“I was obliged，” replied the yard-dog. “They turned me out of doors， and chained me up here. I had bitten the youngest of my master’s sons in the leg， because he kicked away the bone I was gnawing. ‘Bone for bone，’ I thought； but they were so angry， and from that time I have been fastened with a chain， and lost my bone. Don’t you hear how hoarse I am. Away， away！ I can’t talk any more like other dogs. Away， away， that is the end of it all.”
But the Snow Man was no longer listening. He was looking into the housekeeper’s room on the lower storey； where the stove stood on its four iron legs， looking about the same size as the Snow Man himself. “What a strange crackling I feel within me，” he said. “Shall I ever get in there？ It is an innocent wish， and innocent wishes are sure to be fulfilled. I must go in there and lean against her， even if I have to break the window.”
“You must never go in there，” said the yard-dog， “for if you approach the stove， you’ll melt away， away.”
“I might as well go，” said the Snow Man， “for I think I am breaking up as it is.”
During the whole day the Snow Man stood looking in through the window， and in the twilight hour the room became still more inviting， for from the stove came a gentle glow， not like the sun or the moon； no， only the bright light which gleams from a stove when it has been well fed. When the door of the stove was opened， the flames darted out of its mouth； this is customary with all stoves. The light of the flames fell directly on the face and breast of the Snow Man with a ruddy gleam. “I can endure it no longer，” said he； “how beautiful it looks when it stretches out its tongue？”
The night was long， but did not appear so to the Snow Man， who stood there enjoying his own reflections， and crackling with the cold. In the morning， the window-panes of the housekeeper’s room were covered with ice. They were the most beautiful ice-flowers any Snow Man could desire， but they concealed the stove. These window-panes would not thaw， and he could see nothing of the stove， which he pictured to himself， as if it had been a lovely hubeing. The crackled and the wind whistled around him； it was just the kind of frosty weather a Snow Man might thoroughly enjoy. But he did not enjoy it； how， indeed， could he enjoy anything when he was “stove sick？”
“That is terrible disease for a Snow Man，” said the yard-dog； “I have suffered from it myself， but I got over it. Away， away，” he barked and then he added， “the weather is going to change.” And the weather did change； it began to thaw. As the warmth increased， the Snow Man decreased. He said nothing and made no complaint， which is a sure sign. One morning he broke， and sunk down altogether； and， behold， where he had stood， something like a broomstick remained sticking up in the ground. It was the pole round which the boys had built him up. “Ah， now I understand why he had such a great longing for the stove，” said the yard-dog. “Why， there’s the shovel that is used for cleaning out the stove， fastened to the pole.” The Snow Man had a stove scraper in his body； that was what moved him so. “But it’s all over now. Away， away.” And soon the winter passed. “Away， away，” barked the hoarse yard-dog. But the girls in the house sang，
“Come from your fragrant home， green thyme；
Stretch your soft branches， willow-tree；
The months are bringing the sweet spring-time，
When the lark in the sky sings joyfully.
Come gentle sun， while the cuckoo sings，
And I’ll mock his note in my wanderings.”
And nobody thought any more of the Snow Man.