there lay theold Chinaman on the floor; he had fallen down from the table as heattempted to run after them, and was broken into three pieces; hisback had separated entirely, and his head had rolled into a cornerof the room. The major-general stood in his old place, and appearedlost in thought.
  "This is terrible," said the little shepherdess. "My poor oldgrandfather is broken to pieces, and it is our fault. I shall neverlive after this;" and she wrung her little hands.
  "He can be riveted," said the chimney-sweep; "he can be riveted.Do not be so hasty. If they cement his back, and put a good rivet init, he will be as good as new, and be able to say as many disagreeablethings to us as ever."
  "Do you think so?" said she; and then they climbed up to thetable, and stood in their old places.
  "As we have done no good," said the chimney-sweep, "we might aswell have remained here, instead of taking so much trouble."
  "I wish grandfather was riveted," said the shepherdess. "Will itcost much, I wonder?"
  And she had her wish. The family had the Chinaman's back mended,and a strong rivet put through his neck; he looked as good as new, buthe could no longer nod his head.
  "You have become proud since your fall broke you to pieces,"said Major-general-field-sergeant-commander Billy-goat's-legs. "Youhave no reason to give yourself such airs. Am I to have her or not?"
  The chimney-sweep and the little shepherdess looked piteously atthe old Chinaman, for they were afraid he might nod; but he was notable: besides, it was so tiresome to be always telling strangers hehad a rivet in the back of his neck.
  And so the little china people remained together, and were glad ofthe grandfather's rivet, and continued to love each other till theywere broken to pieces.
  THE END.
  1872
  THE SHEPHERD'S STORY OF THE BOND OF FRIENDSHIP
  by Hans Christian Andersen
  THE little dwelling in which we lived was of clay, but thedoor-posts were columns of fluted marble, found near the spot on whichit stood. The roof sloped nearly to the ground. It was at this timedark, brown, and ugly, but had originally been formed of bloomingolive and laurel branches, brought from beyond the mountains. Thehouse was situated in a narrow gorge, whose rocky walls rose to aperpendicular height, naked and black, while round their summitsclouds often hung, looking like white living figures. Not a singingbird was ever heard there, neither did men dance to the sound of thepipe. The spot was one sacred to olden times; even its name recalled amemory of the days when it was called "Delphi." Then the summits ofthe dark, sacred mountains were covered with snow, and the highest,mount Parnassus, glowed longest in the red evening light. The brookwhich rolled from it near our house, was also sacred. How well I canremember every spot in that deep, sacred solitude! A fire had beenkindled in the midst of the hut, and while the hot ashes lay there redand glowing, the bread was baked in them. At times the snow would bepiled so high around our hut as almost to hide it, and then mymother appeared most cheerful. She would hold my head between herhands, and sing the songs she never sang at other times, for theTurks, our masters, would not allow it. She sang,-
  "On the summit of mount Olympus, in a forest of dwarf firs, lay anold stag. His eyes were heavy with tears, and glittering with colorslike dewdrops; and there came by a roebuck, and said, 'What ailestthee, that thou weepest blue and red tears?