitwere
verymuchamatterofcourse。“Thatcolor，youknow，comesfromthe
goldenclouds，thatweseeupthereinthesky。Sheisalmostfinished
now。Butherlipsmustbemadeveryred-redderthanhercheeks。
Perhaps，Peony，itwillmakethemred，ifwebothkissthem！”
Accordingly，themotherheardtwosmartlittlesmacks，asifboth
herchildrenwerekissingthesnow-imageonitsfrozenmouth。But，
asthisdidnotseemtomakethelipsquiteredenough，Violetnext
proposedthatthesnow-childshouldbeinvitedtokissPeony’sscarlet
cheek。
“Come，’ittlesnow-sister，kissme！”criedPeony。
“There！shehaskissedyou。”addedViolet，“andnowherlipsare
veryred。Andsheblushedalittle，too！”
“O，whatacoldkiss！”criedPeony。
Justthen，therecameabreezeofthepurewestwind，sweeping
throughthegardenandrattlingtheparlorwindows。Itsoundedso
wintrycold，thatthemotherwasabouttotaponthewindow-pane
withherthimbledfinger，tosummonthetwochildrenin，whenthey
bothcriedouttoherwithonevoice。Thetonewasnotatoneof
surprise，althoughtheywereevidentlyagooddealexcited；it
appearedratherasiftheywereverymuchrejoicedatsomeevent
thathadnowhappened，butwhichtheyhadbeenlookingfor，andhad
reckoneduponallalong。
“Mamma！mamma！Wehavefinishedourlittlesnow-sister，andshe
isrunningaboutthegardenwithus！”
“Whatimaginativelittlebeingsmychildrenare！”thoughtthe
mother，puttingthelastfewstitchesintoPeony’sfrock。“Anditis
strange，too，thattheymakemealmostasmuchachildasthey
themselvesare！Icanhardlyhelpbelieving，now，thatthe
snow-imagehasreallycometolife！”
“Dearmamma！”criedViolet，“praylookoutandseewhatasweet
playmatewehave！”
Themother，beingthusentreated，couldnolongerdelaytolook
forthfromthewindow。Thesunwasnowgoneoutofthesky，leaving，
however，arichinheritanceofhisbrightnessamongthosepurpleand
goldencloudswhichmakethesunsetsofwintersomagnificent。But
therewasnottheslightestgleamordazzle，eitheronthewindowor
onthesnow；sothatthegoodladycouldlookalloverthegarden，and
seeeverythingandeverybodyinit。Andwhatdoyouthinkshesaw
there？VioletandPeony，ofcourse，herowntwodarlingchildren。
Ah，butwhomorwhatdidshebesides？Why，ifyouwillbelieveme，
therewasasmallfigureofagirl，dressedallinwhite，with
rose-tingedcheeksandringletsofgoldenhue，playingaboutthe
gardenwiththetwochildren！Astrangerthoughshewas，thechild
seemedtobeonasfamiliartermswithVioletandPeony，andtheywith
her，asifallthethreehadbeenplaymatesduringthewholeof
theirlittlelives。Themotherthoughttoherselfthatitmust
certainlybethedaughterofoneoftheneighbors，andthat，seeing
VioletandPeonyinthegarden，thechildhadrunacrossthestreetto
playwiththem。Sothiskindladywenttothedoor，intendingto
invitethelittlerunawayintohercomfortableparlor；for，nowthat
thesunshinewaswithdrawn，theatmosphere，outofdoors，was
alreadygrowingverycold。
But，afteropeningthehouse-door，shestoodaninstantonthe
threshold，hesitatingwhethersheoughttoaskthechildtocomein，
orwhethersheshouldevenspeaktoher。Indeed，shealmostdoubted
whetheritwerearealchild，afterall，oronlyalightwreathofthe
new-fallensnow，blownhitherandthitheraboutthegardenbythe
intenselycoldwestwind。Therewascertainlysomethingvery
singularintheaspectofthelittlestranger。Amongallthe
childrenoftheneighborhood，theladycouldremembernosuchface，
withitspurewhite，anddelicaterose-color，andthegolden
ringletstossingabouttheforeheadandcheeks。Andasforher
dress，whichwasentirelyofwhite，andflutteringinthebreeze，it
wassuchasnoreasonablewomanwouldputuponalittlegirl，when
sendingherouttoplay，inthedepthofwinter。Itmadethiskindand
carefulmothershiveronlytolookatthosesmallfeet，withnothing
intheworldonthem，exceptaverythinpairofwhiteslippers。
Nevertheless，airilyasshewasclad，thechildseemedtofeelnotthe
slightestinconveniencefromthecold，butdancedsolightlyover
thesnowthatthetipsofhertoeslefthardlyaprintinitssurface；
whileVioletcouldbutjustkeeppacewithher，andPeony’sshortlegs
compelledhimtolagbehind。
Once，inthecourseoftheirplay，thestrangechildplacedherself
betweenVioletandPeony，andtakingahandofeach，skippedmerrily
forward，andtheyalongwithher。Almostimmediately，however，Peony
