The old man sat down to table, and made his daughter sit by his side. On the table stood a pannier; he took out a loaf,[278] and cut bread for himself and his daughter. Meantime his wife served up a dish of old cabbage soup, and said:-- "There, my pigeon, eat and be off; I've looked at you quite enough! Drive Marfa to her bridegroom, old man. And look here, old greybeard! drive straight along the road at first, and then turn off from the road to the right, you know, into the forest--right up to the big pine that stands on the hill, and there hand Marfa over to Morozko (Frost)." The old man opened his eyes wide, also his mouth, and stopped eating, and the girl began lamenting. "Now then, what are you hanging your chaps and squealing about?" said her stepmother. "Surely your bridegroom is a beauty, and he's that rich! Why, just see what a lot of things belong to him, the firs, the pine-tops, and the birches, all in their robes of down--ways and means that any one might envy; and he himself a _bogatir_!"[279] The old man silently placed the things on the sledge, made his daughter put on a warm pelisse, and set off on the journey. After a time, he reached the forest, turned off from the road; and drove across the frozen snow.[280] When he got into the depths of the forest, he stopped, made his daughter get out, laid her basket under the tall pine, and said:-- "Sit here, and await the bridegroom. And mind you receive him as pleasantly as you can." Then he turned his horse round and drove off homewards. The girl sat and shivered. The cold had pierced her through. She would fain have cried aloud, but she had not strength enough; only her teeth chattered. Suddenly she heard a sound. Not far off, Frost was cracking away on a fir. From fir to fir was he leaping, and snapping his fingers. Presently he appeared on that very pine under which the maiden was sitting and from above her head he cried:-- "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!" Then Frost took pity on the girl, wrapped her up in furs, and warmed her with blankets. Next morning the old woman said to her husband:-- "Drive out, old greybeard, and wake the young couple!"