Tilly and the Frozen Bell

Tilly was the smallest child in the village at the foot of the white mountain. She was so small that her mittens were on a very long string. It went up one sleeve, round her back twice, and down the other sleeve. Mom said Tilly would grow into it one day.

All autumn, Tilly waited for snow. She waited while the apples were picked. She waited while the leaves blew down the lane. Every morning she looked out of the window and said, “Not yet.”

Tilly had a plan. When the first snow came, she would be the first one out of the door. She would lie down in the snow and make the very first snow angel of the year. Before the big children. Before the baker’s dog. Before anybody.

When Tilly’s fingers were cold, Mom rubbed them between her own and sang a little song.

“Warm little hands, warm little bell, cozy and snug and all is well.”

Mom called Tilly her little bell, because Tilly was small and her laugh rang all over the house.

At last it was the first evening of winter. At lamp-lighting time, the Frost Princess would come down from the white mountain to bring the first snow.

The whole village went to the square. The big ones stood at the back. The little ones stood at the front. Tilly stood at the very front of all.

The last lamp was lit. Then, down out of the blue evening sky, came a sleigh.

It was made of ice, and it shone like a glass of water held up to a lamp. A white hare as big as a pony was pulling it. Her name was Puff. Frost sparkled on her whiskers, and when she twitched her nose they went tinkle-tinkle. One little silver bell hung on her harness.

The sleigh landed with a soft bump. Out stepped the Frost Princess, tall and shining. She laughed. Her laugh sounded like a spoon dropped on a kitchen floor.

“Good evening, everyone,” said the Princess. “Shall we have some snow?”

“Yes!” said everybody. Tilly said it loudest of all, which was not very loud.

The Princess climbed back into the sleigh and shook the reins. Puff would only hop in time to her bell. Jingle, hop. Jingle, hop. That was how the sleigh flew, and when it flew, the snow fell behind it.

But the bell did not jingle.

The Princess shook the reins again. Nothing. Puff twitched her nose hopefully. Her whiskers went tinkle-tinkle. But that was not the bell, and Puff knew it. She sat down in the middle of the square.

“Oh dear,” said the Princess. “My bell is frozen. No bell, no hop. No hop, no snow.”

No snow! Tilly held on tight to her mitten string. No snow meant no snow angel.

“Leave it to me,” said the Mayor. He was a big man with a big beard and an even bigger breath. He took the hugest breath he could, and he huffed. HUFFFF!

The bell stayed quiet. But all the frost on Puff’s harness flew up in a cloud and came straight back down, into the Mayor’s beard. Now his beard was full of frost.

Everybody laughed. The Mayor laughed too, and more frost fell out.

“My turn,” said the blacksmith. He had the biggest arms in the village, and the biggest hammer. He gave the bell a tap. It was rather too big a tap.

CLUNK, went the bell. Puff put her long ears back and did not hop.

“Perhaps I should hold it,” said the Princess. She cupped the bell in her shining hands. But she was far too cold to warm anything. When she opened her hands, the bell was colder than before. A tiny icicle hung off the bottom of it.

“Oh dear,” said the Princess. “I’m very good at cold. I’m no good at all at warm.”

Tilly thought about her own cold fingers, and about Mom’s song.

“Please,” said Tilly. “May I try? I know a song for little bells.”

The Mayor lifted her up so she could reach.

Tilly pulled off her mittens. They swung down on their long string. She held the little silver bell in her two small hands, the way a nest holds an egg. It was so cold her fingers went pink.

She gave it the tiniest warm breath. Then she sang, soft and slow, the way Mom did.

“Warm little hands, warm little bell, cozy and snug and all is well.”

The tiny icicle dripped, and was gone. Tilly gave it one more tiny breath. She sang it once more.

Ting, went the bell.

Then, jingle-jingle!

Up went Puff’s ears. Thump, went one big back foot. Thump, went the other.

The Mayor set Tilly down. The Princess leaned out of the sleigh. She took a silver bell from her pocket, no bigger than a pea, and tied it onto Tilly’s mitten string.

“Thank you, Tilly,” said the Princess. “Big hands huff and bang. Small warm hands are just right for bells.” And she laughed her dropped-spoon laugh.

Jingle, hop. Jingle, hop. Up went Puff, and up went the sleigh, over the roofs and the chimneys and the lamps. And behind it, soft and slow, came the first snow of winter. It fell on every roof. It fell on every lamp. It fell on the Mayor, who walked home with his beard full of snow and didn’t mind a bit.

* * *

At home, Mom sat Tilly by the stove and took her pink fingers in her own.

“My little bell warmed a real bell,” said Mom, and she kissed each pink finger, one, two, three, four, five.

Tilly hung her mittens by the stove to dry, long string and all. The tiny bell on the string went ting.

Then Mom tucked her in and sang, softer than ever.

“Warm little hands, warm little bell, cozy and snug and all is well.”

Tilly looked out of the window at the snow coming down. “Now,” said Tilly, and she snuggled under the covers.

The snow came down with a soft hush on the roof. In the morning there would be snow on the step and snow on the lane, deep and white, with not one footprint in it.

The very first snow angel of the year would be hers. Tilly closed her eyes, and the snow fell and fell, all night long, while she slept.