(They lie still in each other’s arms. Dawn light begins to creep in. A sound of sliding snow is heard on the roof, a sharp twittering of birds; down across the window masses of snow fall in soft thunder. There follows a sound of dropping water: the thaw has begun. The outer world grows radiant with light. The doors of the cubby-bed fly open, the two children peep out. A soft but heavy crash of falling snow is heard. It strikes the door.)
Mary. Mother, what’s that? Get up, get up, it’s light! (Jumps out of bed, followed by Matthew) Oh, come and look! The snow’s all falling—right down off the roof. Look how it’s letting go!
Matthew. Oh, the snowman. Look at the snowman! Oh! (Opens door)
Mary. Mother, the snowman’s tumbled in the night.
(Joan opens her eyes.)
Joan. Hush, hush, don’t wake ’im. Come ’e and look ’ere.
(The children approach softly, curious and surprised.)
Mary. Who is it, mother?
Joan. The snowman, my dear. He’s come to stay.
CURTAIN.