passed, a great deal of nodding took place from
one house to the other, and then the little boy went to pay another
visit. The carved trumpeters blew: "Tanta-ra-ra, there is the little
boy. Tanta-ra-ra." The swords and armor on the old knights' pictures
rattled, the silk dresses rustled, the leather repeated its rhyme, and
the old chairs that had the gout in their backs cried "Creak"; it was
all exactly like the first time, for in that house one day and one hour
were just like another.

"I cannot bear it any longer," said the tin soldier; "I have wept tears
of tin, it is so melancholy here. Let me go to the wars and lose an arm
or a leg; that would be some change. I cannot bear it. Now I know what
it is to have visits from one's old recollections and all they bring
with them. I have had visits from mine, and you may believe me it is not
altogether pleasant. I was very nearly jumping from the shelf. I saw you
all in your house opposite, as if you were really present.

"It was Sunday morning, and you children stood round the table, singing
the hymn that you sing every morning. You were standing quietly with
your hands folded, and your father and mother were looking just as
serious, when the door opened, and your little sister Maria, who is not
two years old, was brought into the room. You know she always dances
when she hears music and singing of any sort, so she began to dance
immediately, although she ought not to have done so; but she could not
get into the right time because the tune was so slow, so she stood first
on one foot and then on the other and bent her head very low, but it
would not suit the music. You all stood looking grave, although it was
very difficult to do so, but I laughed so to myself that I fell down
from the table and got a bruise, which is still there. I know it was not
right to laugh. So all this, and everything else that I have seen, keeps
running in my head, and these must be the old recollections that bring
so many thoughts with them. Tell me whether you still sing on Sundays,
and tell me about your little sister Maria, and how my old comrade is,
the other tin soldier. Ah, really he must be very happy. I cannot endure
this life."

"You are given away," said the little boy; "you must stay. Don't you see
that?" Then the old man came in with a box containing many curious
things to show him. Rouge-pots, scent-boxes, and old cards so large and
so richly gilded that none are ever seen like them