l, dressed all in white, with rose-tinged
cheeks and ringlets of golden hue, playing about the garden with the
two children! A stranger though she was, the child seemed to be on as
familiar terms with Violet and Peony, and they with her, as if all the
three had been playmates during the whole of their little lives. The
mother thought to herself that it must certainly be the daughter of
one of the neighbors, and that, seeing Violet and Peony in the garden,
the child had run across the street to play with them. So this kind
lady went to the door, intending to invite the little runaway into her
comfortable parlor; for, now that the sunshine was withdrawn, the
atmosphere, out of doors, was already growing very cold.

[Illustration: {Violet, Peony and the snow girl run through the snow}]

But, after opening the house door, she stood an instant on the
threshold, hesitating whether she ought to ask the child to come in,
or whether she should even speak to her. Indeed, she almost doubted
whether it were a real child, after all, or only a light wreath of the
new-fallen snow, blown hither and thither about the garden by the
intensely cold west wind. There was certainly something very singular
in the aspect of the little stranger. Among all the children of the
neighborhood, the lady could remember no such face, with its pure
white, and delicate rose-color, and the golden ringlets tossing about
the forehead and cheeks. And as for her dress, which was entirely of
white, and fluttering in the breeze, it was such as no reasonable
woman would put upon a little girl, when sending her out to play, in
the depth of winter. It made this kind and careful mother shiver only
to look at those small feet, with nothing in the world on them, except
a very thin pair of white slippers. Nevertheless, airily as she was
clad, the child seemed to feel not the slightest inconvenience from
the cold, but danced so lightly over the snow, that the tips of her
toes left hardly a print in its surface; while Violet could but just
keep pace with her, and Peony's short legs compelled him to lag
behind.

Once, in the course of their play, the strange child placed herself
between Violet and Peony, and taking a hand of each, skipped merrily
forward, and they along with her. Almost immediately, however, Peony
pulled away his little fist, and began to rub it as if the fingers
were tingling with cold; while Violet also released herself, though
with less abruptness