about to say his last prayers thinking he would never live until
morning, when suddenly, in the midst of the whirling snow, he saw
extended the limbs of a most beautiful tree. It was not so tall as the
others, and shining fruit of a delicious appearance hung upon its
branches amidst its thick foliage.

Best of all, poor, half-frozen Peter felt a wonderful warmth glowing from
its trunk, and with the warmth came a soft crimson light; so he stole up
to it as if he were a little boy and this tree were his beautiful Mother;
and he cuddled down in the arms of its great roots and went to sleep.

When he woke up it was morning; and the sun was turning the surface of
the snow into sheets of iridescent light. He yawned and stretched out his
arms, then remembering his wonderful rescue of the evening before, he
gazed upward, but saw only a tall pine tree with shining brownish cones
pendant from its branches. Where was the beautiful green summer-tree hung
with crimson fruit? Where was the light like the sun's rays through
painted glass?

"But here am I alive and warm," thought Peter. "And the night was bitter.
This tree must change its shape at the footfall of evening; and I will
mark it, lest it should be lost to us."

So taking out his knife he cut three crosses in the bark of the tree;
then setting his face to the sun, for his cottage lay to the east of the
Dark Wood, he hacked the trees all along the way; and at last emerged in
the path which led to his dwelling. His wife and all the neighbors, who
had given him up for dead, came running to meet him with cries of joy;
but when he told them what had happened they tapped their foreheads and
glanced at each other. "Poor man," they said, "the frost-king hath stolen