Can you imagine a beautiful oval-shaped bay, almost encircled by a long arm of sand stretching out from the mainland?  In its deep water the largest vessels might ride at anchor, but at the time of my story a lonelier place could scarcely be found.  Now and then Indian canoes glided over the water, and at long intervals some vessel from the great island away yonder to the North visited the little settlement upon the shore of the bay.  It is indeed a very little settlement,—­a few houses clustered together upon the sandy beach close to the blue water; behind the houses rises a cliff crowned with great fir-trees, standing tall and dark in thick ranks, making a dense forest; and beyond this forest, cold, snow-covered mountains lift their peaks against the sky,—­a fitting home for the Frost Giants.

Three streams, straying from the far-away mountains, and fed by their melted snows and hidden springs, find their way through the forest, leap and tumble over the cliff, and, passing through the little settlement, reach the sea.  The people who live here call these little streams runs, and one of them is Nannie’s Run.

And, now, who is Nannie?  Why, Nannie is Nannie Dwight,—­a little girl not yet five years old, who lives in the small square house standing under the cliff.  She sits even now on the door-step, and her red dress looks like one gay flower brightening the sombre shadow of the firs.  Her father and mother came here to live when she was but a baby, and before there was a single house built in the place; and it is out of compliment to her that one of the streams has been named Nannie’s Run.

While Nannie sits on the doorstep, and looks out at the sea, watching for the vessel that will bring her father home from Victoria, we will go through the forest, and up the mountain-sides, till we find the home of the Frost Giants, and see what they are about to-day.

They have been working all winter, but not quite so busily as now; for since yesterday they have cracked that big rock in two, and dug the great cave under the hill, and now they are gathered in council on the mountain-side that overlooks a dashing little stream.  As we followed this stream from the seashore, we happen to know that it is no other than Nannie’s Run.  And as we have already begun to care for the little girl, and therefore for her namesake, we are anxious to know what the giants think of doing.  We have not long to wait before we shall see, and hear too; for a great creaking and cracking begins, and, while we gaze astonished, the mountain-side begins to slide, and presently, with a rush and a roar, dashes into the stream, and chokes it with a huge dam of earth and rocks and trees.

What will the stream do now?  For a moment the water leaps into the air, all foam and sparkle, as if it would jump over the barrier, and find its way to the sea at any rate.  But this proves entirely unsuccessful; and at last, after whirling and tumbling, trying to creep under; trying to leap over, it settles itself quietly in its prison, as if to think about the matter.