“Art thou warm, maiden?”
“Warm, warm am I, dear Father Frost,” she replied.
Frost began to descend lower, all the more cracking and snapping his fingers. To the maiden said Frost:—
“Art thou warm, maiden? Art thou warm, fair one?”
The girl could scarcely draw her breath, but still she replied:
“Warm am I, Frost dear: warm am I, father dear!”
Frost began cracking more than ever, and more loudly did he snap his fingers, and to the maiden he said:—
“Art thou warm, maiden? Art thou warm, pretty one? Art thou warm, my darling?”
The girl was by this time numb with cold, and she could scarcely make herself heard as she replied:—
“Oh! quite warm, Frost dearest!”