“That would be the wife for me,” thought he, “but she is too fine for me.  She lives in a castle, and I have only a box, which I have to share with twenty-four.  That is no house for her.  But I will see whether I can make her acquaintance.”  Then he lay down at full length behind a snuff-box which was on the table.  From there he could watch the trig little lady who kept standing on one leg without losing her balance.  When evening came, the other tin soldiers were all put in their box, and the people in the house went to bed.  Then the playthings began to play, first at “visiting,” then at “war” and at “dancing.”  The tin soldiers rattled in their box, for they would have liked to join in it, but they could not get the cover off.  The nutcracker turned somersaults, and the pencil scrawled over the slate.  There was such a racket that the canary-bird woke up and began to sing, and that in verses.  The only ones that did not stir were the tin soldier and the little dancer.  She stood straight on tiptoe and stretched up both arms; he was just as steadfast on his one leg.  He did not take his eyes from her a moment.

Now it struck twelve, and bang! up went the cover of the snuff-box, but it wasn’t tobacco in it:  no, but a little black Troll.  It was a trick box.

“Tin soldier!” said the Troll, “will you stare your eyes out?” But the tin soldier made believe he did not hear.  “You wait till morning!” said the Troll.

When morning came, and the children got up, the tin soldier was put on the window ledge; and whether it was the Troll, or a gust of wind, all at once the window flew open and the tin soldier fell head first from the third story.  That was an awful fall.  He stretched his leg straight up, and stuck with his bayonet and cap right between the paving-stones.

The maid and the little boy came right down to hunt for him, but they couldn’t see him, though they came so near that they almost trod on him.  If the tin soldier had called “Here I am,” they surely would have found him; but since he was in uniform he did not think it proper to call aloud.

Now it began to rain.  The drops chased one another.  It was a regular shower.  When that was over, two street boys came along.

“Hallo!” said one, “There’s a tin soldier.  He must be off and sail.”

Then they made a boat out of a newspaper, put the tin soldier in it, and made him sail down the gutter.  Both boys ran beside it, and clapped their hands.  Preserve us!  What waves there were in the gutter, and what a current!  It must have rained torrents.  The paper boat rocked up and down, and sometimes it whirled around so that the tin soldier shivered.  But he remained steadfast, did not lose color, looked straight ahead and held his musket firm.

All at once the boat plunged under a long gutter-bridge.  It was as dark there as it had been in his box.

“Where am I going now?” thought he.  “Yes, yes, that is the Troll’s fault.  Oh! if the little lady were only in the boat, I would not care if it were twice as dark.”