askedthelittleboy,forheknewthattherealbeeshadaqueen.

"tobesuretheyhave,"saidthegrandmother."sheisflyingtherewheretheswarmisthickest.sheisthelargestofthemall,andneverremainsontheearth,butfliesuptothedarkclouds.oftenatmidnightshefliesthroughthestreetsofthetown,andlooksinatthewindows,thentheicefreezesonthepanesintowonderfulshapes,thatlooklikeflowersandcastles."

"yes,ihaveseenthem,"saidboththechildren,andtheyknewitmustbetrue.

"canthesnowqueencomeinhere?"askedthelittlegirl.

"onlylethercome,"saidtheboy,"i'llsetheronthestoveandthenshe'llmelt."

thenthegrandmothersmoothedhishairandtoldhimsomemoretales.oneevening,whenlittlekaywasathome,halfundressed,heclimbedonachairbythewindowandpeepedoutthroughthelittlehole.afewflakesofsnowwerefalling,andoneofthem,ratherlargerthantherest,alightedontheedgeofoneoftheflowerssnow-flakegrewlargerandlarger,tillatlastitbecamethefigureofawoman,dressedingarmentsofwhitegauze,whichlookedlikemillionsofstarrysnow-flakeslinkedtogether.shewasfairandbeautiful,butmadeofice-shiningandglitteringice.stillshewasaliveandhereyessparkledlikebrightstars,buttherewasneitherpeacenorrestintheirglance.shenoddedtowardsthewindowandwavedherhand.thelittleboywasfrightenedandsprangfromthechair;atthesamemomentitseemedasifalargebirdflewbythewindow.onthefollowingdaytherewasaclearfrost,andverysooncamethespring.thesunshone;theyounggreenleavesburstforth;theswallowsbuilttheirnests;windowswereopened,andthechildrensatoncemoreinthegardenontheroof,highabovealltheotherrooms.howbeautifultherosesblossomedthissummer.thelittlegirlhadlearntahymninwhichroseswerespokenof,andthenshethoughtoftheirownroses,andshesangthehymntothelittleboy,andhesangtoo:-

"rosesbloomandceasetobe,

butweshallthechrist-childsee."thenthelittleonesheldeachotherbythehand,andkissedtheroses,andlookedatthebrightsunshine,andspoketoitasifthechrist-childwerethere.thoseweresplendidsummerdays.howbeautifulandfreshitwasoutamongtherose-bushes,whichseemedasiftheywouldneverleaveoffblooming.onedaykayandgerdasatlookingatabookfullofpicturesofanimalsandbirds,andthenjustastheclockinthechurchtowerstrucktwelve,kaysaid,"oh,somethinghasstruckmyheart!"andsoonafter,"thereissomethinginmyeye."

thelittlegirlputherarmroundhisneck,andlookedintohiseye,butshecouldseenothing.

"ithinkitisgone,"hesaid.butitwasnotgone;itwasoneofthosebitsofthelooking-glass-thatmagicmirror,ofwhichwehavespoken-theuglyglasswhichmadeeverythinggreatandgoodappearsmallandugly,whileallthatwaswickedandbadbecamemorevisible,andeverylittlefaultcouldbeplainlyseen.poorlittlekayhadalsoreceivedasmallgraininhisheart,whichveryquicklyturnedtoalumpofice.hefeltnomorepain,buttheglasswastherestill."whydoyoucry?"saidheatlast;"itmakesyoulookreisnothingthematterwithmenow.oh,see!"hecriedsuddenly,"thatroseisworm-eaten,andthisoneisquiteralltheyareuglyroses,justliketheboxinwhichtheystand,"andthenhekickedtheboxeswithhisfoot,andpulledoffthetworoses.

"kay,whatareyoudoing?"