and lean against the stove, if I have to break the window first!'

'You will never get inside there!' said the yard-dog; 'and if you
were to reach the stove you would disappear. Bow-wow!'

'I'm as good as gone already!' answered the Snow-man. 'I believe
I'm breaking up!'

The whole day the Snow-man looked through the window; towards
dusk the room grew still more inviting; the stove gave out a mild
light, not at all like the moon or even the sun; no, as only a
stove can shine, when it has something to feed upon. When the
door of the room was open, it flared up-this was one of its
peculiarities; it flickered quite red upon the Snow-man's white
face.

'I can't stand it any longer!' he said. 'How beautiful it looks
with its tongue stretched out like that!'

It was a long night, but the Snow-man did not find it so; there
he stood, wrapt in his pleasant thoughts, and they froze, so that
he cracked.

Next morning the panes of the kitchen window were covered with
ice, and the most beautiful ice-flowers that even a snow-man
could desire, only they blotted out the stove. The window would
not open; he couldn't see the stove which he thought was such a
lovely lady. There was a cracking and cracking inside him and
all around; there was just such a frost as a snow-man would
delight in. But this Snow-man was different: how could he feel