《安徒生童话英文版》第34章

　　"Yes; and my papa," said the little daughter of the editor of apaper, "my papa can put your papa and everybody's papa into thenewspaper. All sorts of people are afraid of him, my mamma says, forhe can do as he likes with the paper." And the little maiden lookedexceedingly proud, as if she had been a real princess, who may beexpected to look proud.

　　But outside the door, which stood ajar, was a poor boy, peepingthrough the crack of the door. He was of such a lowly station thathe had not been allowed even to enter the room. He had been turningthe spit for the cook, and she had given him permission to standbehind the door and peep in at the well-dressed children, who werehaving such a merry time within; and for him that was a great deal."Oh, if I could be one of them," thought he, and then he heard whatwas said about names, which was quite enough to make him more unhappy.His parents at home had not even a penny to spare to buy anewspaper, much less could they write in one; and worse than all,his father's name, and of course his own, ended in "sen," andtherefore he could never turn out well, which was a very sadthought. But after all, he had been born into the world, and thestation of life had been chosen for him, therefore he must be content.

　　And this is what happened on that evening.

　　Many years passed, and most of the children became grown-uppersons.

　　There stood a splendid house in the town, filled with all kinds ofbeautiful and valuable objects. Everybody wished to see it, and peopleeven came in from the country round to be permitted to view thetreasures it contained.

　　Which of the children whose prattle we have described, couldcall this house his own? One would suppose it very easy to guess.No, no; it is not so very easy. The house belonged to the poorlittle boy who had stood on that night behind the door. He hadreally become something great, although his name ended in "sen,"-for it was Thorwaldsen.

　　And the three other children- the children of good birth, ofmoney, and of intellectual pride,- well, they were respected andhonored in the world, for they had been well provided for by birth andposition, and they had no cause to reproach themselves with whatthey had thought and spoken on that evening long ago, for, afterall, it was mere "children's prattle."

　　THE END.

　　1872

　　FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

　　DELAYING IS NOT FORGETTING

　　by Hans Christian Andersen

　　THERE was an old mansion surrounded by a marshy ditch with adrawbridge which was but seldom let down:- not all guests are goodpeople. Under the roof were loopholes to shoot through, and to pourdown boiling water or even molten lead on the enemy, should heapproach. Inside the house the rooms were very high and had ceilingsof beams, and that was very useful considering the great deal of smokewhich rose up from the chimney fire where the large, damp logs of woodsmouldered. On the walls hung pictures of knights in armour andproud ladies in gorgeous dresses; the most stately of all walked aboutalive. She was called Meta Mogen; she was the mistress of the house,to her belonged the castle.

　　Towards the evening robbers came; they killed three of herpeople and also the yard-dog, and attached Mrs. Meta to the kennelby the chain, while they themselves made good cheer in the hall anddrank the wine and the good ale out of her cellar. Mrs. Meta was nowon the chain, she could not even bark.

　　But lo! the servant of one of the robbers secretly approached her;they must not see it, otherwise they would have killed him.

　　"Mrs. Meta Mogen," said the fellow, "do you still remember howmy father, when your husband was still alive, had to ride on thewooden horse?