did you make your journey? On a plough or on a harrow?"[1]
From a gay, sprightly girl, Snyegurka suddenly became sad.
"What is the matter with you, my dearest child?" Mary would often ask, drawing Snyegurka nearer to her heart. "Are you ill? You are not so happy as you used to be. Perhaps an evil eye has glanced at you?"
Snyegurka would simply answer, "I am well; mother."
The snow had now completely melted away, and the genial spring appeared with its warm and sunny days. The meadows and gardens began to be covered with radiant and sweet-scented flowers. The nightingale and other songsters of the woods and fields resumed their beautiful melodies. In a word, all nature became brighter and more charming.
Snyegurka alone grew sadder and sadder. She began to shun her playfellows, and to hide herself from the rays of the sun like the May-flower under the tree. She would only play near a well of spring water—splashing and dabbling in it with her hand—beneath the shade of
- ↑ It is customary in some Slavonic countries to welcome the appearance of spring with song.
