“How cruel little Kay grows,” said his friends; for he mocked the old people and ill-treated those who were weak. And all through the blue summer and the yellow autumn Kay teased little Gerda, or left her that he might play with the bigger children in the town.
But it was when winter came, and the big white snowflakes once more fell from a gray sky, that Gerda felt loneliest, for Kay now drew on his thick gloves, slung his little sledge across his back, and marched off alone. “I am going to ride in the square,” he shouted in her ear as he passed. But Gerda could not answer; she could only think of the winters that had gone, when she and Kay always sat side by side in that same little sledge. How happy they had been! Oh, why, why had he not taken her with him?
Kay walked briskly to the square, and there he watched the bolder of the boys tie their sledges to the farmers’ carts. With what glee they felt themselves being drawn over the snow-covered ground! When they reached the town gates they would jump out, unfasten their sledges, and return to the square to begin the fun all over again.
Kay was thinking how much he would like to tie his little sledge behind a cart, when a big sledge, painted white, drove by. In it sat some one muffled in a white fur coat and cap. Twice the sledge drove round the square.
As it passed Kay the second time, he quickly fastened on his little sledge behind, and in a moment found himself flying through the streets. What fun! On and on through snowdrifts, bounding over ditches, rushing down hills, faster and faster they flew.
Little Kay grew frightened. Twice he tried to unfasten the string that tied his sledge to the other, but both times the white driver turned round and nodded to him to sit still. At last they had driven through the town gates. The snow fell so heavily that it blinded him. Now he could not see where they were going, and Kay grew more frightened still. He tried to say his prayers, but could only remember the multiplication table. Bigger and bigger grew the snowflakes, till they seemed like large white birds. Then, suddenly, the sledge stopped. The driver stood up. She was a tall lady, dazzlingly white. Her eyes shone like two stars. She was the Snow Queen.
“It is cold,” said the white lady; “come into my sledge. Now, creep inside my furs.”
Kay did as he was told, but he felt as if he had fallen into a snowdrift.
“You are still cold,” said the Snow Queen, and she kissed his forehead. Her lips were like ice, and Kay shivered and felt the old pain at his heart. But only for a minute, for the Snow Queen kissed him again, and then he forgot the pain, and he forgot Gerda, and he forgot his grandmother and his old home, and had not a thought for anything or any one but the Snow Queen.
He had no fear of her now, no, not although they flew up and up on a dark cloud, away over woods and lakes, over rivers, islands, and seas. No, he was not afraid, although the cold wind whistled around them, and beneath the wild wolves howled. Kay did not care.