Meanwhile, Frost had numbed the girls’ hands, so our damsels folded them under their dresses, and then went on quarrelling as before.
“What, you fright! You sleepy face! You abominable shrew! Why, you don’t know so much as how to begin weaving; and as to going on with it, you haven’t an idea!”
“Aha, boaster! And what is it you know? Why, nothing at all except to go out merrymaking and lick your lips there. We’ll soon see which he’ll take first!”
While the girls went on scolding like that, they began to freeze in downright earnest. Suddenly they both cried out at once:
“Whyever is he so long coming? You know, you have turned quite blue!”
Now, a good way off, Frost had begun cracking, snapping his fingers and leaping from fir to fir. To the girls it sounded as if someone were coming.
“Listen, Praskóvya! He’s coming at last, with bells, too!”
“Get along with you! I won’t listen; my skin is pealing with cold.”
“And yet you’re still expecting to get married!”
Then they began blowing their fingers.