asked somebody from within.
  "It is I," said he. "Bellissima is gone. Open the door, and thenkill me."
  Then indeed there was a great panic. Madame was so very fond ofBellissima. She immediately looked at the wall where the dog's dressusually hung; and there was the little lambskin.
  "Bellissima in the watch-house!" she cried. "You bad boy! howdid you entice her out? Poor little delicate thing, with those roughpolicemen! and she'll be frozen with cold."
  Giuseppe went off at once, while his wife lamented, and the boywept. Several of the neighbors came in, and amongst them thepainter. He took the boy between his knees, and questioned him; and,in broken sentences, he soon heard the whole story, and also about theMetal Pig, and the wonderful ride to the picture-gallery, which wascertainly rather incomprehensible. The painter, however, consoledthe little fellow, and tried to soften the lady's anger; but she wouldnot be pacified till her husband returned with Bellissima, who hadbeen with the police. Then there was great rejoicing, and thepainter caressed the boy, and gave him a number of pictures. Oh,what beautiful pictures these were!- figures with funny heads; and,above all, the Metal Pig was there too. Oh, nothing could be moredelightful. By means of a few strokes, it was made to appear on thepaper; and even the house that stood behind it had been sketched in.Oh, if he could only draw and paint! He who could do this couldconjure all the world before him. The first leisure moment duringthe next day, the boy got a pencil, and on the back of one of theother drawings he attempted to copy the drawing of the Metal Pig,and he succeeded. Certainly it was rather crooked, rather up and down,one leg thick, and another thin; still it was like the copy, and hewas overjoyed at what he had done. The pencil would not go quite as itought,- he had found that out; but the next day he tried again. Asecond pig was drawn by the side of the first, and this looked ahundred times better; and the third attempt was so good, thateverybody might know what it was meant to represent.
  And now the glovemaking went on but slowly. The orders given bythe shops in the town were not finished quickly; for the Metal Pig hadtaught the boy that all objects may be drawn upon paper; andFlorence is a picture-book in itself for any one who chooses to turnover its pages. On the Piazza dell Trinita stands a slender pillar,and upon it is the goddess of Justice, blindfolded, with her scales inher hand. She was soon represented on paper, and it was theglovemaker's boy who placed her there. His collection of picturesincreased; but as yet they were only copies of lifeless objects,when one day Bellissima came gambolling before him: "Stand still,"cried he, "and I will draw you beautifully, to put amongst mycollection."
  But Bellissima would not stand still, so she must be bound fast inone position. He tied her head and tail; but she barked and jumped,and so pulled and tightened the string, that she was nearly strangled;and just then her mistress walked in.
  "You wicked boy! the poor little creature!" was all she couldutter.
  She pushed the boy from her, thrust him away with her foot, calledhim a most ungrateful, good-for-nothing, wicked boy, and forbade himto enter the house again. Then she wept, and kissed her littlehalf-strangled Bellissima. At this moment the painter entered theroom.
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  In the year 1834 there was an exhibition in the Academy of Arts atFlorence. Two pictures, placed side by side, attracted a largenumber of spectators. The smaller of the two represented a littleboy sitting at a table, drawing; before him was a little white poodle,curiously shaven; but as the animal would not stand still, it had beenfastened with a string to its head and tail, to keep it in oneposition. The truthfulness and life in this picture interested everyone. The painter was said to be a young Florentine, who had been foundin the streets, when a child, by an old glovemaker, who had broughthim up. The boy had taught himself to draw: it was also said that ayoung artist, now famous, had discovered talent in the child just ashe was about to be sent away for having tied up madame's favoritelittle dog, and using it as a model. The glovemaker's boy had alsobecome a great painter, as the picture proved; but the largerpicture by its side was a still greater proof of his talent. Itrepresented a handsome boy, clothed in rags, lying asleep, and leaningagainst the Metal Pig in the street of the Porta Rosa. All thespectators knew the spot well. The child's arms were round the neck ofthe Pig, and he was in a deep sleep. The lamp before the picture ofthe Madonna threw a strong, effective light on the pale, delicate faceof the child. It was a beautiful picture. A large gilt framesurrounded it, and on one corner of the frame a laurel wreath had beenhung; but a black band, twined unseen among the green leaves, and astreamer of crape, hung down from it; for within the last few days theyoung artist had- died.
  THE END.
