mother was quite surprised at this; and the
longer she looked, the more and more surprised she grew.

"What remarkable children mine are!" thought she, smiling with a
mother's pride; and smiling at herself, too, for being so proud of
them. "What other children could have made any thing so like a little
girl's figure out of snow, at the first trial? Well;--but now I must
finish Peony's new frock, for his grandfather is coming to-morrow, and
I want the little fellow to look handsome."

So she took up the frock, and was soon as busily at work again with
her needle as the two children with their snow-image. But still, as
the needle travelled hither and thither through the seams of the
dress, the mother made her toil light and happy by listening to the
airy voices of Violet and Peony. They kept talking to one another all
the time, their tongues being quite as active as their feet and hands.
Except at intervals, she could not distinctly hear what was said, but
had merely a sweet impression that they were in a most loving mood,
and were enjoying themselves highly, and that the business of making
the snow-image went prosperously on. Now and then, however, when
Violet and Peony happened to raise their voices, the words were as
audible as if they had been spoken in the very parlor, where the
mother sat. O, how delightfully those words echoed in her heart, even
though they meant nothing so very wise or wonderful, after all!

But you must know a mother listens with her heart, much more than with
her ears; and thus she is often delighted with the trills of celestial
music, when other people can hear nothing of the kind.

"Peony, Peony!" cried Violet to her brother, who had gone to another
part of the garden, "bring me some of that fresh snow, Peony, from the
very furthest corner, where we have not been trampling. I want it to
shape our little snow-sister's bosom with. You know that part must be
quite pure, just as it came out of the sky!"

"Here it is, Violet!" answered Peony, in his bluff tone, but a very
sweet tone, too,--as he came floundering through the half-trodden
drifts. "Here is the snow for her little bosom. O, Violet, how
beau-ti-ful she begins to look!"

"Yes," said Violet, thoughtfully and quietly; "our snow-sister does
look very lovely. I did not quite know, Peony, that we could make such
a sweet little girl as this."

The mother, as she listened, thought how fit and delightful an
incident it would be, if fairi