And so she held him, close and warm, And sang him off to sleep, While at her nod her waiting-maids A silent watch did keep. And when the morning smiled again The little page awoke. They clad him in a suit of white, With velvet cap and cloak, And crystal buckles on his shoes, And led him to the queen, All lovely in her bridal gear, The fairest ever seen. And he was such a tiny page, He trembled and looked down, For he was sore afraid to see The great queen sternly frown. But lo! he heard a soft voice say, "O little page, look here! Am I, who sing to sleep so well, A queen for child to fear?" He raised his eyes, and lo! the bride Looked on the page and smiled, And then he knew the queen had played At nurse-maid for a child. And well he graced the wedding-feast And bore her velvet train, And at his dear queen's side thenceforth Was never sad again. [Illustration] THE SNOW-IMAGE BY NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE One afternoon of a cold winter's day, when the sun shone forth with chilly brightness, after a long storm, two children asked leave of their mother to run out and play in the new-fallen snow. The elder child was a little girl, whom, because she was of a tender and modest disposition, and was thought to be very beautiful, her parents and other people who were familiar with her used to call Violet. But her brother was known by the title of Peony, on account of the ruddiness of his broad and round little phiz, which made everybody think of sunshine and great scarlet flowers. "Yes, Violet--yes, my little Peony," said their kind mother; "you may go and play in the snow." Forth sallied the two children, with a hop-skip-and-jump that carried them at once into the very heart of a huge snowdrift, whence Violet emerged like a snow bunting, while little Peony floundered out with his round face in full bloom. Then what a merry time had they! To look at them frolicking in the wintry garden, you would have thought that the dark and pitiless storm had been sent for no other purpose but to provide a new plaything for Violet and Peony; and that they themselves had been created, as the snowbirds were, to take delight only in the tempest and in the white mantle which it spread over the earth. At last, when they had frosted one another all over with handfuls of snow, Violet, after laughing heartily at little Peony's figure, was struck with a new idea. "You look exactly like a snow-image, Peony," said she, "if your cheeks were not so red. And that puts me in mind! Let us make an image out of snow--an image of a little girl--and it shall be our sister, and shall run about and play with us all winter long. Won't it be nice?" "Oh, yes!" cried Peony, as plainly as he could speak, for he was but a little boy. "That will be nice! And mamma shall see it!"