courage failed her. She was very sorrowful
already, on account of her plants, whom she
could no longer see; and, as she was working
busily, freeing the tender little mosses, and
washing away the snow from all the stones
that she could reach, she discovered with
horror that sharp icy points were sticking
into her own tender limbs, and saw the
Winter forging chains about her. Upon
all the stones and roots over which she
glided there were sharp links and spikes,
ever becoming heavier and longer; and, with
these, her beautiful free limbs were at last
firmly fettered. Then, Winter laid his clutch
upon the tender breast of the poor child; a
cold shudder ran through her, and she
embraced, trembling, the knotty roots of the
Pine-tree, looking up imploringly to the wise
patriarch of the forest.

She saw that he, like the dead figures around
him, was dressed in a white shroud; but,
from beneath the snow, all his boughs smiled
with a strong smile upon her. A mild breath,
as of spring, warmed and comforted her
bosom, as she cried, "O Pine-tree, how do
you contrive to defy the Winter, and remain
green and living in his icy arms? Cannot I
learn also to defy him?"

"I send my roots into firm soil," the Pine-
tree said, "and look straight up to heaven.
Therefore strength is given me to remain
green through every season. You, too, my
little Ilse, stand upon rock, and receive
undefiled the light of heaven. You will overcome
the Winter. Do not fear."

With a strong effort she broke loose from
Winter's chains of ice, dashed away from the
rough hands that held her robe between the
stones, and rushed in wild course down the
valley, breaking with a crash all bars that
had been set up to stop her progress.

As the little princess was still springing
merrily onward in the joy of victory, the
mosses on her path called to her, "Ilse! dear
Ilse! come and help us! The snow presses
so heavily upon our tender heads, we can
no longer stand upright on our weak stalks.
Help us, dear Ilse!"

Princess Ilse willingly stooped down to
them, and lifting up a tiny piece of the heavy
snow-clod carefully, put her sweet little face
underneath it, and whispered to the mosses
what the Pine-tree taught her. "Fear not,
little mosses, you grow on the rock. Be
strong; there is a divine life in you."
Immediately the mosses began to bestir themselves
till the work made them warm; and after
a little while, they cried joyfully, "Ilse! Ilse!
we stand upright again and grow! The snow
shrinks when we push it from us with our
little hands." Thus Ilse taught the mosses
and the grasses how to use their strength
and all the time she fed them with her own
provisions.

For many centuries they lived thus in the
stately forest. Winter came again, indeed
every year, playing the same tricks with the
trees and plants, and laying his bright snares
for the glad Ilse. But she was seldom fairly
caught, and never kept in them. Swift as a
lizard, she could slip away from any hold.
The trees, too, were green every year,
and were never greener than in Spring, as
if the sturdy battle with the Winter only
strengthened them, and gave them a fresh
life. Ilse, too, was most beautiful and brilliant
when the snow had melted on the
mountains, and she rattled away through the
forest gloriously gay. Snow is the sweet
white milk provided for all tiny mountain
streams; the more they drink of it the more
they thrive—the more they dance and sing.

Ilse by this time had forgotten that she
was a princess: therefore everyone else
remembered it. Trees, flowers, stones, grasses
and mosses did her homage in their quiet
way. When she ran through the valley,
herbs and flowers lined her royal path; some
kissed the hem of her robe and her fluttering
veil; and others—the tall slender stalks of
grass especially—waved vivas with their
graceful feathery plumes. The contemplative
bells—fairest children of the forest—took
pains to be near her always. They even
stepped upon the wet slippery stones to be
the closer to her, and get many of her kisses.
The ferns also ventured to climb high on the
damp rocks. However small a place there
was for them they stationed themselves there,
and cooled the wandering princess with the
waving of their beautiful green fans. Down
crowded the sunbeams too, to play with her
beneath the trees, whenever they were not
kept in by the grey clouds upon the
mountains, who are their strict guardians. The
churlish behaviour of the dull old clouds,
who could sometimes be content to sit on the
mountain-tops and do nothing but smoke by
the week together, would often make the
merry sunbeams terribly impatient. When
that was the case, the grey old tutors
generally found that the young fry made such hot
work behind their backs, and worried them
till the place became too warm to hold them
any more, that at length, since they could no
longer bear to remain where they had settled
down, they rose and stole away as quietly as
possible. Then down to the forest came the
sunbeams, every one riding on a drop of rain,
and played at hide and seek among the grass
the livelong day with little Ilse. There was
the good moon, too, Ilse's old friend, who
didn't mind the weary journey over the
mountain, and came often to visit her.

There had long been men dwelling in the
valley of the Ilse, before the princess paid
any attention to them. At first she was
by far too pert to them, and the Pine-tree
had a great deal to say before he could bring
the child to regard them with goodwill. The
first who came into the valley were two
charcoal-burners; who built themselves a
hut, felled trees, and lit their kiln. The
flames which burst out of the kiln, and the