Poor Kay! a grain of it had gone straight to his heart, and would soon
turn it to a lump of ice. He did not feel it any more, but it was still
there.

'Why do you cry?' he asked; 'it makes you look ugly; there's nothing the
matter with me. How horrid!' he suddenly cried; 'there's a worm in that
rose, and that one is quite crooked; after all, they are nasty roses,
and so are the boxes they are growing in!' He kicked the box and broke
off two of the roses.

'What are you doing, Kay?' cried the little girl. When he saw her alarm,
he broke off another rose, and then ran in by his own window, and left
dear little Gerda alone.

When she next got out the picture book he said it was only fit for
babies in long clothes. When his grandmother told them stories he always
had a but--, and if he could manage it, he liked to get behind her
chair, put on her spectacles and imitate her. He did it very well and
people laughed at him. He was soon able to imitate every one in the
street; he could make fun of all their peculiarities and failings. 'He
will turn out a clever fellow,' said people. But it was all that bit of
glass in his heart, that bit of glass in his eye, and it made him tease
little Gerda who was so devoted to him. He played quite different games
now; he seemed to have grown older. One winter's day, when the snow was
falling fast, he brought in a big magnifying glass; he held out the tail
of his blue coat, and let the snow flakes fall upon it.

'Now look through the glass, Gerda!' he said; every snowflake was
magnified, and looked like a lovely flower, or a sharply pointed star.