beautiful, fiery snow! Stand up, Peter! See, the fire has
reached the great bird's nest! look at the rocks! look at the fir
trees! Everything, everything is on fire!"

"It is always like that," said Peter composedly, continuing to
peel his stick; "but it is not really fire."

"What is it then?" cried Heidi, as she ran backwards and
forwards to look first one side and then the other, for she felt
she could not have enough of such a beautiful sight. "What is it,
Peter, what is it?" she repeated.

"It gets like that of itself," explained Peter.

"Look, look!" cried Heidi in fresh excitement, "now they have
turned all rose color! Look at that one covered with snow, and
that with the high, pointed rocks! What do you call them?"

"Mountains have not any names," he answered.

"O how beautiful, look at the crimson snow! And up there on the
rocks there are ever so many roses! Oh! now they are turning
grey! Oh! oh! now all the color has died away! it's all gone,
Peter." And Heidi sat down on the ground looking as full of
distress as if everything had really come to an end.

"It will come again to-morrow," said Peter. "Get up, we must go
home now." He whistled to his goats and together they all
started on their homeward way.