He leapt at last into the great fir tree, under which the little maid was sitting. He crackled in the top of the tree, and then called; down out of the topmost branches,—
"Are you warm, little maid?"
"Warm, warm, little Father Frost."
Frost laughed, and came a little lower in the tree and crackled and crackled louder than before. Then he asked,—
"Are you still warm, little maid? Are you warm, little red cheeks?"
The little maid could hardly speak. She was nearly dead, but she answered,—
"Warm, dear Frost; warm, little father."
Frost climbed lower in the tree, and crackled louder than ever, and asked,—
"Are you still warm, little maid? Are you warm, little red cheeks? Are you warm, little paws?"