``Wherever did you find them?'' asked Helen
crossly.

``Right up among the mountains. Those from
under the beech trees are not bad,'' answered
Marouckla.

Helen gave a few to her mother and ate the rest
herself. Not one did she offer to her stepsister.
Being tired of strawberries, on the third day she
took a fancy for some fresh, red apples.

``Run, Marouckla,'' said she, ``and fetch me
fresh, red apples from the mountain.''

``Apples in winter, sister? Why, the trees have
neither leaves nor fruit!''

``Idle thing, go this minute,'' said Helen;
``unless you bring back apples we will kill you.''

As before, the stepmother seized her roughly
and turned her out of the house. The poor girl
went weeping up the mountain, across the deep
snow, and on toward the fire round which were
the Twelve Months. Motionless they sat there,
and on the highest stone was the great January.

``Men of God, may I warm myself at your fire?