The parents of each of these children had a large wooden box in which
they cultivated kitchen vegetables for their own use, and in each box
was a little rosebush which grew luxuriantly. After a while the parents decided to place these two boxes across the
water pipe, so that they reached from one window to the other and
looked like two banks of flowers. Sweet peas drooped over the boxes, and
the rosebushes shot forth long branches, which were trained about the
windows and clustered together almost like a triumphal arch of leaves
and flowers. The boxes were very high, and the children knew they must not climb upon
them without permission; but they often had leave to step out and sit
upon their little stools under the rosebushes or play quietly together. In winter all this pleasure came to an end, for the windows were
sometimes quite frozen over. But they would warm copper pennies on the
stove and hold the warm pennies against the frozen pane; then there
would soon be a little round hole through which they could peep, and the
soft, bright eyes of the little boy and girl would sparkle through the
hole at each window as they looked at each other. Their names were Kay
and Gerda. In summer they could be together with one jump from the
window, but in winter they had to go up and down the long staircase and
out through the snow before they could meet. "See! there are the white bees swarming," said Kay's old grandmother one
day when it was snowing. "Have they a queen bee?" asked the little boy, for he knew that the real
bees always had a queen. "To be sure they have," said the grandmother. "She is flying there where
the swarm is thickest. She is the largest of them all and never remains
on the earth, but flies up to the dark clouds. Often at midnight she
flies through the streets of the town and breathes with her frosty
breath upon the windows; then the ice freezes on the panes into
wonderful forms that look like flowers and castles." "Yes, I have seen them," said both the children; and they knew it must
be true. "Can the Snow Queen come in here?" asked the little girl. "Only let her come," said the boy. "I'll put her on the warm stove, and
then she'll melt." The grandmother smoothed his hair and told him more stories. That same evening when little Kay was at home, half undressed, he
climbed upon a chair by the window and peeped out through the little
round hole. A few flakes of snow were falling, and one of them, rather
larger than the rest, alighted on the edge of one of the flower boxes. Strange to say, this snowflake grew larger and larger till at last it
took the form of a woman dressed in garments of white gauze, which
looked like millions of starry snowflakes linked together. She was fair
and beautiful, but made of ice--glittering, dazzling ice. Still, she was
alive, and her eyes sparkled like bright stars, though there was neither
peace nor rest in them. She nodded toward the window and waved her hand. The little boy was frightened and sprang from the chair, and at the same
moment it seemed as if a large bird flew by the window. On the following day there was a clear frost, and very soon came the
spring. The sun shone; the young green leaves burst forth; the swallows
built their nests; windows were opened, and the children sat once more
in the garden on the roof, high above all the other rooms. [Illustration: The children sat once more in the garden on the roof....]

How beautifully the roses blossomed this summer! The little girl had
learned a hymn in which roses were spoken of. She thought of their own
roses, and she sang the hymn to the little boy, and he sang, too:

          "Roses bloom and fade away;
           The Christ-child shall abide alway. Blessed are we his face to see
           And ever little children be." Then the little ones held each other by the hand, and kissed the roses,
and looked at the bright sunshine, and spoke to it as if the
Christ-child were really there. Those were glorious summer days. How
beautiful and fresh it was out among the rosebushes, which seemed as if
they would never leave off blooming. One day Kay and Gerda sat looking at a book of pictures of animals and
birds. Just then, as the clock in the church tower struck twelve, Kay
said, "Oh, something has struck my heart!" and soon after, "There is
certainly something in my eye." The little girl put her arm round his neck and looked into his eye, but
she could see nothing. "I believe it is gone," he said. But it was not gone; it was one of
those bits of the looking-glass,--that magic mirror of which we have
spoken,--the ugly glass which made everything great and good appear
small and ugly, while all that was wicked and bad became more visible,
and every little fault could be plainly seen. Poor little Kay had also
received a small splinter in his heart, which very quickly turned to a
lump of ice. He felt no more pain, but the glass was there still. "Why
do you cry?" said he at last. "It makes you look ugly. There is nothing
the matter with me now. Oh, fie!" he cried suddenly; "that rose is
worm-eaten, and this one is quite crooked. After all, they are ugly
roses, just like the box in which they stand." And then he kicked the
boxes with his foot and pulled off the two roses. "Why, Kay, what are you doing?" cried the little girl; and then when he
saw how grieved she was he tore off another rose and jumped through his
own window, away from sweet little Gerda. When afterward she brought out the picture book he said, "It is only fit
for babies in long clothes," and when grandmother told stories he would
interrupt her with "but"; or sometimes when he could manage it he would
get behind her chair, put on a pair of spectacles, and imitate her very
cleverly to make the people laugh. By and by he began to mimic the
speech and gait of persons in the street. All that was peculiar or
disagreeable in a person he would imitate directly, and people said,
"That boy will be very clever; he has a remarkable genius." But it was
the piece of glass in his eye and the coldness in his heart that made
him act like this. He would even tease little Gerda, who loved him with
all her heart. His games too were quite different; they were not so childlike. One
winter's day, when it snowed, he brought out a burning glass, then,
holding out the skirt of his blue coat, let the snowflakes fall upon it. "Look in this glass, Gerda," said he, and she saw how every flake of
snow was magnified and looked like a beautiful flower or a glittering
star. "Is it not clever," said Kay, "and much more interesting than looking at
real flowers? There is not a single fault in it. The snowflakes are
quite perfect till they begin to melt." Soon after, Kay made his appearance in large, thick gloves and with his
sledge at his back. He called upstairs to Gerda, "I've got leave to go
into the great square, where the other boys play and ride." And away he
went.