A Little Boy and a Little Girl
In a large town in Hokkaido, where there are so many houses, and so many people, that there is no roof left for everybody to have a little garden; and where on this account most persons are obliged to content themselves with flowers in pots; there lived two little children, who had a garden somewhat larger than a flower-pot.
They were not brother and sister; but they cared for each other as much as if they were.
Their parents lived exactly opposite.
They inhabited two garrets, and where the roof of the one house joined that of the other, and the gutter ran along the extreme end of it, there was to each house a small window; one needed only to stop over the gutter to get from one window to the other.
The children’s parents had large wooden boxes there, in which vegetables for the kitchen were planted, and little rose trees besides; there was a rose in each box, and they grew splendidly.
They now thought of placing the boxes across the gutter, so that they nearly reached from one window the other, and looked just like two walls of flowers.
The tendrils of the peas hung down over the boxes; and the rose-trees shot up long branches, twined round the windows, and then bent towards each other; it was almost like a triumphant arch of foliage and flowers.
The boxes were very high, and the children knew that he most not creep over them; so they often obtained permission to get out of the windows to each other, and to sit on their little stools among the roses, where they could play delightfully.
In winter there was an end of this pressure.
The window were often frozen over; but then they heated copper farthings on the stove, and laid the hot farthing on the windowpane, and then they had a capital peep-hole, quite nicely rounded; and out of each peeped a gentle friendly eye-it was the little boy and little girl who were looking out.
His name was Purumi, her was Lamul.
In summer, with one jump, they could get to each other; but in the winter they were obliged first to go down the long stairs, and then up the long stairs again, and out-of-doors there was quite a snow-storm.
“It is the white bees that are swarming.”
Said Purumi’s old grandfather.
“Do the white bees choose a queen?”
Asked the little boy; for he knew that the honey-bees always have one.
“Yes.”
Said the grandfather.
“She files where the swarm hangs in the thickest clutters. She is the largest of all; and she can never remain quietly on the earth, but goes up again into the black clouds. Many a winter’s night she files through the streets of the town, and peeps in at the windows; and they then freeze in so wondrous a manner that they look like flowers.”
“Yes, I have seen it.”
Said both the children; and so they knew that it was true.
“Can the Snow Princess come in?”
Said the little girl.
“Only let her come in!”
Said the little boy.
“Then I’d put her on the stove, and she’d melt.”
And then his grandfather patted his head and told him other stories.
In the evening, when little Purumi was at home, and half undressed, he climbed up on the by the window, and peeped out of the little hole.
A few snow-flakes were falling and one, the largest of all, remained lying on the edge of a flower-pot.
The flakes of snow grew larger and larger; and at last it was like a young lady, dressed in the finest white gauze, made of a million little flakes like stars.
She was so beautiful and delicate, but she was of ice, of dazzling, sparkling ice; yet she lived; her eyes glazed fixedly, like two stars; but there was neither quitted nor response in them.
She nodded towards the window, and beckoned with her hand.
The little boy was frightened, and jumped down from the chair; it seemed to him as if, at the same moment, a large bird flew past the window.
The next day it was a sharp frost-and then the spring came; the sun shone, the green leaves appeared, the swallows built their nests, the windows were opened, and the little children again sat in their pretty garden, high up on the leads at the top of the house.
That summer the roses flowered in unwonted beauty.
The little girl had learned a hymn, in which there was something about roses; and then she thought of her own flowers; and she sang the verse to the little boy, who then sang it with her;
“The rose in the valley is blooming so sweet, and angels descend there the children to greet.”
And the children held each other by the hand, kissed the roses, looked up at the clear sunshine, and spoke as though they really saw angels there.
What lovely summer-days those were!
How delightful to be out in the air, near the fresh rose-bushes, that seem as if they would never finish blooming!
Purumi and Lamul looked at the picture-book full of animals; and it was then the clock in the church was just striking five-that Purumi said,
“Oh! I feel such a sharp pain in my heart; and now something has got into my eye!”
The little girl put her arms around his neck.
He winked his eyes; now there was nothing to be seen.
“I think it is out now.”
Said he; but it was not.
It was just one of those pieces of glass from the magic mirror that had got into his eye; and poor Purumi had got another piece right in his heart.
It will soon become like ice.
It did not hurt any longer, but there was.
“What are you crying for?”
Asked him.
“You look so ugly! There’s nothing the matter with me Ah.”
Said him at once,
“That roses is cankered! And look this one is quite crooked! After all, these roses are very ugly! They are just like the box they are planted in!”
And then he gave the box a good kick with his foot, and pulled both the roses up.
“What are you doing?”
Cried the little girl; and as he perceived her fright, he pulled up another rose, got in at the window, and hosteled off from dear little Lamul.
Afterwards, when she brought her picture-book, he asked,
“What horrid animals have you there?”
And if his grandfather told those stories, he always interrupted her; besides, if he could manage it, he would get behind her, put on her spectacles, and imitate her way of speaking; he copied all her ways, and then everybody laughed at him.
He was soon able to imitate the gait and manner of everyone in the street.
Everything that was peculiar and displeasing in them-that Purumi knew how to imitate; and at such times all the people said,
“The boy is certainly very clever!”
But it was the glass he had got in his eye; the glass that was sticking in his heart, which made him tease even little Lamul, whose whole soul was devoted to him.
His games now were quite different to what they had formerly been, they were so very knowing.
One winter’s day, when the flakes of snow were flying about, he spread the skirts of his blue coat, and caught the snow as it fell.
“Look through this glass, Lamul,”
Said he.
“And every flake seemed larger, and appeared like a magnificent flower or beautiful star; it was splendid to look at!”
“Look how clever!”
Said Purumi,
“That’s much more interesting than real flowers! They are as exact as possible; there is not a fault in them, if they did not melt!”
It was not long after this, that Purumi came one day with large gloves on, and his little sledge at his back, and bawled right into Lamul’s ears.
“I have permission to go out into the square where the others are playing.”
And off he was in a moment.