  1872
  FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN
  THE MONEY-BOX
  by Hans Christian Andersen
  IN a nursery where a number of toys lay scattered about, amoney-box stood on the top of a very high wardrobe. It was made ofclay in the shape of a pig, and had been bought of the potter. Inthe back of the pig was a slit, and this slit had been enlarged with aknife, so that dollars, or crown pieces, might slip through; and,indeed there were two in the box, besides a number of pence. Themoney-pig was stuffed so full that it could no longer rattle, which isthe highest state of perfection to which a money-pig can attain. Therehe stood upon the cupboard, high and lofty, looking down uponeverything else in the room. He knew very well that he had enoughinside him to buy up all the other toys, and this gave him a very goodopinion of his own value. The rest thought of this fact also, althoughthey did not express it, for there were so many other things to talkabout. A large doll, still handsome, though rather old, for her neckhad been mended, lay inside one of the drawers which was partlyopen. She called out to the others, "Let us have a game at being menand women, that is something worth playing at."
  Upon this there was a great uproar; even the engravings, whichhung in frames on the wall, turned round in their excitement, andshowed that they had a wrong side to them, although they had not theleast intention to expose themselves in this way, or to object tothe game. It was late at night, but as the moon shone through thewindows, they had light at a cheap rate. And as the game was now tobegin, all were invited to take part in it, even the children's wagon,which certainly belonged to the coarser playthings. "Each has itsown value," said the wagon; "we cannot all be noblemen; there mustbe some to do the work."
  The money-pig was the only one who received a writteninvitation. He stood so high that they were afraid he would not accepta verbal message. But in his reply, he said, if he had to take a part,he must enjoy the sport from his own home; they were to arrange forhim to do so; and so they did. The little toy theatre was thereforeput up in such a way that the money-pig could look directly into it.Some wanted to begin with a comedy, and afterwards to have a tea partyand a discussion for mental improvement, but they commenced with thelatter first. The rocking-horse spoke of training and races; the wagonof railways and steam power, for these subjects belonged to each oftheir professions, and it was right they should talk of them. Theclock talked politics- "tick, tick;" he professed to know what was thetime of day, but there was a whisper that he did not go correctly. Thebamboo cane stood by, looking stiff and proud: he was vain of hisbrass ferrule and silver top, and on the sofa lay two worked cushions,pretty but stupid. When the play at the little theatre began, the restsat and looked on; they were requested to applaud and stamp, or crack,when they felt gratified with what they saw. But the riding-whipsaid he never cracked for old people, only for the young who werenot yet married. "I crack for everybody," said the cracker.
  "Yes, and a fine noise you make," thought the audience, as theplay went on.
  It was not worth much, but it was very well played, and all thecharacters turned their painted sides to the audience, for they weremade only to be seen on one side. The acting was wonderful,excepting that sometimes they came out beyond the lamps, because thewires were a little too long. The doll, whose neck had been darned,was so excited that the place in her neck burst, and the money-pigdeclared he must do something for one of the players, as they hadall pleased him so much. So he made up his mind to remember one ofthem in his will, as the one to be buried with him in the familyvault, whenever that event should happen. They all enjoyed thecomedy so much, that they gave up all thoughts of the tea party, andonly carried out their idea of intellectual amusement, which theycalled playing at men and women; and there was nothing wrong about it,for it was only play. All the while, each one thought most of himself,or of what the money-pig could be thinking. His thoughts were on, ashe supposed, a very distant time- of making his will, and of hisburial, and of when it might all come to pass. Certainly sooner thanhe expected- for all at once down he came from the top of the press,fell on the ground, and was broken to pieces. Then the pennieshopped and danced about in the most amusing manner. The little onestwirled round like tops, and the large ones rolled away as far as theycould, especially the one great silver crown piece who had often to goout into the world, and now he had his wish as well as all the rest ofthe money. The pieces of the money-pig were thrown into thedust-bin, and the next day there stood a new money-pig on thecupboard, but it had not a farthing in its inside yet, andtherefore, like the old one, it could not rattle. This was thebeginning with him, and we will make it the end of our story.
  THE END.
  1872
  FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN
  THE NEIGHBOURING FAMILIES
  by Hans Christian Andersen
  ONE would have thought that something important was going on inthe duck-pond, but it was nothing after all. All the ducks lyingquietly on the water or standing on their heads in it- for theycould do that- at once swarm to the sides; the traces of their feetwere seen in the wet earth, and their cackling was heard far and wide.The water, which a few moments before had been as clear and smoothas a mirror, became very troubled. Before, every tree, everyneighbouring bush, the old farmhouse with the holes in the roof andthe swallows' nest, and especially the great rose-bush full offlowers, had been reflected in it. The rose-bush covered the walland hung out over the water, in which everything was seen as if in apicture, except that it all stood on its head; but when the waterwas troubled everything got mixed up, and the picture was gone. Twofeathers which the fluttering ducks had lost floated up and down;suddenly they took a rush as if the wind were coming, but as it didnot come they had to lie still, and the water once more became quietand smooth. The roses were again reflected; they were verybeautiful, but they did not know it, for no one had told them. The sunshone among the delicate leaves; everything breathed forth theloveliest fragrance, and all felt as we do when we are filled with joyat the thought of our happiness.
  "How beautiful existence is!"