"Does she live near us?"
Violet laughed that her mother could not understand so clear a matter.
"This is our little snow sister," she said, "whom we have just been
making."
At that instant a flock of snowbirds came flitting through the air. As
was very natural, they avoided Violet and Peony. But--and this looked
strange--they flew at once to the white-robed child, lighted on her
shoulder, and seemed to claim her as their friend.
The little snow image was as glad to see these birds, old Winter's
grandchildren, as they were to see her, and she welcomed them by
holding out both of her hands. They tried to all alight on her ten
small fingers and thumbs, crowding one another with a great fluttering
of wings. One snowbird nestled close to her heart and another put its
bill to her lips.
Just then the garden gate was thrown open and the children's father
came in. A fur cap was drawn down over his ears and the thickest of
gloves covered his hands. He had been working all day and was glad to
get home. He smiled as he saw the children and their mother. His heart
was tender, but his head was as hard and impenetrable as one of the
iron pots that he sold in his hardware shop. At once, though, he
perceived the little white stranger, playing in the garden, like a
dancing snow wraith with the flock of snowbirds fluttering around her
head.
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