ON THE SHELF

"I cannot bear it," the Tin Soldier said, standing on the shelf, "I
cannot bear it. It is so melancholy here. Let me rather go to the
wars and lose my arms and legs."

HANS ANDERSEN: The Old House.

THE TIN SOLDIER

CHAPTER I

THE TOY SHOP

The lights shining through the rain on the smooth street made of it a
golden river.

The shabby old gentleman navigated unsteadily until he came to a
corner. A lamp-post offered safe harbor. He steered for it and took
his bearings. On each side of the glimmering stream loomed dark
houses. A shadowy blot on the triangle he knew to be a church. Beyond
the church was the intersecting avenue. Down the avenue were the small
exclusive shops which were gradually encroaching on the residence
section.

The shabby old gentleman took out his watch. It was a fine old watch,
not at all in accord with the rest of him. It was almost six. The
darkness of the November afternoon had come at five. The shabby old
gentleman swung away from the lamppost and around the corner, then
bolted triumphantly into the Toy Shop.

"Here I am," he said, with an attempt at buoyancy, and sat down.

"Oh," said the girl behind the counter, "you are wet."

"Well, I said I'd come, didn't I? Rain or shine? In five minutes I
should have been too late--shop closed--" He lurched a little towards
her.

She backed away from him. "You--you are--wet--won't you take cold--?"

"Never take cold--glad to get here--" He smiled and shut his eyes,
opened them and smiled again, nodded and recovered, nodded and came to
rest with his head on the counter.

The girl made a sudden rush for the rear door of the shop. "Look here,
Emily. Poor old duck!"

Emily, standing in the doorway, surveyed the sleeping derelict
scornfully. "You'd better put him out. It is six o'clock, Jean--"

"He was here yesterday--and he was furious because I wouldn't sell him
any soldiers. He said he wanted to make a bonfire of the Prussian
ones--and to buy the French and English ones for his son," she laughed.

"Of course you told him they were not for sale."

"Yes. But he insisted. And when he went away he told me he'd come
again and bring a lot of money--"

The shabby old gentleman, rousing at the psychological moment, threw on
the counter a roll of bills and murmured brokenly:

"'Ten little soldiers fighting on the line,
One was blown to glory, and, then there were nine--!'"

His head fel