THE OLD HOUSE [1]
dresses rustled. Then came a staircase which went up a long
way, and then came down a little way and led to a balcony, which was
in a very ruinous state. There were large holes and long cracks, out
of which grew grass and leaves, indeed the whole balcony, the
courtyard, and the walls were so overgrown with green that they looked
like a garden. In the balcony stood flower-pots, on which were heads
having asses' ears, but the flowers in them grew just as they pleased.
In one pot pinks were growing all over the sides, at least the green
leaves were shooting forth stalk and stem, and saying as plainly as
they could speak, "The air has fanned me, the sun has kissed me, and I
am promised a little flower for next Sunday- really for next Sunday."
Then they entered a room in which the walls were covered with
leather, and the leather had golden flowers stamped upon it.
"Gilding will fade in damp weather,
To endure, there is nothing like leather,"
said the walls. Chairs handsomely carved, with elbows on each side,
and with very high backs, stood in the room, and as they creaked
they seemed to say, "Sit down. Oh dear, how I am creaking. I shall
certainly have the gout like the old cupboard. Gout in my back, ugh."
And then the little boy entered the room where the old man sat.
"Thank you for the tin soldier my little friend," said the old
man, "and thank you also for coming to see me."
"Thanks, thanks," or "Creak, creak," said all the furniture.
There was so much that the pieces of furniture stood in each
other's way to get a sight of the little boy.
On the wall near the centre of the room hung the picture of a
beautiful lady, young and gay, dressed in the fashion of the olden
times, with powdered hair, and a full, stiff skirt. She said neither
"thanks" nor "creak," but she looked down upon the little boy with her
mild eyes; and then he said to the old man,
"Where did you get that picture?"
"From the shop opposite," he replied. "Many portraits hang there
that none seem to trouble themselves about. The persons they represent
have been dead and buried long since. But I knew this lady many
years ago, and she has been dead nearly half a century."
Under a glass beneath the picture hung a nosegay of withered
flowers, which were no doubt half a century old too, at least they
appeared so.
And the pendulum of the old clock went to and fro, and the hands
turned round; and as time passed on, everything in the room grew
older, but no one seemed to notice it.
"They say at home," said the little boy, "that you are very
lonely."
"Oh," replied the old man, "I have pleasant thoughts of all that
has passed, recalled by memory; and now you are come to visit me,
and that is very pleasant."
Then he took from the book-case, a book full of pictures
representing long processions of wonderful coaches, such as are
never seen at the present time. Soldiers like the knave of clubs,
and citizens with waving banners. The tailors had a flag with a pair
of scissors supported by two lions, and on the shoemakers' flag
there were not boots, but an eagle with two heads, for the
shoemakers must have everything arranged so that they can say, "This
is a pair." What a picture-book it was; and then the old man went into
another room to fetch apples and nuts. It was very pleasant,
certainly, to be in that old house.
"I cannot endure it," said the tin soldier, who stood on a
shelf, "it is so lonely and dull here. I have been accustomed to
live in a family, and I cannot get used to this life. I cannot bear
it. The whole day is long enough, but the evening is longer. It is not
here like it was in your house opposite, when your father and mother
talked so cheerfully together, while you and all the dear children
made such a delightful noise. No, it is all lonely in the old man's
house. Do you think he gets any kisses? Do you think he ever has
friendly looks, or
way, and then came down a little way and led to a balcony, which was
in a very ruinous state. There were large holes and long cracks, out
of which grew grass and leaves, indeed the whole balcony, the
courtyard, and the walls were so overgrown with green that they looked
like a garden. In the balcony stood flower-pots, on which were heads
having asses' ears, but the flowers in them grew just as they pleased.
In one pot pinks were growing all over the sides, at least the green
leaves were shooting forth stalk and stem, and saying as plainly as
they could speak, "The air has fanned me, the sun has kissed me, and I
am promised a little flower for next Sunday- really for next Sunday."
Then they entered a room in which the walls were covered with
leather, and the leather had golden flowers stamped upon it.
"Gilding will fade in damp weather,
To endure, there is nothing like leather,"
said the walls. Chairs handsomely carved, with elbows on each side,
and with very high backs, stood in the room, and as they creaked
they seemed to say, "Sit down. Oh dear, how I am creaking. I shall
certainly have the gout like the old cupboard. Gout in my back, ugh."
And then the little boy entered the room where the old man sat.
"Thank you for the tin soldier my little friend," said the old
man, "and thank you also for coming to see me."
"Thanks, thanks," or "Creak, creak," said all the furniture.
There was so much that the pieces of furniture stood in each
other's way to get a sight of the little boy.
On the wall near the centre of the room hung the picture of a
beautiful lady, young and gay, dressed in the fashion of the olden
times, with powdered hair, and a full, stiff skirt. She said neither
"thanks" nor "creak," but she looked down upon the little boy with her
mild eyes; and then he said to the old man,
"Where did you get that picture?"
"From the shop opposite," he replied. "Many portraits hang there
that none seem to trouble themselves about. The persons they represent
have been dead and buried long since. But I knew this lady many
years ago, and she has been dead nearly half a century."
Under a glass beneath the picture hung a nosegay of withered
flowers, which were no doubt half a century old too, at least they
appeared so.
And the pendulum of the old clock went to and fro, and the hands
turned round; and as time passed on, everything in the room grew
older, but no one seemed to notice it.
"They say at home," said the little boy, "that you are very
lonely."
"Oh," replied the old man, "I have pleasant thoughts of all that
has passed, recalled by memory; and now you are come to visit me,
and that is very pleasant."
Then he took from the book-case, a book full of pictures
representing long processions of wonderful coaches, such as are
never seen at the present time. Soldiers like the knave of clubs,
and citizens with waving banners. The tailors had a flag with a pair
of scissors supported by two lions, and on the shoemakers' flag
there were not boots, but an eagle with two heads, for the
shoemakers must have everything arranged so that they can say, "This
is a pair." What a picture-book it was; and then the old man went into
another room to fetch apples and nuts. It was very pleasant,
certainly, to be in that old house.
"I cannot endure it," said the tin soldier, who stood on a
shelf, "it is so lonely and dull here. I have been accustomed to
live in a family, and I cannot get used to this life. I cannot bear
it. The whole day is long enough, but the evening is longer. It is not
here like it was in your house opposite, when your father and mother
talked so cheerfully together, while you and all the dear children
made such a delightful noise. No, it is all lonely in the old man's
house. Do you think he gets any kisses? Do you think he ever has
friendly looks, or