The Steadfast Tin Soldier

A boy was given twenty-five tin soldiers for his birthday. They had all been cast from the same spoon and all wore red and blue uniforms. But the last one had only one leg; there had not been enough tin. Still, he stood as straight on his one leg as all the others.

On the table stood a paper castle. At its door stood a little paper ballerina, on one foot, arms in the air. Her other leg was raised so high that the soldier could not see it. "She's one-legged too, just right for me," he thought, and kept looking at her.

When night came and the boy slept, the toys came to life. A goblin popped out of a box: "Soldier! Keep your eyes to yourself!" The soldier paid no attention. "You'll see in the morning," said the goblin. In the morning the boy put the soldier on the windowsill; whether it was the wind or the goblin, nobody knows, but the soldier fell from the third floor into the street. He landed head down, his bayonet stuck between the paving stones.

Rain poured down. Two street boys found him, made a boat out of newspaper, put the soldier in it and set it in the gutter. The boat raced along and entered a dark tunnel. A water rat shouted: "Have you got a pass?" The soldier did not answer; he stood straight. The boat came out of the tunnel, plunged into the canal, fell apart, and the soldier sank into the water. A huge fish swallowed him.

Inside the fish it was pitch black. The soldier still stood straight. Then, light! The fish had been caught, taken to market, and cut open with a knife in a kitchen... and the cook cried, "A tin soldier!" The soldier had come back to the same house, the same room, the same table! The paper castle was there, and the ballerina stood at the door on one leg. The soldier looked at her, she looked at him; neither said a word.

Then one of the little children picked up the soldier and threw him into the stove. Why? Who knows; perhaps the goblin's doing. The soldier began to melt in the flames, but he went on standing straight. At that moment the door opened and a draft lifted the ballerina and blew her into the stove beside the soldier. She flared up and was gone in an instant.

In the morning, when the maid cleaned out the ashes, she found a tiny heart in the stove; a heart of tin, shining bright. Of the ballerina only a sequin remained, and it had turned black.

Do you know what the soldier teaches best? To stand straight whatever happens. Even on one leg.