Nearer and nearer came Frost. At length he appeared on the pine, above the heads of the girls, and said to them:
“Are ye warm, maidens? Are ye warm, pretty ones? Are ye warm, my darlings?”
“Oh, Frost, it’s awfully cold! We are utterly perished! We’re expecting a bridegroom, but the confounded fellow has disappeared.”
Frost slid lower down the tree, cracked away more, snapped his fingers oftener than before.
“Are ye warm, maidens? Are ye warm, pretty ones?”
“Get along with you! Are you blind, that you can’t see our hands and feet are quite dead?”
Still lower descended Frost, still more put forth his might and said:
“Are ye warm, maidens?”
“Into the bottomless pit with you! Out of my sight, accursed one!” cried the girls—and became lifeless forms.
Next morning the old woman said to her husband: