flake.

Then all at once there was a strange hub-bub in the forest; for it
was midnight, and the spirits came from their hiding-places to prowl
about and to disport themselves. Barbara beheld them all in great
wonder and trepidation, for she had never before seen the spirits of
the forest, although she had often heard of them. It was a marvellous
sight.

[Illustration: So Barbara fell asleep.]

"Fear nothing," whispered the vine to Barbara,--"fear nothing, for
they dare not touch you."

The antics of the wood-spirits continued but an hour; for then a cock
crowed, and immediately thereat, with a wondrous scurrying, the elves
and the gnomes and the other grotesque spirits sought their
abiding-places in the caves and in the hollow trunks and under the
loose bark of the trees. And then it was very quiet once more in the
forest.

"It is very cold," said Barbara. "My hands and feet are like ice."

Then the pine-tree and the fir shook down the snow from their broad
boughs, and the snow fell upon Barbara and covered her like a white
mantle.

"You will be warm now," said the vine, kissing Barbara's forehead. And
Barbara smiled.

Then the snowdrop sang a lullaby about the moss that loved the violet.
And Barbara said, "I am going to sleep; will you wake me when the
prince comes through the forest?"

And they said they would. So Barbara fell asleep.

III

"The bells in the city are ringing merrily," said the fir, "and the
music in the cathedral is louder and more beautiful than before. Can
it be that the prince has already come into the city?"

"No," cried the pine-tree, "look to the east and see the Christmas day
a-dawning! The prince is coming, and his pathway is through the
forest!"

The storm had ceased. Snow lay upon all the earth. The hills, the
forest, the city, and the meadows were white with the robe the
storm-king had thrown over them. Content with his wondrous work, the
storm-king himself had fled to his far Northern home before the dawn
of the Christmas day. Everything was bright and sparkling and
beautiful. And most beautiful was the great hymn of praise the forest
sang that Christmas morning,--the pine-trees and the firs and the
vines and the snow-flowers that sang of the prince and of his promised
coming.

"Wake up, little one," cried the vine, "for the prince is coming!"

But Barbara slept; she did not hear the vine's soft calling nor the
lofty music of the forest.

A little snow-bird flew