And it became so, all the rags were turned into white paper; but the collar came to be just this very piece of white paper we here see, and on which the story is printed; and that was because it boasted so terribly afterwards of what had never happened to it.  It would be well for us to beware, that we may not act in a similar manner, for we can never know if we may not, in the course of time, also come into the rag chest, and be made into white paper, and then have our whole life’s history printed on it, even the most secret, and be obliged to run about and tell it ourselves, just like this collar.

THE SHADOW

It is in the hot lands that the sun burns, sure enough! there the people become quite a mahogany brown, ay, and in the hottest lands they are burnt to Negroes.  But now it was only to the hot lands that a learned man had come from the cold; there he thought that he could run about just as when at home, but he soon found out his mistake.

He, and all sensible folks, were obliged to stay within doors—­the window-shutters and doors were closed the whole day; it looked as if the whole house slept, or there was no one at home.

The narrow street with the high houses, was built so that the sunshine must fall there from morning till evening—­it was really not to be borne.

The learned man from the cold lands—­he was a young man, and seemed to be a clever man—­sat in a glowing oven; it took effect on him, he became quite meagre—­even his shadow shrunk in, for the sun had also an effect on it.  It was first towards evening when the sun was down, that they began to freshen up again.

In the warm lands every window has a balcony, and the people came out on all the balconies in the street—­for one must have air, even if one be accustomed to be mahogany!* It was lively both up and down the street.  Tailors, and shoemakers, and all the folks, moved out into the street—­chairs and tables were brought forth—­and candles burnt—­yes, above a thousand lights were burning—­and the one talked and the other sung; and people walked and church-bells rang, and asses went along with a dingle-dingle-dong! for they too had bells on.  The street boys were screaming and hooting, and shouting and shooting, with devils and detonating balls—­and there came corpse bearers and hood wearers—­for there were funerals with psalm and hymn—­and then the din of carriages driving and company arriving:  yes, it was, in truth, lively enough down in the street.  Only in that single house, which stood opposite that in which the learned foreigner lived, it was quite still; and yet some one lived there, for there stood flowers in the balcony—­they grew so well in the sun’s heat! and that they could not do unless they were watered—­and some one must water them—­there must be somebody there.  The door opposite was also opened late in the evening, but it was dark within, at least in the front room;