A very old house stood in a street with several that were quite new and clean. The date carved on one of its beams showed it was nearly three hundred years old. Verses were written over the windows in old-fashioned letters, and grotesque faces, curiously carved, grinned from under the cornices. Under the roof ran a leaden gutter with a dragon's head at the end. The rain was meant to pour from the dragon's mouth, but it ran out of his body instead, for there was a hole in the gutter.
At the window of a new house opposite sat a little boy with fresh rosy cheeks and clear sparkling eyes. He was very fond of the old house, in sunshine or in moonlight. He would sit and look at the wall where the plaster had fallen off, and fancy all sorts of scenes from former times. He could even see soldiers walking about with halberds. Certainly it was a very good house to look at for amusement.
An old man lived in the house, who wore knee-breeches, a coat with large brass buttons, and a wig which anyone could see was real. Every morning an attendant came to clean and wait upon him, otherwise the old man would have been quite alone. Sometimes he came to one of the windows and looked out; then the little boy nodded to him, and the old man nodded back again, till they became acquainted and were friends, although they had never spoken to each other.
The little boy heard his parents say, "The old man opposite is very well off, but is terribly lonely." The next Sunday morning, the little boy wrapped something in paper and took it to the door of the old house. "Will you please give this from me to the gentleman who lives here," he said. "I have two tin soldiers, and this is one of them, and he shall have it, because I know he is terribly lonely."
His parents gave him permission to visit, and so he gained admission to the old house. The brassy knobs on the railings shone more brightly than ever, as if polished for his visit. On the door were carved trumpeters standing in tulips, and it seemed as if they were blowing with all their might. "Tanta-ra-ra, the little boy is coming! Tanta-ra-ra!"
All round the hall hung old portraits of knights in armor and ladies in silk gowns. The armor rattled and the silk dresses rustled. Then came a staircase that went up a long way, then down a little, leading to a ruinous balcony. Large holes and long cracks were overgrown with grass and leaves. Indeed, the whole balcony, courtyard, and walls were so overgrown with green that they looked like a garden.
They entered a room where the walls were covered with leather stamped with golden flowers. "Gilding will fade in damp weather, to endure there is nothing like leather," said the walls. Chairs with high backs and carved elbows creaked and seemed to say, "Sit down! Oh dear, how I am creaking. I shall certainly have the gout like the old cupboard!"
"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. On the wall hung the picture of a beautiful lady, young and gay, dressed in the fashion of olden times with powdered hair and a full, stiff skirt. She looked down upon the little boy with mild eyes.
"Where did you get that picture?" asked the little boy. "From the shop opposite," replied the old man. "I knew this lady many years ago, and she has been dead nearly half a century." Under the picture hung a nosegay of withered flowers, which were no doubt half a century old too. And the pendulum of the old clock went to and fro, and time passed on, but no one seemed to notice it.
"I cannot endure it," said the tin soldier from his shelf. "It is so lonely and dull here. The whole day is long enough, but the evening is longer. Do you think he ever gets any kisses? Do you think he ever has friendly looks, or a Christmas tree? He will have nothing now but the grave. Oh, I cannot bear it."
"I will go to the wars!" cried the tin soldier, and threw himself down on the floor. Where could he have fallen? The old man searched, and the little boy searched, but he was gone. The tin soldier had fallen through a crack between the boards and lay there in an open grave. Winter came, and the old man was dead. They carried him away in his coffin, and the little boy kissed his hand to it as the hearse moved away.
Many years passed. The old house was pulled down, and a garden was planted where it once stood. The little boy was now a man, married, and had come to live in a new house there. His young wife was planting a flower when something pricked her finger. Out of the soft earth came the tin soldier, lost all those years. "It is delightful not to be forgotten," cried the tin soldier. And the young man smiled, remembering everything.
