h one
sheet of pure and uniform white, and just time enough since the snow had
fallen to allow the hedges to be freed of their fleecy load, and clothed
with a delicate coating of rime. The atmosphere was deliciously calm;
soft, even mild, in spite of the thermometer; no perceptible air, but
a stillness that might almost be felt, the sky, rather gray than blue,
throwing out in bold relief the snow-covered roofs of our village,
and the rimy trees that rise above them, and the sun shining dimly as
through a veil, giving a pale fair light, like the moon, only brighter.
There was a silence, too, that might become the moon, as we stood at our
little gate looking up the quiet street; a Sabbath-like pause of work
and play, rare on a work-day; nothing was audible but the pleasant
hum of frost, that low monotonous sound, which is perhaps the nearest
approach that life and nature can make to absolute silence. The very
waggons as they come down the hill along the beaten track of crisp
yellowish frost-dust, glide along like shadows; even May's bounding
footsteps, at her height of glee and of speed, fall like snow upon snow.

But we shall have noise enough presently: May has stopped at Lizzy's
door; and Lizzy, as she sat on the window-sill with her bright rosy
face laughing through the casement, has seen her and disappeared. She
is coming. No! The key is turning in the door, and sounds of evil omen
issue through the keyhole--sturdy 'let me outs,' and 'I will goes,'
mixed with shrill cries on May and on me from Lizzy, piercing through
a low continuous harangue, of which the prominent parts are apologies,
chilblains, sliding, broken bones, lollypops, rods, and gingerbread,
from Lizzy's careful mother. 'Don't scratch the door, May! Don't roar
so, my Lizzy! We'll call for you as we come back.' 'I'll go now! Let
me out! I will go!' are the last words of Miss Lizzy. Mem. Not to spoil
that child--if I can help it. But I do think her mother might have let
the poor little soul walk with us to-day. Nothing worse for children
than coddling. Nothing better for chilblains than exercise. Besides, I
don't believe she has any--and as to breaking her bones in sliding, I
don't suppose there's a slide on the common. These murmuring cogitations
have brought us up the hill, and half-way across the light and airy
common, with its bright expanse of snow and its clusters of cottages,
whose turf fires send such wreaths of smoke sailing up the air, and
diffus