gh 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 was 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 sunk 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 such beautiful perfume. And the tin soldier felt as if he was
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, 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 will f