Notice the wind-ripples on the pond; they have
become fixed and motionless. Look up at the roof of the house.
There, instead of living doves merely charmed to sleep, we have
running water caught in the very act of falling and turned into
transparent icicles, decorating the eaves with a beautiful
crystal fringe. On every tree and bush you will catch the water-
drops napping, in the form of tiny crystals; while the fountain
looks like a tree of glass with long down-hanging pointed leaves.
Even the damp of your own breath lies rigid and still on the
window-pane frozen into delicate patterns like fern-leaves of
ice.
All this water was yesterday flowing busily, or falling drop by
drop, or floating invisibly in the air; now it is all caught and
spell-bound - by whom? By the enchantments of the frost-giant
who holds it fast in his grip and will not let it go.
But wait awhile, the deliverer is coming. In a few weeks or
days, or it may be in a few hours, the brave sun will shine down;
the dull-grey, leaden sky will melt before his, as the hedge gave
way before the prince in the fairy tale, and when the sunbeam
gently kisses the frozen water it will be set free.
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