In the spring they began to pull the house itself down; people called it
complete rubbish. From the street could be seen the room in which the
walls were covered with leather, ragged and torn, and the green in the
balcony hung straggling over the beams; they pulled it down quickly, for
it looked ready to fall, and at last it was cleared away altogether. "What a good riddance," said the neighbors' houses. Afterward a fine new house was built, farther back from the road. It had
lofty windows and smooth walls, but in front, on the spot where the old
house really stood, a little garden was planted, and wild vines grew up
over the neighboring walls. In front of the garden were large iron
railings and a great gate which looked very stately. People used to stop
and peep through the railings. The sparrows assembled in dozens upon the
wild vines and chattered all together as loud as they could, but not
about the old house. None of them could remember it, for many years had
passed by; so many, indeed, that the little boy was now a man, and a
really good man too, and his parents were very proud of him. He had just
married and had come with his young wife to reside in the new house with
the garden in front of it, and now he stood there by her side while she
planted a field flower that she thought very pretty. She was planting it
herself with her little hands and pressing down the earth with her
fingers. "Oh, dear, what was that?" she exclaimed as something pricked
her. Out of the soft earth something was sticking up. It was--only think!--it was really the tin soldier, the very same which
had been lost up in the old man's room and had been hidden among old
wood and rubbish for a long time till it sank into the earth, where it
must have been for many years. And the young wife wiped the soldier,
first with a green leaf and then with her fine pocket handkerchief, that
smelt of a beautiful perfume. And the tin soldier felt as if he were
recovering from a fainting fit. "Let me see him," said the young man, and then he smiled and shook his
head and said, "It can scarcely be the same, but it reminds me of
something that happened to one of my tin soldiers when I was a little
boy." And then he told his wife about the old house and the old man and
of the tin soldier which he had sent across because he thought the old
man was lonely. And he related the story so clearly that tears came into
the eyes of the young wife for the old house and the old man. "It is very likely that this is really the same soldier," said she, "and
I will take care of him and always remember what you have told me; but
some day you must show me the old man's grave." "I don't know where it is," he replied; "no one knows. All his friends
are dead. No one took care of him or tended his grave, and I was only a
little boy." "Oh, how dreadfully lonely he must have been," said she. "Yes, terribly lonely," cried the tin soldier; "still it is delightful
not to be forgotten." "Delightful indeed!" cried a voice quite near to them. No one but the
tin soldier saw that it came from a rag of the leather which hung in
tatters. It had lost all its gilding and looked like wet earth, but it
had an opinion, and it spoke it thus:

          "Gilding wears out with time and bad weather,
           But leather endures; there's nothing like leather." But the tin soldier did not believe any such thing. [Illustration]




THE CONCEITED APPLE BRANCH


IT WAS the month of May. The wind still blew cold, but from bush and
tree, field and flower, came the welcome sound, "Spring is come." Wild flowers in profusion covered the hedges. Under the little apple
tree Spring seemed busy, and he told his tale from one of the branches,
which hung fresh and blooming and covered with delicate pink blossoms
that were just ready to open. The branch well knew how beautiful it was; this knowledge exists as much
in the leaf as in the blood. I was therefore not surprised when a
nobleman's carriage, in which sat the young countess, stopped in the
road just by. The apple branch, she said, was a most lovely object, an
emblem of spring in its most charming aspect. The branch was broken off
for her, and she held it in her delicate hand and sheltered it with her
silk parasol. Then they drove to the castle, in which were lofty halls and splendid
drawing-rooms. Pure white curtains fluttered before the open windows,
and beautiful flowers stood in transparent vases. In one of them, which
looked as if it had been cut out of newly fallen snow, the apple branch
was placed among some fresh light twigs of beech. It was a charming
sight. And the branch became proud, which was very much like human
nature. People of every description entered the room, and according to their
position in society so dared they to express their admiration. Some few
said nothing, others expressed too much, and the apple branch very soon
got to understand that there was as much difference in the characters of
human beings as in those of plants and flowers. Some are all for pomp
and parade, others have a great deal to do to maintain their own
importance, while the rest might be spared without much loss to
society. So thought the apple branch as he stood before the open
window, from which he could see out over gardens and fields, where there
were flowers and plants enough for him to think and reflect upon--some
rich and beautiful, some poor and humble indeed. "Poor despised herbs," said the apple branch; "there is really a
difference between them and such as I am. How unhappy they must be if
they can feel as those in my position do! There is a difference indeed,
and so there ought to be, or we should all be equals." And the apple branch looked with a sort of pity upon them, especially on
a certain little flower that is found in fields and in ditches. No one
bound these flowers together in a nosegay, they were too common,--they
were even known to grow between the paving stones, shooting up
everywhere like bad weeds,--and they bore the very ugly name of "dog
flowers," or "dandelions." "Poor despised plants," said the apple bough, "it is not your fault that
you are so ugly and that you have such an ugly name, but it is with
plants as with men--there must be a difference." "A difference!" cried the sunbeam as he kissed the blooming apple branch
and then kissed the yellow dandelion out in the fields. All were
brothers, and the sunbeam kissed them--the poor flowers as well as the
rich. The apple bough had never thought of the boundless love of God which
extends over all the works of creation, over everything which lives and
moves and has its being in Him. He had never thought of the good and
beautiful which are so often hidden, but can never remain forgotten by
Him, not only among the lower creation, but also among men. The sunbeam,
the ray of light, knew better. "You do not see very far nor very clearly," he said to the apple branch. "Which is the despised plant you so specially pity?" "The dandelion," he replied.