he stood steadfastly with his rifle on his shoulder. Then a door was opened, the wind caught the little dancer, and she flew like a sylph into the oven to the tin soldier, flared up in flames, and was gone. Then the tin soldier melted into a blob, and the next day when the maid took out the ashes, she found him as a little tin heart, but the only thing left of the dancer was the sequin, and that was burned to a crisp.
THE SHEPHERDESS AND THE CHIMNEY SWEEP
HAVE YOU EVER SEEN a really old wooden cabinet, the kind that’s dark with age and carved with scrolls and leaves? One just like this was standing in the living room. It had been inherited from Great Grandmother and carved with roses and tulips from top to bottom. It had the strangest flourishes, and in between them little stag heads with many antlers stuck out, but in the middle of the cabinet an entire man was carved. He was really funny to look at, and he made a funny face, but you couldn’t call it a laugh. He had goat’s legs, small horns on his forehead, and a long beard. The children in the house called him
He stood there so nicely with his ladder and with a face as white and red as a girl, and that was actually a mistake because it could have been a little black. He stood quite close to the shepherdess. They had both been positioned where they were, and because of their positions they had gotten engaged. They were well suited for each other: they were young, they were of the same kind of porcelain, and they were both equally fragile.
Close by stood yet another figure who was three times as large. He was an old bobble-head Chinaman. He was also made of porcelain and said that he was the little shepherdess’ grandfather, but although he couldn’t prove it, he insisted that he had power over her, and therefore he had nodded his assent to
“There’s a husband for you!” said the old Chinaman. “A husband who I think is made of mahogany. He will make you Mrs.
“I don’t want to go into that dark cabinet!” said the little shepherdess. “I’ve heard that he has eleven porcelain wives in there!”
“Then you can be the twelfth!” said the Chinaman. “Tonight, as soon as the old cabinet creaks, there’ll be a wedding, as sure as I’m a Chinaman.” And then he nodded off’ to sleep.
But the little shepherdess cried and looked at her dearest sweetheart, the porcelain chimney sweep.
“I believe I’ll ask you,” she said, “to go with me out into the wide world, for we can’t stay here.”
“I’ll do whatever you want,” said the little chimney sweep. “Let’s go right now. I am sure I can support you by my trade.”
“If only we were safely off the table,” she said. “I won’t be happy until we’re out in the wide world.”
And he consoled her and showed her where to place her little foot in the carved corners and the gilded foliage of the table leg. He used his ladder too, and they made it down to the floor. But when they looked over at the old cabinet, what a commotion they saw! All the carved stags stuck their heads further out, raised their antlers, and twisted their heads.
That scared them, and they jumped quickly up into the drawer of the window niche.
Three or four incomplete decks of cards were in there, as well as a little toy theater that was put together as well as possible. There was a play going on, and all the queens—diamonds, hearts, clubs, and spades—sat in the front row and fanned themselves with their tulips. Behind them stood all the jacks and used their heads both at the top and the bottom, the way cards do. The play was about two star crossed lovers, and the shepherdess cried about that, because it was like her own story.
“I can’t stand it!” she said, “I have to get out of this drawer!” But when they reached the floor and looked up at the table, they saw that the old Chinaman had woken up and was rocking his entire body back and forth because his body was one big clump, of course.
“Here comes the old Chinaman!” screamed the little shepherdess, and she fell right down on her porcelain knees; that’s how miserable she was.
“I’ve got an idea,” said the chimney sweep. “Let’s crawl into that big potpourri jar in the corner. We can lie there on the roses and lavender and throw salt in his eyes when he comes.”
“That won’t work,” she said. “Besides I know that the old Chinaman and the potpourri jar were engaged at one time, and there’s always a little goodwill left over when you’ve been in such a relationship. No, we have no choice but to go out into the wide world.”
“Do you really have the courage to go out into the wide world with me?” asked the chimney sweep. “Have you thought about how big it is, and that we can never come back here again?”
“Yes I have,” she said.
And the chimney sweep looked steadily at her, and then he said, “My way goes through the chimney. Do you really have the courage to crawl with me through the stove and through the flue and pipes? We’ll come into the chimney, and I know my way around there! We’ll climb so high that they won’t be able to reach us, and at the very top there’s a hole out to the wide world.”
And he led her over to the door of the wood-burning stove.
“It looks awfully dark in there,” she said, but she went with him, both through the flue and the pipes, where it was pitch black night.
“Now we’re in the chimney,” he said “And look! Look up there—the most beautiful star is shining!”
