Golden Snow
Now must go.
Sisters white,
Good night! Good night!”
There was a little sound, as though soft hands met and young lips kissed each other, and Golden Snow ran into the house, rosy, joyous, and ready to obey the good mother, even when she said, “Go to bed, my dear child,” though the bright eyes were still wide awake.
“You will tell me a story, mother,” said the young girl, in a coaxing tone.
So the old woman sat down by the bedside, and told her a wonderful story of the olden time, how a fair princess was changed into a blue bird by the incantations of a wicked old witch, who had red eyes, and had studied the black art. And how, after a long time, the cruel enchantment was broken by a brave young prince, who had marvelous adventures. “So it all ended happily,” said the old mother, bending over Golden Snow to kiss her. Then she saw that the young maiden slept, and she stood gazing upon her fresh young face, and thinking curious thoughts, which somehow were enwoven with the web of the story she had been telling, but all ended in this:—“Golden Snow is the most beautiful maiden.”
At the castle the musicians were playing, and the grand saloon was like an enchanted hall, with fragrant air and gorgeous light. The delicious music stole into the heart, and throbbed in the impassioned pulses of the guests, the noble gentlemen and fair ladies.
The dark-eyed brunette rivaled the delicate blonde, and all were lovely in their dainty robes, with the soft mellow light floating around them.