“A little snow never hurt anybody yet,” replied his wife, and she drew her shawl closer round her shoulders and poked the fire.
Meanwhile Jack Frost was making his way home from the town, but before the mill came in sight it began to snow, and soon it was snowing so fast that he could not see a yard ahead of him. Thicker and thicker fell the flakes, blotting out hedge and stile and milestone. Jack Frost stumbled on a little farther, but he was cold and tired, and soon his legs began to give way under him. Then a great drowsiness overcame him, and he lay down to rest. As he fell asleep, it seemed to him that he was pillowed on a bed of down, and that a rich green canopy was spread above him, yet when he awoke in the morning, warm and well and light at heart, he saw that he had slept all night upon the snow, and that there was no canopy overhead save the little stunted thorn-tree.
Now when Jack Frost had grown to be a youth, a great calamity befell the country. Not long before, the queen had given birth to a son, and throughout the land there were great festivities to do honour to the heir. But on Roodmas Eve, when the fairies are abroad, they stole away the little prince, and put a changeling in his stead, so ugly and malicious that he soon became the plague and terror of the whole court. The king at once summoned all his wisest counsellors, and inquired of them what should be done in such a case, and they all with one accord assured him that there were but two remedies; either the fairy changeling must be made to laugh, or to refer in some way to his real age. Unfortunately, however, the new prince was far too cross-tempered to laugh under any circumstances, though the court jester and all the wits of the land did their utmost to amuse him; and though every device was tried to make him say that he had many and many a time seen the acorn turn to an oak and the oak to a cradle, the impish creature could not be induced to say anything of the sort. Then the king issued a proclamation, promising untold riches as a reward to anyone who should restore his son, but it was all to no purpose.
At last it came into the mind of the foundling at the mill to test the good-will which the Little People had to him. “I will set out in search of the king’s son,” said he, “who can tell but that I may persuade the fairies to give him up, for surely the People of Peace have shown themselves my friends?”
“A likely thing indeed,” sneered the miller’s wife, “that you should succeed where the wisest of the land have failed! I suppose it is the king’s proclamation which has put this nonsense into your head, but what would you do with all those riches, even if you had them, I should like to know? A great stupid loutish fellow like you!”
Jack Frost was not to be discouraged, however. He took a knapsack with him for his travels, and bidding good-bye to all at the mill, he set out. But first he thought he would like to go once more to the field beyond the mill-race, and take a last look at his thorn-tree; and no sooner had he stepped into the fairy ring, than he saw the fairies dancing in a circle round him.
“Whither away, Jack Frost?” asked they.
“I go in search of the king’s son,” replied the foundling.
“It is the fairy queen herself who has stolen him away,” said the elves, “for he was very fair of face.”
“Then I fear she will be loath to give him up,” sighed Jack Frost.