SNEGOROTCHKA
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, we will show you all the pretty flowers in the grass, and tell you their names, and you will just love them,—all of them.'
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