Dame Louisa looked out at her dead Christmas-trees, and scowled.  She could see the children out in the road, and they were trudging along in the direction of the White Woods.  “Let ’em go,” she snapped to herself.  “I guess they won’t go far.  I’ll be rid of their noise, any way.”

She could hear poor Dame Penny’s distressed voice out in her yard, calling “Biddy, Biddy, Biddy;” and she scowled more fiercely than ever.  “I’m glad she’s lost her old silver hen,” she muttered to herself.  She had always suspected the silver hen of pecking at the roots of the Christmas-trees and so causing them to blast; then, too, the silver hen had used to stand on the fence and crow; for, unlike other hens, she could crow very beautifully, and that had disturbed her.

Dame Louisa had a very wise book, which she had consulted to find the reason for the death of her Christmas-trees, but all she could find in it was one short item, which did not satisfy her at all.  The book was on the plan of an encyclopedia, and she, having turned to the “ch’s,” found: 

    “Christmas-trees—­very delicate when transplanted, especially
    sensitive, and liable to blast at any change in the moral
    atmosphere.  Remedy:  discover and confess the cause.”

After reading this, Dame Louisa was always positive that Dame Penny’s silver hen was at the root of the mischief, for she knew that she herself had never done anything to hurt the trees.

Dame Penny was so occupied in calling “Biddy, Biddy, Biddy,” and shaking a little pan of corn, that she never noticed the children taking the road toward the White Woods.  If she had done so she would have stopped them, for the White Woods was considered a very dangerous place.  It was called white because it was always white even in midsummer.  The trees and bushes, and all the undergrowth, every flower and blade of grass, were white with snow and frost all the year round, and all the learned men of the country had studied into the reason of it, and had come to the conclusion that the Woods lay in a direct draught from the North Pole and that produced the phenomenon.  Nobody had penetrated very far into the White Woods, although many expeditions had been organized for that purpose.  The cold was so terrible that it drove them back.

The children had heard all about the terrors of the White Woods.  When they drew near it they took hold of one another’s hands and snuggled as closely together as possible.

When they struck into the path at the entrance the intense cold turned their cheeks and noses blue in a moment, but they kept on, calling “Biddy, Biddy, Biddy!” in their shrill sweet trebles.  Every twig on the trees was glittering white with hoar-frost, and all the dead blackberry-vines wore white wreaths, the bushes brushed the ground, they were so heavy with ice, and the air was full of fine white sparkles.  The children’s eyes were dazzled, but they kept on, stumbling through the icy vines and bushes, and calling “Biddy, Biddy, Biddy!”