t up the dogs.

"We are very grateful to you," says he to the fox.

"Are you really?" says the old red fox; "for I am very hungry."

"Here is a nice crust for you," says the old woman.

"Oh," says the fox, "but what I would like would be a nice plump hen.
After all, your little snow girl is worth a nice plump hen."

"Very well," says the old woman, but she grumbles to her husband.

"Husband," says she, "we have our little girl again."

"We have," says he; "thanks be for that."

"It seems waste to give away a good plump hen."

"It does," says he.

"Well, I was thinking," says the old woman, and then she tells him
what she meant to do. And he went off and got two sacks.

In one sack they put a fine plump hen, and in the other they put the
fiercest of the dogs. They took the bags outside and called to the
fox. The old red fox came up to them, licking his lips, because he was
so hungry.

They opened one sack, and out the hen fluttered. The old red fox was
just going to seize her, when they opened the other sack, and out
jumped the fierce dog. The poor fox saw his eyes flashing in the dark,
and was so frightened that he ran all the way back into the deep
forest, and never had the hen at all.

"That was well done," said the old man and the old woman. "We have got
our little snow girl, and not had to give away our plump hen."

Then they heard the little snow girl singing in the hut. This is what
she sang:--

"Old ones, old ones, now I know
Less you love me than a hen,
I shall go away again.
Good-bye, ancient ones, good-bye,
Back I go across the sky;
To my motherkin I go--
Little daughter of the Snow."

They ran into the house. There were a little pool of water in front of
the stove, and a fur hat, and a little coat, and little red boots were
lying in it. And yet it seemed to the old man and the old woman that
they saw the little snow girl, with her bright eyes and her long hair,
dancing in the room.

"Do not go! do not go!" they begged, and already they could hardly see
the little dancing girl.

But they heard her laughing, and they heard her song:--

"Old ones, old ones, now I know
Less you love me than a hen,
I shall melt away again.
To my motherkin I go--
Little daughter of the Snow."

And just then the door blew open from the yard, and a cold wind filled
the room, and the little daughter of the Snow was gone.

"You always used to say something