so she took up the frock, and was soon as busily at work again with her needle as the two children with their snow-image. but still, as the needle travelled hither and thither through the seams of the dress, the mother made her toil light and happy by listening to the airy voices of violet and peony. they kept talking to one another all the time, their tongues being quite as active as their feet and hands. except at intervals, she could not distinctly hear what was said, but had merely a sweet impression that they were in a most loving mood, and were enjoying themselves highly, and that the business of making the snow-image went prosperously on. now and then, however, when violet and peony happened to raise their voices, the words were as audible as if they had been spoken in the very parlor where the mother sat. oh how delightfully those words echoed in her heart, even though they meant nothing so very wise or wonderful, after all!