And then they entered a chamber where the walls were covered with hog’s leather, and printed with gold flowers.

   “The gilding decays,
   But hog’s leather stays!”

   said the walls.

And there stood easy-chairs, with such high backs, and so carved out, and with arms on both sides.  “Sit down! sit down!” said they.  “Ugh! how I creak; now I shall certainly get the gout, like the old clothespress, ugh!”

And then the little boy came into the room where the projecting windows were, and where the old man sat.

“I thank you for the pewter soldier, my little friend!” said the old man.  “And I thank you because you come over to me.”

“Thankee! thankee!” or “cranky! cranky!” sounded from all the furniture; there was so much of it, that each article stood in the other’s way, to get a look at the little boy.

In the middle of the wall hung a picture representing a beautiful lady, so young, so glad, but dressed quite as in former times, with clothes that stood quite stiff, and with powder in her hair; she neither said “thankee, thankee!” nor “cranky, cranky!” but looked with her mild eyes at the little boy, who directly asked the old man, “Where did you get her?”

“Yonder, at the broker’s,” said the old man, “where there are so many pictures hanging.  No one knows or cares about them, for they are all of them buried; but I knew her in by-gone days, and now she has been dead and gone these fifty years!”

Under the picture, in a glazed frame, there hung a bouquet of withered flowers; they were almost fifty years old; they looked so very old!

The pendulum of the great clock went to and fro, and the hands turned, and everything in the room became still older; but they did not observe it.

“They say at home,” said the little boy, “that you are so very, very lonely!”

“Oh!” said he.  “The old thoughts, with what they may bring with them, come and visit me, and now you also come!  I am very well off!”

Then he took a book with pictures in it down from the shelf; there were whole long processions and pageants, with the strangest characters, which one never sees now-a-days; soldiers like the knave of clubs, and citizens with waving flags:  the tailors had theirs, with a pair of shears held by two lions—­and the shoemakers theirs, without boots, but with an eagle that had two heads, for the shoemakers must have everything so that they can say, it is a pair!  Yes, that was a picture book!

The old man now went into the other room to fetch preserves, apples, and nuts—­yes, it was delightful over there in the old house.

“I cannot bear it any longer!” said the pewter soldier, who sat on the drawers.  “It is so lonely and melancholy here!  But when one has been in a family circle one cannot accustom oneself to this life!  I cannot bear it any longer!  The whole day is so long, and the evenings are still longer!  Here it is not at all as it is over the way at your home, where your father and mother spoke so pleasantly, and where you and all your sweet children made such a delightful noise.  Nay, how lonely the old man is—­do you think that he gets kisses?  Do you think he gets mild eyes, or a Christmas tree?  He will get nothing but a grave!  I can bear it no longer!”