(1861)
It is so delightfully cold,” said the Snow Man, “that it makes my whole
body crackle. This is just the kind of wind to blow life into one. How that
great red thing up there is staring at me!” He meant the sun, who was just
setting. “It shall not make me wink. I shall manage to keep the pieces.”
He had two triangular pieces of tile in his head, instead of eyes; his
mouth was made of an old broken rake, and was, of course, furnished with
teeth. He had been brought into existence amidst the joyous shouts of boys,
the jingling of sleigh-bells, and the slashing of whips. The sun went down,
and the full moon rose, large, round, and clear, shining in the deep blue.
“There it comes again, from the other side,” said the Snow Man, who
supposed the sun was showing himself once more. “Ah, I have cured him of
staring, though; now he may hang up there, and shine, that I may see
myself. If I only knew how to manage to move away from this place,-I
should so like to move. If I could, I would slide along yonder on the ice, as I
have seen the boys do; but I don’t understand how; I don’t even know how
to run.”
“Away, away,” barked the old yard-dog. He was quite hoarse, and could
not pronounce “Bow wow” properly. He had once been an indoor dog, and
lay by the fire, and he had been hoarse ever since. “The sun will make you
run some day. I saw him, last winter, make your predecessor run, and his
predecessor before him. Away, away, they all have to go.”
“I don’t understand you, comrade,” said the Snow Man. “Is that thing up
yonder to teach me to run? I saw it running itself a little while ago, and now
it has come creeping up from the other side.”
“You know nothing at all,” replied the yard-dog; “but then, you’ve only
lately been patched up. What you see yonder is the moon, and the one
