Charles was a little boy. One cold winter’s morning his mother brought him down stairs. It was very early. She put him down on the carpet, before a bright, warm fire. Then she opened the shutters to see if it was light. Charles saw something white and shining upon the windows, and called to her, and said, “Oh, mother, mother, how beautiful! See how the windows are painted all white. There is a mountain, and another,—and—and I see another on the top of it; and there are some trees, and flowers—and—”

“Yes, they are very beautiful,” said Charles’ mamma, as she stood dressing her little boy.

“What makes it look so? It isn’t light like day,—and oh! mother, see, there is a bright star in the sky!”“It is not quite daylight yet; pretty soon it will grow lighter, and the little star will not look so bright, and then the sky will grow brighter, and it will be daylight.”

“What is it now; is it night?”

“No, it is day-dawn.”

“Day-dawn;—well, it’s very pretty, I think, mother. O, see, there’s a cow! I think those are pictures painted on the window, aren’t they?”

“No, they are not pictures. Don’t you know what they are?”

“I see something that looks like a horse that hasn’t got any head, and some trees that haven’t got any branches, and a great many more mountains and rocks. I think they are pictures, but they look white, just like snow.”

“Well, Charles, the cold made those pictures. We call it frost on the windows, and it came last night while we were all asleep. It was very cold indeed last night, and a great many things froze very hard. Now hark, what do you hear?”

“Hark! I hear something that ticks just like a watch. What is it?”

“It is the cold frost which has frozen some water in the tumbler. Last night it was water, and I drank some of it. Now look here; it is ice, and it looks very beautiful. See all those little marks and spots. Those are little bubbles. Now it goes click, click, again. See how hard it is; I cannot break it with my finger.”

“Mother, will the frost stay all day on the windows, or go away when it is daylight?”

“Not when it is daylight, but when the room is warm. There is a good, bright fire in the grate, and it will make the room warm, and by and by the sun will rise out of doors and shine on the glass, and warm it, and the frost will melt. Then it will be water and run down in drops.”

“Well, I think it is very pretty frost, and I don’t think I could make such horses, and trees, and cows.”