asked the king.
  "No," said the mouse; "only in the tail of the mouse-king isthis power contained."
  And the water boiled and bubbled, as the mouse-king stood closebeside the kettle. It seemed rather a dangerous performance; but heturned round, and put out his tail, as mice do in a dairy, when theywish to skim the cream from a pan of milk with their tails andafterwards lick it off. But the mous
  1872
  FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN
  THE ANGEL
  by Hans Christian Andersen
  "WHENEVER a good child dies, an angel of God comes down fromheaven, takes the dead child in his arms, spreads out his greatwhite wings, and flies with him over all the places which the childhad loved during his life. Then he gathers a large handful of flowers,which he carries up to the Almighty, that they may bloom more brightlyin heaven than they do on earth. And the Almighty presses theflowers to His heart, but He kisses the flower that pleases Himbest, and it receives a voice, and is able to join the song of thechorus of bliss."
  These words were spoken by an angel of God, as he carried a deadchild up to heaven, and the child listened as if in a dream. Then theypassed over well-known spots, where the little one had often played,and through beautiful gardens full of lovely flowers.
  "Which of these shall we take with us to heaven to be transplantedthere?" asked the angel.
  Close by grew a slender, beautiful, rose-bush, but some wickedhand had broken the stem, and the half-opened rosebuds hung fadedand withered on the trailing branches.
  "Poor rose-bush!" said the child, "let us take it with us toheaven, that it may bloom above in God's garden."
  The angel took up the rose-bush; then he kissed the child, and thelittle one half opened his eyes. The angel gathered also somebeautiful flowers, as well as a few humble buttercups andheart's-ease.
  "Now we have flowers enough," said the child; but the angel onlynodded, he did not fly upward to heaven.
  It was night, and quite still in the great town. Here theyremained, and the angel hovered over a small, narrow street, inwhich lay a large heap of straw, ashes, and sweepings from thehouses of people who had removed. There lay fragments of plates,pieces of plaster, rags, old hats, and other rubbish not pleasant tosee. Amidst all this confusion, the angel pointed to the pieces of abroken flower-pot, and to a lump of earth which had fallen out ofit. The earth had been kept from falling to pieces by the roots of awithered field-flower, which had been thrown amongst the rubbish.
  "We will take this with us," said the angel, "I will tell youwhy as we fly along."
  And as they flew the angel related the history.
  "Down in that narrow lane, in a low cellar, lived a poor sick boy;he had been afflicted from his childhood, and even in his best days hecould just manage to walk up and down the room on crutches once ortwice, but no more. During some days in summer, the sunbeams would lieon the floor of the cellar for about half an hour. In this spot thepoor sick boy would sit warming himself in the sunshine, andwatching the red blood through his delicate fingers as he held thembefore his face. Then he would say he had been out, yet he knewnothing of the green forest in its spring verdure, till a neighbor'sson brought him a green bough from a beech-tree. This he would placeover his head, and fancy that he was in the beech-wood while the sunshone, and the birds carolled gayly. One spring day the neighbor's boybrought him some field-flowers, and among them was one to which theroot still adhered. This he carefully planted in a flower-pot, andplaced in a window-seat near his bed. And the flower had beenplanted by a fortunate hand, for it grew, put forth fresh shoots,and blossomed every year. It became a splendid flower-garden to thesick boy, and his little treasure upon earth. He watered it, andcherished it, and took care it should have the benefit of everysunbeam that found its way into the cellar, from the earliestmorning ray to the evening sunset. The flower entwined itself evenin his dreams- for him it bloomed, for him spread its perfume. Andit gladdened his eyes, and to the flower he turned, even in death,when the Lord called him. He has been one year with God. During thattime the flower has stood in the window, withered and forgotten,till at length cast out among the sweepings into the street, on theday of the lodgers' removal. And this poor flower, withered andfaded as it is, we have added to our nosegay, because it gave morereal joy than the most beautiful flower in the garden of a queen."
  "But how do you know all this?"