pulledawayhislittlefist，andbegantorubitasifthefingers
weretinglingwithcold；whileVioletalsoreleasedherself，though
withlessabruptness，gravelyremarkingthatitwasbetternottotake
holdofhands。Thewhite-robeddamselsaidnotaword，butdanced
about，justasmerrilyasbefore。IfVioletandPeonydidnotchoose
toplaywithher，shecouldmakejustasgoodaplaymateofthe
briskandcoldwestwind，whichkeptblowingherallaboutthegarden，
andtooksuchlibertieswithher，thattheyseemedtohavebeen
friendsforalongtime。Allthiswhile，themotherstoodonthe
threshold，wonderinghowalittlegirlcouldlooksomuchlikea
flyingsnow-drift，orhowasnow-driftcouldlooksoverylikea
littlegirl。
ShecalledViolet，andwhisperedtoher。
“Violet，mydarling，whatisthischild’sname？”askedshe。“Does
shelivenearus？”
“Why，dearestmamma。”answeredViolet，laughingtothinkthather
motherdidnotcomprehendsoveryplainanaffair，“thisisourlittle
snow-sister，whomwehavejustbeenmaking！”
“Yes，dearmamma。”criedPeony，runningtohismother，and
lookingupsimplyintoherface。“Thisisoursnow-image！Isitnot
anice’ittlechild？”
Atthisinstantaflockofsnow-birdscameflittingthroughthe
air。Aswasverynatural，theyavoidedVioletandPeony。But-andthis
lookedstrange-theyflewatoncetothewhite-robedchild，
flutteredeagerlyaboutherhead，alightedonhershoulders，and
seemedtoclaimherasanoldacquaintance。She，onherpart，was
evidentlyasgladtoseetheselittlebirds，oldWinter’s
grandchildren，astheyweretoseeher，andwelcomedthembyholding
outbothherhands。Hereupon，theyeachandalltriedtoalightonher
twopalmsandtensmallfingersandthumbs，crowdingoneanother
off，withanimmenseflutteringoftheirtinywings。Onedearlittle
birdnestledtenderlyinherbosom；anotherputitsbilltoher
lips。Theywereasjoyous，allthewhile，andseemedasmuchin
theirelement，asyoumayhaveseenthemwhensportingwitha
snow-storm。
VioletandPeonystoodlaughingatthisprettysight；forthey
enjoyedthemerrytimewhichtheirnewplaymatewashavingwith
thesesmall-wingedvisitants，almostasmuchasiftheythemselves
tookpartinit。
“Violet。”saidhermother，greatlyperplexed，“tellmethetruth，
withoutanyjest。Whoisthislittlegirl？”
“Mydarlingmamma。”answeredViolet，lookingseriouslyintoher
mother’sface，andapparentlysurprisedthatsheshouldneedany
furtherexplanation，“Ihavetoldyoutrulywhosheis。Itisour
littlesnow-image，whichPeonyandIhavebeenmaking。Peonywilltell
youso，aswellasI。”
“Yes，mamma。”asseveratedPeony，withmuchgravityinhiscrimson
littlephiz；“thisis’ittlesnow-child。Isnotsheaniceone？But，
mamma，herhandis，oh，soverycold！”
Whilemammastillhesitatedwhattothinkandwhattodo，the
street-gatewasthrownopen，andthefatherofVioletandPeony
appeared，wrappedinapilot-clothsack，withafurcapdrawndown
overhisears，andthethickestofglovesuponhishands。Mr。
Lindseywasamiddle-agedman，withawearyandyetahappylookin
hiswind-flushedandfrost-pinchedface，asifhehadbeenbusyall
thedaylong，andwasgladtogetbacktohisquiethome。Hiseyes
brightenedatthesightofhiswifeandchildren，althoughhecould
nothelputteringawordortwoofsurprise，atfindingthewhole
familyintheopenair，onsobleakaday，andaftersunsettoo。He
soonperceivedthelittlewhitestranger，sportingtoandfrointhe
garden，likeadancingsnow-wreath，andtheflockofsnow-birds
flutteringabout14herhead。
“Pray，whatlittlegirlmaythatbe？”inquiredthisverysensible
man。“Surelyhermothermustbecrazy，tolethergooutinsuch
bitterweatherasithasbeentoday，withonlythatflimsywhitegown，
andthosethinslippers！”
“Mydearhusband。”saidhiswife，“Iknownomoreaboutthe
littlethingthanyoudo。Someneighbor’schild，Isuppose。OurViolet
andPeony。”sheadded，laughingatherselfforrepeatingsoabsurda
story，“insistthatsheisnothingbutasnow-image，whichtheyhave
beenbusyaboutinthegarden，almostalltheafternoon。”
Asshesaidthis，themotherglancedhereyestowardthespotwhere
thechildren’ssnow-imagehadbeenmade。Whatwashersurprise，on
perceivingthattherewasnottheslightesttraceofsomuchlabor！-
noimageatall！-nopiled-upheapofsnow！-nothingwhatever，save
theprintsoflittlefootstepsaroundavacantspace！
“Thisisverystrange！”saidshe。