With slow and steady stride they
went from mountain top to mountain top, around the circle of the
sky-line. The earth began to clothe itself in green. The great trees,
holding out their naked arms like huge babies waiting to be dressed,
were getting greener and greener, and last year's birds sat in their
branches singing this year's songs. The early flowers shed their perfume
on the breeze, and now and then a waft of warm air, straying from its
summer haunts, caressed the cheek and breathed a glowing promise in the
ear. The forests and the fields were stirring. A beautiful spirit
brooded over the face of nature;--spring was trembling on the leash and
tugging to be free.

One afternoon Marusha was sitting in the inglenook stirring the soup
and singing a mournful song, because she had never felt so full of joy.
The old man Youshko had just brought in a bundle of wood and laid it on
the hearth. It seemed just the same as on that winter's afternoon when
they saw the children dancing round their snow man; but what made all
the difference was Snegorotchka, the apple of their eye, who now sat by
the window, gazing out at the green grass and the budding trees.

Youshko had been looking at her; he had noticed that her face was pale
and her eyes a shade less blue than usual. He grew anxious about her.

'Are you not feeling well, Snegorotchka?' he asked.

'No, Little Father,' she replied sadly. 'I miss the white snow,--oh! so
much; the green grass is not half as beautiful. I wish the snow would
come again.'

'Oh! yes; the snow will come again,' replied the old man. 'But don't you
like the leaves on the trees and the blossoms and the flowers, my
darling?'

'They are not so beautiful as the pure, white snow.' And Snegorotchka
shuddered.

The next day she looked so pale and sad that they were alarmed, and
glanced at one another anxiously.

'What ails the child?' said Marusha.

Youshko shook his head and looked from Snegorotchka to the fire, and
then back again.

'My child,' he said at last, 'why don't you go out and play with the
others? They are all enjoying themselves among the flowers in the
forest; but I've noticed you never play with them now. Why is it, my
darling?'

'I don't know, Little Father, but my heart seems to turn to water when
the soft warm wind brings the scent of the blossoms.'

'But we will come with you, my child,' said the old man. 'I will put my
arm about you and shield you from the wind. Come, w