Ellen didn't know whether she quite believed him or not, but she thought it a lovely story anyway. After breakfast, Ellen put on snowsuit and boots and mittens and hood and went out to play in the yard with Butch, her pet. They romped in the snowbanks and tumbled on the ice. The morning was half gone in a twinkling. Better come in and warm up a bit." Ellen's mother called. And then she laughed. "Goodness! Jack Frost has certainly painted your nose!" Ellen loved the pictures she found on the windows these winter mornings. "Look!" she'd beg Paul. "There's a big castle on a hill-" "And there's the old witch climbing up to it," Paul teased. Ellen tugged off her boots hurriedly. She ran to a mirror, but there were no castles and fairies on her nose-only a bright red color that was already fading! "But it's fading away, Paul!" "Well, I didn't have an icicle paintbrush," Paul explained. "That's the difference." "Well," Ellen decided. "I guess Jack didn't have his icicle paintbrush today. He just had to use his finger, like Paul." "Oh, no, Paul, a fairy, a beautiful fairy! What makes the pictures?" asked Ellen. "Jack Frost paints them," Paul told her. "Every night he comes, with an icicle for a paintbrush and snow pies for his paintbox. First, he breathes on the window like this-"Paul blew on the pane and it clouded a misty gray, "-then, fast as fast, he draws his pictures." With his finger, Paul drew a comical face. "See?"​