Above them the moon shone bright and clear. All night long the boy would gaze at it and the twinkling stars, but by day he slept at the feet of the Snow Queen.
But what of little Gerda?
Poor child, she watched and she waited and she wondered, but Kay did not come, and nobody could tell her where he was. The boys had seen him drive out of the town gates behind a big sledge painted white. But no one had heard of him since.
Little Gerda cried bitterly. Perhaps Kay was drowned in the river. Oh, what a long, cold winter that was! But spring came at last, bright spring with its golden sunshine and its singing birds.
“Kay is dead,” said Gerda.
“Kay dead? It is not true,” said the sunshine.
“Kay dead? We do not believe it,” twittered the swallows.
And neither did little Gerda believe it.
“I will put on my new red shoes,” said the child one morning, “and go to the river and ask it about Kay.” So she put on her little red shoes, and kissed her old grandmother who was still asleep, and wandered alone, out beyond the town gates, and down to the river-bank.