She shook her head. “No, I don’t want that. It is something else.”
“Is it the naughtiest child?” Kitty went on dreamily.
“No, it cannot be that. I do not want to see the naughtiest child.”
Down, down they went, the snow-man melting till he had dwindled to a stump. Still gliding, dropping noiselessly over each step, went this stump before Kitty.
“Is it the moon I want?” she asked herself. As she said this drowsily the last bit of the snow-man melted away, and she found herself alone at the bottom of the stairs.
The snow had disappeared. She was standing in a meadow full of cowslips. At a little distance stood a wicket-gate, and beyond the gate there was a wood; one of the trees overshadowed the gate.
It was broad daylight. The summer had come; the trees were in full leaf. Kitty rubbed her eyes; but she did not feel surprised.
In front of the gate stood the drollest creature Kitty had ever seen, dancing to its own shadow. Down to the waist it looked like a pretty boy; but it had hairy goat legs, a curling tail, and tiny horns. A pair of pointed ears showed through its curly black hair. Its skin was a golden brown. On seeing Kitty the queer little creature stopped just as it was setting off to run a race with itself. It had the wildest, brightest, blackest eyes.
“Who are you?” he asked, fixing them upon her.