Neither was there any one at home, for the old man was dead. In the evening a carriage stopped at the door, into which they put his coffin. He was to be laid out at some place in the country before being buried. And so he was driven away, but there was no one to follow him; for all his friends were dead. The little boy kissed his hand after the coffin as the carriage drove away. Some days later the old house was sold by auction. From his window the little boy could see how they carried away the old knights and the old ladies, the flower-pots with the long ears, the old chairs and ancient cup- boards. Some things went one way and some another way. Her portrait, which the old man had bought at the old-furniture dealer's, came back to him again, and there it remained, for no one knew her any more, and no one cared tor the old picture. In the spring the house itself was pulled down, for it was a tumble- down shanty, people said. One could see from the street right into the parlor with the pigskin on the walls, which was slashed and torn in all directions; and the green foliage on the balcony hung in wild disorder round the falling beams. And then the ground was cleared. "What a good riddance ! " said the neighbors. And a tine house was built, with large windows and white, smooth walls ; but in front ot it, on the site where the old house had really stood, a small garden was laid out, and up against the walls of the neighboring house grew wild vines. Before the garden was a large iron railing with an iron gate, which looked quite stately. People stopped before it and looked through the railings. The sparrows hung by the score on to the vine and chattered away to each other as fast as they could, but it was not about the old house, for they could not remember that. So many years had passed that the little boy had grown into a man, and had proved himself to be a tine fellow whom his parents might well be proud of. He had just been married and had moved with his little wife into this house with the garden round it. He was now standing by her while she was planting a wild flower which she considered so pretty. She planted it with her little hands and pressed the soil up against it with her fingers. Ah, what was that ? She had pricked herself There was something sharp sticking up out of the soft soil. Only think ! It was the tin soldier, the one that was lost in the old man's house, and had been tumbling about between the timbers and the rubbish, and finally had been buried in the ground, where he had been lying for many years. And the young wife dried the soldier, first with a green leat and then with her soft handkerchief, which was so delicately perfumed. It seemed to the tin soldier as if he came out of a trance.
