Beneath them lay the steep river bank, smooth with its white, glittering crust, above which a few naked alders pushed their snow-weighted finger-tips; one rugged old pine-tree stood in the garden, grand, dark, and fearless; the quiet part of the river had been turned by King Winter into an icy mirror; but over the dam a hundred yards below, the waters tumbled too furiously to be frozen. The old bridge looked like a silver string tying together the two little villages, and over all was the dazzling winter moonlight.
Six dreamy faces now at the cottage window. Six girlish figures, all drawn closely together, with arms lovingly clasped. The white beauty, and the solemn stillness of the picture hushed them into quietness. One minute passed and then another, while the spell was working, till at length Bell impulsively bent her brown head, and said softly: “If the minister were here he would say, 'Let us pray.' It makes me want to whisper, 'Dear Lord, make us pure and white within, as thy world is without.'”
“Amen,” murmured Edith and Patty, in the same breath.
“Pull down the curtain,” sighed Jo; “it makes me feel wicked!”
“Ah, don't, don't, not quite yet!” pleaded Edith, “it is too heavenly and it can't do us any harm to feel wicked. It reminds me of Tennyson's 'St. Agnes' Eve,' of the white, white picture she looked out upon from her convent window the night she was lifted to the golden doors of heaven—the poem you recited for the medal, Alice,—say a verse of it.” And Alice, half under her breath, repeated the lovely lines:
“As these white robes are soil'd and
dark
To yonder shining ground;
As this pale taper's earthly spark,
To yonder argent round;