“Not at all,” said George.
Mrs Enderby laughed heartily, and then told him that her face was not unlike his once—as round, and as red, and as shining in frosty weather.
“Perhaps if you were to go out now into the frost, your face would look as it used to do.”
“I am afraid not. When my face looked like yours, it was when I was a little girl, and used to slide and make snowballs as you do. That was a long time ago. My face is wrinkled now, because I am old; and it is pale, because I am ill.”
George heard nothing after the word “snowballs.” “I wish some more snow would come,” he observed. “We have plenty of ice down in the meadows, but there has been only one fall of snow, and that melted almost directly.”
“Papa thinks there will be more snow very soon,” observed Matilda.
“If there is, you children can do something for me that I should like very much,” said grandmamma. “Shall I tell you what it is?”
“Yes.”
“You can make a snow-man in that field. I am sure Mr Grey will give you leave.”
“What good will that do you?” asked Matilda.