ah,yes,everythingwillbeforgotten!"andthentheconversationturnedonothermatters.

buttheyoungestchildintheroom,aboy,withlarge,earnesteyes,mounteduponachairbehindthewindowcurtains,andlookedoutintotheyard,wherethemoonwaspouringafloodoflightontheoldgravestone,-thestonethathadalwaysappearedtohimsodullandflat,butwhichlaytherenowlikeagreatleafoutofabookofhistory.allthattheboyhadheardofoldprebenandhiswifeseemedclearlydefinedonthestone,andashegazedonit,andglancedattheclear,brightmoonshininginthepureair,itwasasifthelightofgod'scountenancebeamedoverhisbeautifulworld.

"forgotten!everythingwillbeforgotten!"stillechoedthroughtheroom,andinthesamemomentaninvisiblespiritwhisperedtotheheartoftheboy,"preservecarefullytheseedthathasbeenentrustedtothee,thatitmaygrowandthrive.guarditwell.throughthee,mychild,shalltheobliteratedinscriptionontheold,weather-beatengrave-stonegoforthtofuturegenerationsinclear,goldencharacters.theoldpairshallagainwanderthroughthestreetsarm-in-arm,orsitwiththeirfresh,healthycheeksonthebenchunderthelime-tree,andsmileandnodatrichandpoor.theseedofthishourshallripeninthecourseofyearsintoabeautifulpoem.thebeautifulandthegoodareneverforgotten,theylivealwaysinstoryorinsong."

theend.

1872

fairytalesofhanschristianandersen

theoldhouse

byhanschristianandersen

averyoldhousestoodonceinastreetwithseveralthatwerequitenewandclean.thedateofitserectionhadbeencarvedononeofthebeams,andsurroundedbyscrollsformedoftulipsandhop-tendrils;bythisdateitcouldbeseenthattheoldhousewasnearlythreehundredyearsold.versestoowerewrittenoverthewindowsinold-fashionedletters,andgrotesquefaces,curiouslycarved,grinnedatyoufromunderthecornices.onestoryprojectedalongwayovertheother,andundertheroofranaleadengutter,withadragon'sheadattheend.therainwasintendedtopouroutatthedragon'smouth,butitranoutofhisbodyinstead,fortherewasaholeinthegutter.theotherhousesinthestreetwerenewandwellbuilt,withlargewindowpanesandsmoothwalls.anyonecouldseetheyhadnothingtodowiththeoldhouse.perhapstheythought,"howlongwillthatheapofrubbishremainheretobeadisgracetothewholestreet.theparapetprojectssofarforwardthatnoonecanseeoutofourwindowswhatisgoingoninthatdirection.thestairsareasbroadasthestaircaseofacastle,andassteepasiftheyledtoachurch-tower.theironrailinglookslikethegateofacemetery,andtherearebrassknobsuponit.itisreallytooridiculous."

oppositetotheoldhouseweremorenicenewhouses,whichhadjustthesameopinionastheirneighbors.

atthewindowofoneofthemsatalittleboywithfreshrosycheeks,andclearsparklingeyes,whowasveryfondoftheoldhouse,insunshineorinmoonlight.hewouldsitandlookatthewallfromwhichtheplasterhadinsomeplacesfallenoff,andfancyallsortsofsceneswhichhadbeeninformertimes.howthestreetmusthavelookedwhenthehouseshadallgableroofs,openstaircases,andgutterswithdragonsatthespout.hecouldevenseesoldierswalkingaboutwithhalberds.certainlyitwasaverygoodhousetolookatforamusement.

anoldmanlivedinit,whoworeknee-breeches,acoatwithlargebrassbuttons,andawig,whichanyonecouldseewasarealwig.everymorninganoldmancametocleantherooms,andtowaituponhim,otherwisetheoldmanintheknee-breecheswouldhavebeenquitealoneinthehouse.sometimeshecametooneofthewindowsandlookedout;thenthelittleboynoddedtohim,andtheoldmannoddedbackagain,tilltheybecameacquainted,andwerefriends,althoughtheyhadneverspokentoeachother;butthatwasofnoconsequence.

thelittleboyonedayheardhisparentssay,"theoldmanoppositeisverywelloff,butisterriblylonely."thenextsundaymorningthelittleboywrappedsomethinginapieceofpaperandtookittothedooroftheoldhouse,andsaidtotheattendantwhowaitedupontheoldman,"willyoupleasegivethisfrommetothegentlemanwholiveshere;ihavetwotinsoldiers,andthisisoneofthem,andheshallhaveit,becauseiknowheisterriblylonely."