“Strawberries sweet and red and small, And the purple monkshood tall; Let the moon-white daisies shine, Bring the coral columbine. “Weave the shining buttercup, Bind the sweet wild roses up; Poppies, red as coals of fire, And the speckled foxglove spire. “And the iris blue that gleams Knee-deep in the foamy streams. Bring the spruce cones brown and long.” (Thus ran on Gustava’s song). [Illustration] “Make a wreath, I beg, For my darling Egg!” “Make a wreath, I beg, For Gustava’s Egg,” broke in Nanna the Goat impatiently: “Why leave the Geraniums out? Add the Teapot’s broken spout, Cheese, and brown potatoes, too; Anything at all will do. “Feathers from the feather bed, Goran’s mittens, warm and red, And the flower the Queen holds up, And the cracked blue china cup. “But the Queen has said _Kindly leave that bed!_” So Gustava had to flop off the bed with a squawk, while Goran handed her her Egg, and then they put the poor Snowman, what was left of him, into Grandmother’s bed, and pulled the eiderdown quilts over him. “If you please,” said the Snowman in a feeble whisper, “oh, if you _please_, I’m——” “I know this is the right thing to do, because it is the way we always treat Snowmen at the Palace,” broke in the Queen. To tell you the truth, she had never seen a Snowman in her life before, but she would never admit that she didn’t know all about everything. The Snowman looked at them with despairing sky-blue eyes, while his tears poured down, soaking Grandmother’s pillow. He had tried desperately to tell them something, but they would none of them listen. Suddenly Goran knew what it was. “I believe we’re melting him,” said Goran. “He needs air.” “I need air,” said the Snowman, his face shining with hope. “_Air?_” said the Queen. “Nonsense! He’s had too much air. He needs a hot brick at his feet!” “I need air,” faltered the Snowman. “_Air?_ Nonsense!” cried the fat Teapot and all her Teacup daughters, hoping the Queen would hear, and take them back to the Palace with her. “I need air,” sighed the Snowman, and now he looked discouraged. “Air? Brrr-rrr!” And Mejau squeezed himself under the chest of drawers, much annoyed with every one. “I need air,” breathed the Snowman, looking at Goran with imploring eyes. “_Air?_ Mercy on us, that will mean opening the door again!” And the Geraniums shivered in every leaf and petal. But Goran had helped the poor Snowman, now nearly melted away, out of bed, and was leading him to the door.