r her, but there was no knot in the thread.

The Fingers pointed the needle just at the cook's slipper, in which
the upper leather had burst, and was to be sewn together.

"That's vulgar work," said the Darning-needle. "I shall never get
through. I'm breaking! I'm breaking!" And she really broke. "Did I not
say so?" said the Darning-needle; "I'm too fine!"

"Now it's quite useless," said the Fingers; but they were obliged to
hold her fast, all the same; for the cook dropped some sealing-wax
upon the needle, and pinned her handkerchief together with it in
front.

"So, now I'm a breast-pin!" said the Darning-needle. "I knew very
well that I should come to honor; when one is something, one comes to
something!"

And she laughed quietly to herself--and one can never see when a
darning-needle laughs. There she sat, as proud as if she were in a
state coach, and looked all about her.

"May I be permitted to ask if you are of gold?" she inquired of the
pin, her neighbor. "You have a very pretty appearance and a peculiar
head, but it is only little. You must take pains to grow, for it's not
every one that has sealing-wax dropped upon him."

And the Darning-needle drew herself up so proudly that she fell out of
the handkerchief right into the sink, which the cook was rinsing out.

"Now we're going on a journey," said the Darning-needle. "If I only
don't get lost!"

But she really was lost.

"I'm too fine for this world," she observed, as she lay in the gutter.
"But I know who I am, and there's always something in that!"

So the Darning-needle kept her proud behavior, and did not lose her
good humor. And things of many kinds swam over her, chips and straws
and pieces of old newspapers.

"Only look how they sail!" said the Darning-needle. "They don't know
what is under them! I'm here, I remain firmly here. See, there goes
a chip thinking of nothing in the world but of himself--of a chip!
There's a straw going by now. How he turns! how he twirls about! Don't
think only of yourself, you might easily run up against a stone.
There swims a bit of newspaper. What's written upon it has long been
forgotten, and yet it gives itself airs. I sit quietly and patiently
here. I know who I am, and I shall remain what I am."

One day something lay close beside her that glittered splendidly; then
the Darning-needle believed that it was a diamond; but it was a bit
of broken bottle; and because it shone the Darning-needle spoke to it,