The Shepherdess and the Sweep

They looked out on the big wide world. The poor shepherdess had never thought it would be like that. She flung her little head against the chimney-sweep, and sobbed so many tears that the gilt washed off her sash.

“This is too much,” she said. “I can’t bear it. The wide world is too big. Oh! If I only were back on my table under the mirror. I’ll never be happy until I stand there again, just as before. I followed you faithfully out into the world, and if you love me the least bit you’ll take me right home.”

The chimney-sweep tried to persuade her that it wasn’t sensible to go back. He talked to her about the old China-man, and of General Headquarters-Hindquarters-Gives-Orders-Front-and-Rear-Sergeant-Billygoat-Legs, but she sobbed so hard and kissed her chimney-sweep so much that he had to do as she said, though he thought it was the wrong thing to do.

So back down the chimney they climbed with great difficulty, and they crawled through the wretched stovepipe into the dark stove. Here they listened behind the door, to find out what was happening in the room. Everything seemed quiet, so they opened the door and - oh, what a pity! There on the floor lay the China-man, in three pieces. When he had come running after them, he tumbled off the table and smashed. His whole back had come off in one piece, and his head had rolled into the corner. General Headquarters-Hindquarters-Gives-Orders-Front-and-Rear-Sergeant-Billygoat-Legs was standing where he always stood, looking thoughtful.

“Oh, dear,” said the little shepherdess, “poor old grandfather is all broken up, and it’s entirely our fault. I shall never live through it.” She wrung her delicate hands.

“He can be patched,” said the chimney-sweep. “He can be riveted. Don’t be so upset about him. A little glue for his back and a strong rivet in his neck, and he will be just as good as new, and just as disagreeable as he was before.”

“Will he, really?” she asked, as they climbed back to their old place on the table.

“Here we are,” said the chimney-sweep. “Back where we started from. We could have saved ourselves a lot of trouble.”

“Now if only old grandfather were mended,” said the little shepherdess. “Is mending terribly expensive?”

He was mended well enough. The family had his back glued together, and a strong rivet put through his neck. That made him as good as new, except that never again could he nod his head.

“It seems to me that you have grown haughty since your fall, though I don’t see why you should be proud of it,” General Headquarters-Hindquarters-Gives-Orders-Front-and-Rear-Sergeant-Billygoat-Legs complained. “Am I to have her, or am I not?”

The chimney-sweep and the little shepherdess looked so pleadingly at the old China-man, for they were deathly afraid he would nod. But he didn’t... He couldn’t. Neither did he care to tell anyone that, forever and a day, he’d have to wear a rivet in his neck.

So the little porcelain people remained together. They thanked goodness for the rivet in grandfather’s neck, and they kept on loving each other until the day they broke.