The poor fisher-folk had now something to love, and were never so happy in their lives.
The long winter gave place to the pleasant summer time, and the little child grew lovelier day by day, till in all the northern gold land there was not a maiden who could compare with her.
Good fortune had followed the fisherman. Ever since that stormy night he had never drawn in his net empty, and there had been always plenty in the larder. The old woman often said, “It all comes of Golden Snow—she is our luck child.”
As the years went by, she had taught the maiden all she knew herself, which was little enough, to be sure; but the child had other teachers. From the birds she received the gift of song, and learned the wonderful stories of the far southern lands.
The leaves of summer, and the evergreens of winter, whispered a thousand pleasant things in her ear, but it was the snow-flakes that she loved best of all. The old fisher-folk often heard them calling her as they flew about in the winter storm:—
“Golden Snow! Golden Snow!
You are one of us.
When the wild winds blow,
Come out to us
From the fire-light’s glow.