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THE BRIDAL PAIR WERE SITTING ON THE FLOOR.
“So it has; only to-night is the hundred-and-first wedding; and when that has taken place, it must be the last; therefore, this one will surpass all the others in magnificence. Only look!”
Hjalmar turned towards the table. There the little pasteboard dolls’-house, with lights in the windows, and all the lead soldiers outside were presenting arms. The bridal pair were sitting on the floor in a pensive mood, as they had good cause to be, leaning against the leg of the table. But Olé Luk-Oie, dressed up in grandmamma’s black gown, soon married them.
When the ceremony was over, all the furniture in the room joined in the following beautiful song, which the lead-pencil had written, and which was adapted to a military tattoo:
And celebrate the ties that bind
This bridal couple, stiff and blind,
Who both are made of white glove leather!
Hurrah! let’s hope the deaf and blind
At least may live in peace together.”
And they now received presents; but all eatables were prohibited, as love was their food.
“Shall we go to a country-seat, or shall we travel?” asked the bridegroom. And they consulted the swallow, who had travelled so much, and the old hen in the yard, who had sat upon five batches of chickens. The swallow told of beautiful warm climates, where large bunches of grapes hung heavily on the vines, where the air was so mild, and where the mountains are tinged with colours that we know nothing about here.
“But they haven’t our red cabbage!” said the hen. “I was one whole summer in the country, with all my chickens; and there was a sand-pit, where we could walk about and scratch up the earth; and, besides this, we had admittance to a garden, where grew red cabbages. Oh, how nice they were! I can’t imagine anything finer!”
“But one cabbage-stalk is as good as another,” observed the swallow; “and we have bad weather so often here.”
“Oh, yes; but we’re accustomed to it,” said the hen.
“But it is so cold here, and it freezes!”
“That is good for cabbages,” said the hen; “besides, we have warm weather sometimes. Had not we a summer that lasted five whole weeks, some four years ago?—and wasn’t it so hot one couldn’t breathe? And then we have none of the venomous animals that they have yonder; and we are free from robbers. Wicked, indeed, must he be, who does not think our country the finest of any! Such an one does not deserve to be here!” And the hen then wept, and added, “I, too, have travelled. I once went above twelve miles in a tub. I can assure you there is no pleasure in travelling.”
“The hen is a sensible person,” said the doll Bertha. “I don’t care, either, for travelling over mountains; it is but going up here and down there. No; let’s go to the sand-pit in front of the gate, and then walk about in the cabbage-garden.”
And this was accordingly agreed upon.
