sheltered retreat, and myriads of snowflakes, drifting in, fell softly about her, creeping closer and closer, covering her boots, lying thickly on her frock, on her shoulders, drifting, too, into her eyes and making them blink, and powdering her hair with white. And she felt too cold to think —too cold to move.
After a while Rosella exclaimed: " This won't do. I must get up from here. It's such a dreadfully cold place !" And she determined to try and go on, if only to keep herself warm. So she shook herself, took down her muff, and went forth.
It was snowing as much as ever, but Rosella found that the ground was no longer flat. She was on the hillside, and as she climbed she wondered anxiously how she should know which side to come down, once she was on the top, in order to find the Moat House. Then she smiled as it occurred to her how much she must now look like the tiny, red-hooded, toy figure in the glass paper weight at home which showed itself enveloped in a miniature snowstorm when it was shaken. She plodded on higher and higher.
The weather was clearing when Rosella stood on the summit of the hill, and she was lost in admiration as she gazed at the largest, grandest Snow Castle she could never have imagined.