light, while I have frequently shone upon them." With
these words the moon hid herself again behind the clouds, that she might
be saved from further importunities. Just then a drop fell upon the lamp
from the roof of the house, but the drop explained that it was a gift
from those gray clouds and perhaps the best of all gifts. "I shall
penetrate you so thoroughly," it said, "that you will have the power of
becoming rusty, and, if you wish it, can crumble into dust in one
night."

But this seemed to the lamp a very shabby present, and the wind thought
so, too. "Does no one give any more? Will no one give any more?" shouted
the breath of the wind, as loud as it could. Then a bright, falling star
came down, leaving a broad, luminous streak behind it.

"What was that?" cried the herring's head. "Did not a star fall? I
really believe it went into the lamp. Certainly, when such high-born
personages try for the office we may as well go home."

And so they did, all three, while the old lamp threw a wonderfully
strong light all around.

"This is a glorious gift," it said. "The bright stars have always been a
joy to me and have always shone more brilliantly than I ever could
shine, though I have tried with my whole might. Now they have noticed
me, a poor old lamp, and have sent me a gift that will enable me to see
clearly everything that I remember, as if it still stood before me, and
to let it be seen by all those who love me. And herein lies the truest
happiness, for pleasures which we cannot share with others are only half
enjoyed."

"That sentiment does you honor," said the wind; "but for this purpose
wax lights will be necessary. If these are not lighted in you, your
peculiar faculties will not benefit others in the least. The stars have
not thought of this. They suppose that you and every other light must be
a wax taper. But I must go down now." So it laid itself to rest.

"Wax tapers, indeed!" said the lamp; "I have never yet had these, nor is
it likely I ever shall. If I could only be sure of not being melted
down!"

The next day--well, perhaps we had better pass over the next day. The
evening had come, and the lamp was resting in a grandfather's chair; and
guess where! Why, at the old watchman's house. He had begged as a favor
that the mayor and corporation would allow him to keep the street lamp
in consideration of his long and faithful service, as he had himself
hung it up and lighted it on the day he first comm