It was not nurse; it was the snow-man staring at her with his blank eyes, and waving a great fingerless white hand to her in the moonlight.
Kitty did not feel frightened; she sat up and looked at him. He held his pipe in one hand; with the other he beckoned to her. She could see the formless hand quite distinctly waving backward and forward.
“Get up! get up! get up!” he repeated in a hoarse, muffled voice.
“Go away, naughty snow-man,” said Kitty; “it is your fault that Johnnie is ill.”
“Don’t you want to find the blue rose?” said the snow-man, with little pants between his words; he seemed very short of breath. His voice began with a rumble and a grumble, and ended in a squeak.
“The blue rose that will cure Johnnie! Oh! but where can I find it?” eagerly cried Kitty, standing up in bed, and pressing up both hands under her chin.
“Come away! come away! come away!” said the snow-man, moving off.
He had an extraordinary way of walking—a shuffling, shambling, sliding way, and as he moved he still waved that white formless hand, and gazed at Kitty with his blank eyeless sockets.
“I dare not go downstairs again,” said Kitty.