But Barbara would not stay. She avoided the watchman's grasp and ran as fast as ever she could through the city gate. "Come back, come back!" cried the watchman; "you will perish in the forest!" But Barbara would not heed his cry. The falling snow did not stay her, nor did the cutting blast. She thought only of the prince, and she ran straightway to the forest. II. "What do you see up there, O pine-tree?" asked a little vine in the forest. "You lift your head among the clouds to-night, and you tremble strangely as if you saw wondrous sights." "I see only the distant hill-tops and the dark clouds," answered the pine-tree. "And the wind sings of the snow-king to-night; to all my questionings he says, 'Snow, snow, snow,' till I am wearied with his refrain." "But the prince will surely come to-morrow?" inquired the tiny snowdrop that nestled close to the vine. "Oh, yes," said the vine. "I heard the country folks talking about it as they went through the forest to-day, and they said that the prince would surely come on the morrow." "What are you little folks down there talking about?" asked the pine-tree. "We are talking about the prince," said the vine. "Yes, he is to come on the morrow," said the pine-tree, "but not until the day dawns, and it is still all dark in the east." "Yes," said the fir-tree, "the east is black, and only the wind and the snow issue from it." "Keep your head out of my way!" cried the pine-tree to the fir; "with your constant bobbing around I can hardly see at all." "Take _that_ for your bad manners," retorted the fir, slapping the pine-tree savagely with one of her longest branches. The pine-tree would put up with no such treatment, so he hurled his largest cone at the fir; and for a moment or two it looked as if there were going to be a serious commotion in the forest. "Hush!" cried the vine in a startled tone; "there is some one coming through the forest." The pine-tree and the fir stopped quarrelling, and the snowdrop nestled closer to the vine, while the vine hugged the pine-tree very tightly. All were greatly alarmed. "Nonsense!" said the pine-tree, in a tone of assumed bravery. "No one would venture into the forest at such an hour." "Indeed! and why not?" cried a child's voice. "Will you not let me watch with you for the coming of the prince?" "Will you not chop me down?" inquired the pine-tree, gruffly. "Will you not tear me from my tree?" asked the vine. "Will you not pluck my blossoms?" plaintively piped the snowdrop. "No, of course not," said Barbara; "I have come only to watch with you for the prince." Then Barbara told them who she was, and how cruelly she had been treated in the city, and how she longed to see the prince, who was to come on the morrow. And as she talked, the forest and all therein felt a great compassion for her. "Lie at my feet," said the pine-tree, "and I will protect you."