uffed out:
"Tanta-ra-ra, the little boy is coming. Tanta-ra-ra, the little boy is
coming."

Then the door opened. All round the hall hung old portraits of knights
in armor and ladies in silk gowns; and the armor rattled, and the silk
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 flowerpots 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 wears out with time and bad weather,
But leather endures; there's 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 furniture that the pieces stood in each other's way to
get a sight of the little boy. On the wall near the center 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 he said to the old man,

"Where did you get that picture?"

"From the shop opposite," he replied. "Many portraits hang there. No one
seems to know any of them or to trouble himself about them. 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 h