"No warm blood in me doth glow,
Water in my veins doth flow;
Yet I'll laugh and sing and play
By frosty night and frosty day--
Little daughter of the Snow.
"But whenever I do know
That you love me little, then
I shall melt away again.
Back into the sky I'll go--
Little daughter of the Snow."
"God of mine, isn't she beautiful!" said the old man. "Run, wife, and
fetch a blanket to wrap her in while you make clothes for her."
The old woman fetched a blanket, and put it round the shoulders of
the little snow girl. And the old man picked her up, and she put her
little cold arms round his neck.
"You must not keep me too warm," she said.
Well, they took her into the hut, and she lay on a bench in the corner
farthest from the stove, while the old woman made her a little coat.
The old man went out to buy a fur hat and boots from a neighbour for
the little girl. The neighbour laughed at the old man; but a rouble is
a rouble everywhere, and no one turns it from the door, and so he sold
the old man a little fur hat, and a pair of little red boots with fur
round the tops.
Then they dressed the little snow girl.
"Too hot, too hot," said the little snow girl. "I must go out into the
cool night."
"But you must go to sleep now," said the old woman.
"By frosty night and frosty day," sang the little girl. "No; I will
play by myself in the yard all night, and in the morning I'll play in
the road with the children."
Nothing the old people said could change her mind.
"I am the little daughter of the Snow," she replied to everything, and
she ran out into the yard into the snow.
How she danced and ran about in the moonlight on the white frozen
snow!
The old people watched her and watched her. At last they went to bed;
but more than once the old man got up in the night to make sure she
was still there. And there she was, running about in the yard, chasing
her shadow in the moonlight and throwing snowballs at the stars.
In the morning she came in, laughing, to have breakfast with the old
people. She showed them how to make porridge for her, and that was
very simple. They had only to take a piece of ice and crush it up in a
little wooden bowl.
Then after breakfast she ran out in the road, to join the other
children. And the old people watched her. Oh, proud they were, I can
tell you, to see a little girl of their own out there playing in the
road! They fairly longed for a sledge to come driving by, so that they
could run out into the road and call to the little snow girl to be
careful.
And the little snow girl played in the snow with the other children.
How she played! She could run faster than any of them. Her little red
boots flashed as she ran about. Not one of the other children was a
match for her at snowballing. And when the children began making a
snow woman, a Baba Yaga, you would have thought the little daughter of
the Snow would have died of laughing. She laughed and laughed, like
ringing peals on little glass bells. But she helped in the making of
the snow woman, only laughing all the time.
When it was done, all the children threw snowballs at it, till it fell
to pieces. And the little snow girl laughed and laughed, and was so
quick she threw more snowballs than any of them.
The old man and the old woman watched her, and were very proud.
"She is all our own," said the old woman.
"Our little white pigeon," said the old man.
In the evening she had another bowl of ice-porridge, and then she went
off again to play by herself in the yard.
"You'll be tired, my dear," says the old man.
"You'll sleep in the hut to-night, won't you, my love," says the old
woman, "after running about all day long?"
But the little daughter of the Snow only laughed. "By frosty night and
frosty day," she sang, and ran out of the door, laughing back at them
with shining eyes.
And so it went on all through the winter. The little daughter of the
Snow was singing and laughing and dancing all the time. She always ran
out into the night and played by herself till dawn. Then she'd come
in and have her ice-porridge. Then she'd play with the children. Then
she'd have ice-porridge again, and off she would go, out into the
night.
She was very good. She did everything the old woman told her. Only she
would never sleep indoors. All the children of the village loved her.
They did not know how they had ever played without her.
It went on so till just about this time of year. Perhaps it was a
little earlier. Anyhow the snow was melting, and you could get about
the paths. Often the children went together a little way into the
forest in the sunny part of the day. The little snow girl went with
them. It would have been no fun without her.
And then one day they went too far into the wood, and when they said
they were going to turn back, little snow girl tossed her head under
her little fur hat, and ran on laughing among the trees. The other
children were afraid to follow her. It was getting dark. They waited
as long as they dared, and then they ran home, holding each other's
hands.
And there was the little daughter of the Snow out in the forest alone.
She looked back for the others, and could not see them. She climbed up
into a tree; but the other trees were thick round her, and she could
not see farther than when she was on the ground.