“Father,” she exclaimed, “the lady! she did not go out at the door, nor the window; how did she go?”
“Don’t ask me, wife—I don’t know any thing,” replied the old man in a bewildered way. “I believe—I rather think I am in the fog.” And after this he sank into a chair, and did not speak again for an hour. He was trying in vain to get out of the fog. A clear, ringing laugh startled the old man; it was Golden Snow, whose eyes were glistening with mirth.
“Who was she, child?” asked the good-wife.
“It was the Snow Queen, mother,” replied the young girl, as soon as she could speak for laughing. “But now let us look at my birthday gift.”
The good woman’s curiosity overcame her wonder; so, taking the silver key, she unlocked the great box, and displayed such a quantity of beautiful things, that her admiration was as great as her amazement.
There were shining robes of silver and gold cloth, and rich cloaks of fur, ornamented with glittering gems. Golden Snow was almost wild with delight, and her beaming eyes glistened with the unexpected pleasure. And the good-wife, though the mysticism troubled her greatly, could not but rejoice at the sight of all these treasures.
She took up a robe of silver cloth, richly embroidered with gold, saying, “Oh! my child, if you could only wear this to the ball, I should live to see you the bride of a real prince, and the richest man in all the Russian possessions, except the great czar himself.”
The old woman sighed heavily, adding, “It would not be right to say aught against the good-man, for there is nobody like him; but I do believe he would have his way if old Nickey Bend stood at the door with his cloven hoof, so it is no use talking—we must give up the ball, my child.”
“And I am content,” said Golden Snow, fastening a string of pearls into the shining crown that she had formed of her own abundant tresses. Then she threw about her a rich fur mantle, made of a thousand different skins of the finest quality.
“I must go now, and dance for a while with my sisters. Remember, mother,” she added, as the old woman shook her head, “it is my birthnight—you would not deny me.”