Then Peter did laugh. "What queer things to eat," he said. "And how funny you look when you laugh. You shake, but you do not laugh with your mouth."
"Yes," said the snow man. "That's all because of Polly. You see, she made my mouth with a horrid straight stick. I can't bend it at all."
"You make me very cold," said Peter. "You are so white. I want my mother to come and tuck me up."
"I will try," the snow man said. And, with his snowy arms, he tried to pull up the bedclothes. One arm slipped and hit Peter's neck. Peter was so surprised that he screamed.
In just a minute mother ran in. "What is it, dear?" she asked.
Peter could only say, "The snow man, the snow man! He has been up here!"
"He's out in the yard, dear. I can see him. And he has lost his hat. The wind must have blown it off. It has been raining hard. The rain has come in at the window. It is wet on the floor."
"He didn't have his hat up here," said Peter. "He dropped it when he started. He couldn't put it on. And he made those spots on the floor. It was not the rain. Pieces of snow dropped off him when he laughed."
Mother only said, "I'll tuck you up again, Peter. We can see about it in the morning. Now good night."
