The next day was bright and frosty, and then came the thaw--and after
that the spring. The sun shone, green buds began to appear, the swallows
built their nests, and people began to open their windows. The little
children began to play in their garden on the roof again. The roses were
in splendid bloom that summer; the little girl had learnt a hymn, and
there was something in it about roses, and that made her think of her
own. She sang it to the little boy, and then he sang it with her--

'Where roses deck the flowery vale,
There, Infant Jesus, we thee hail!'

The children took each other by the hands, kissed the roses, and
rejoiced in God's bright sunshine, and spoke to it as if the Child Jesus
were there. What lovely summer days they were, and how delightful it was
to sit out under the fresh rose-trees, which seemed never tired of
blooming.

Kay and Gerda were looking at a picture book of birds and animals one
day--it had just struck five by the church clock--when Kay said, 'Oh,
something struck my heart, and I have got something in my eye!'

The little girl put her arms round his neck, he blinked his eye; there
was nothing to be seen.

'I believe it is gone,' he said; but it was not gone. It was one of
those very grains of glass from the mirror, the magic mirror. You
remember that horrid mirror, in which all good and great things
reflected in it became small and mean, while the bad things were
magnified, and every flaw became very apparent.