Look up, Jeanne, do." There was no moonlight, but the light from the windows streamed out to where the children stood, and shone upon the beautiful icicles on the branches above their heads.

For the tonnelle was a kind of arbour--a long covered passage made by trees at each side, whose boughs had been trained to meet and interlace overhead.

And now, with their fairy tracery of snow and frost, the effect of the numberless little branches forming a sparkling roof was pretty and fanciful in the extreme.

Jeanne looked up as she was told.
"Yes," she said, "it's pretty.

If it was moonlight it would be prettier still, for then we could see right along the tonnelle to the end." "I don't think that _would_ be prettier," said Hugh; "the dark at the end makes it look so nice--like as if it was a fairy door into some queer place--a magic cavern, or some place like that." "So it does," said Jeanne.