It was quite late in the afternoon when they started, and pretty soon the sun went down and the moon arose, and that made it seem colder.  It was like traveling through a forest of solid silver then, and every once in a while a little frozen clump of flowers would shine so that they would think it was the silver hen and dart forward, to find it was not.

About two hours after the moon arose, as they were creeping along, calling “Biddy, Biddy, Biddy!” more and more faintly, a singular, hoarse voice replied suddenly.  “We don’t keep any hens,” said the voice, and all the children jumped and screamed, and looked about for the owner of it.  He loomed up among some bushes at their right.  He was so dazzling white himself, and had such an indistinctness of outline, that they had taken him for an oak-tree.  But it was the real Snow Man.  They knew him in a moment, he looked so much like his effigies that they used to make in their yards.

“We don’t keep any hens,” repeated the Snow Man.  “What are you calling hens for in this forest?”

The children huddled together as close as they could, and the oldest boy explained.  When he broke down the oldest girl piped up and helped him.

“Well,” said the Snow Man, “I haven’t seen the silver hen.  I never did see any hens in these woods, but she may be around here for all that.  You had better go home with me and spend the night.  My wife will be delighted to see you.  We have never had any company in our lives, and she is always scolding about it.”

The children looked at each other and shook harder than they had done with cold.

“I’m—­afraid our mothers—­wouldn’t—­like to have us,” stammered the oldest boy.

“Nonsense,” cried the Snow Man.  “Here I have been visiting you, time and time again, and stood whole days out in your front yards, and you’ve never been to see me.  I think it is about time that I had some return.  Come along.”  With that the Snow Man seized the right ear of the oldest boy between a finger and thumb, and danced him along, and all the rest, trembling, and whimpering under their breaths, followed.

It was not long before they reached the Snow Man’s house, which was really quite magnificent:  a castle built of blocks of ice fitted together like bricks, and with two splendid snow-lions keeping guard at the entrance.  The Snow Man’s wife stood in the door, and the Snow Children stood behind her and peeped around her skirts; they were smiling from ear to ear.  They had never seen any company before, and they were so delighted that they did not know what to do.

[Illustration:  THE SNOW MAN’S HOUSE.]

“We have some company, wife,” shouted the Snow Man.

“Bring them right in,” said his wife with a beaming face.  She was very handsome, with beautiful pink cheeks and blue eyes, and she wore a trailing white robe, like a queen.  She kissed the children all around, and shivers crept down their backs, for it was like being kissed by an icicle.  “Kiss your company, my dears,” she said to the Snow Children, and they came bashfully forward and kissed Dame Penny’s scholars with these same chilly kisses.