‘I will shut my eyes and count ten,’ said Fleetfoot to himself, ‘and then I will look at the Moon again to see if he is still laughing at me.’ He shut his black eyes with a snap. Slowly he counted up to ten. But when he opened his eyes again he forgot the Moon entirely. For beside his bed stood a little figure dressed in snowy white. He wore a glittering cap trimmed with a frosty plume, and over his shoulder, like a soldier’s musket, he carried a paint-brush, long and slim. ‘Jack Frost!’ exclaimed Fleetfoot, sitting up in surprise. ‘Jack Frost! What are you doing here? No wonder I was so cold with you standing beside my bed. That was why the Moon laughed in at me, I suppose. He saw you all the while.’ ‘Yes, he did,’ nodded Jack Frost, unbuttoning his snowy white coat. ‘How warm it is in here! He watched me slip through the crack in the window. It made him laugh, too, because I have been tickling you with an icicle trying to wake you up. Put on your clothes, Fleetfoot, and come along with me. I have a piece of work for you to do.’ Jack Frost and Santa Claus and the Brownies were old, old friends. Jack Frost was always glad to do Santa Claus a good turn, such as making Christmas Day bright and cold, with plenty of snow and ice for the boys and girls with new snow-shoes and sleds and skates. On the other hand, as every one knows, all Brownies, and of course Santa Claus’s Brownies, too, are never so happy as when they are being helpful and kind. These Brownies at the North Pole were quite used to being called upon, day or night, to do some kind or thoughtful act. Fleetfoot was not surprised, therefore, when he heard that Jack Frost had a piece of work for him to do. He dressed in a twinkling. It took him only a moment to slip into his neat little suit, draw on his pointed Brownie shoes, and pull his scarlet Brownie cap well down over his ears. ‘I am ready,’ he whispered, creeping over to the door. But Jack Frost laid a chilly little hand on his arm. ‘Bring a bell with you,’ murmured Jack Frost in the Brownie’s ear. ‘You will need to use a bell to-night.’ ‘A bell?’ whispered back Fleetfoot. ‘What kind of bell? A dinner bell? A bicycle bell?’ ‘No,’ answered Jack Frost, his finger on his lips, ‘a cat’s bell. Hush!’ For Brownie Mischief had flung out his arms and tossed his quilt off on the floor, and Sharpeyes had turned over with a long, long sigh. Fleetfoot crept on tiptoe into the work-room and without a sound untied a silver bell from the neck of a drowsy white fur cat. Then he and Jack Frost stole downstairs and out of the house without being seen by a single person except the friendly Moon, who not only smiled as he watched them, but followed them on their journey all the way. ‘Now, we can talk,’ said Jack Frost, as hand in hand they sped over the snow. ‘Let me tell you why I came after you to-night.’ Brownie Fleetfoot nodded his red-capped head. This was just what he wanted to know, of course.