, away!" he
barked, and then added, "The weather is going to change."

The weather did change. It began to thaw, and 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 sank down altogether; and behold! where he had
stood, something that looked like a broomstick remained sticking up in
the ground. It was the pole round which the boys had built him.

"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 is 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.

[Illustration]

THE FARMYARD COCK AND THE WEATHERCOCK

THERE were once two cocks; one of them stood on a dunghill, the other on
the roof. Both were conceited, but the question is, Which of the two was
the more useful?

A wooden partition divided the poultry yard from another yard, in which
lay a heap of manure sheltering a cucumber bed. In this bed grew a large
cucumber, which was fully aware that it was a plant that should be
reared in a hotbed.

"It is the privilege of birth," said the Cucumber to itself. "All cannot
be born cucumbers; there must be other kinds as well. The fowls, the
ducks, and the cattle in the next yard are all different creatures, and
there is the yard cock--I can look up to him when he is on the wooden
partition. He is certainly of much greater importance than the
weathercock, who is so highly placed, and who can't even creak, much
less crow--besides, he has neither hens nor chickens, and thinks only of
himself, and perspires verdigris. But the yard cock is something like a
cock. His gait is like a dance, and his crowing is music, and wherever
he goes it is instantly known. What a trumpeter he is! If he would only
come in here! Even if he were to eat me up, stalk and all, it would be a