You must not let it grieve you so much, said the little boy. I find it so very delightful here, and then all the old thoughts, with what they may bring with them, they come and visit here.
Yes, its all very well, but I see nothing of them, and I dont know them! said the pewter soldier. I cannot bear it!
But you must! said the little boy.
Then in came the old man with the most pleased and happy face, the most delicious preserves, apples, and nuts, and so the little boy thought no more about the pewter soldier.
The little boy returned home happy and pleased, and weeks and days passed away, and nods were made to the old house, and from the old house, and then the little boy went over there again.
The carved trumpeters blew, Trateratra! There is the little boy! Trateratra! and the swords and armor on the knights portraits rattled, and the silk gowns rustled; the hogs leather spoke, and the old chairs had the gout in their legs and rheumatism in their backs: Ugh! it was exactly like the first time, for over there one day and hour was just like another.
I cannot bear it! said the pewter soldier. I have shed pewter tears! It is too melancholy! Rather let me go to the wars and lose arms and legs! It would at least be a change. I cannot bear it longer! Now, I know what it is to have a visit from ones old thoughts, with what they may bring with them! I have had a visit from mine, and you may be sure it is no pleasant thing in the end; I was at last about to jump down from the drawers.
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