"Listen! there's some one coming. Yes, and with bells on his sledge!"
"Shut up, you slut! I can't hear, and the frost is taking the skin off me."
They began blowing on their fingers.
And Frost came nearer and nearer, crackling, laughing, talking to himself, just as he is doing to-day. Nearer and nearer he came, leaping from tree-top to tree-top, till at last he leapt into the great fir under which the two girls were sitting and quarrelling.
He leant down, looking through the branches, and asked,—
"Are you warm, maidens? Are you warm, little red cheeks? Are you warm, little pigeons?"
"Ugh, Frost, the cold is hurting us. We are frozen. We are waiting for our bridegrooms, but the cursed fellows have not turned up."
Frost came a little lower in the tree, and crackled louder and swifter.
"Are you warm, maidens? Are you warm, my little red cheeks?"