find a place behind it with their footman. Two rich farmers, who had become too proud even to notice their own corn-fields, were tumbled into the ditch. Truly it was a dangerous flute; luckily, however, it burst with the first note, and was put back into the owner’s pocket, which was a good thing, and “its right place.” From this has arisen the saying, “pocketing the flute.”
The next day not a word was said of what had happened. Everything was in its usual order, excepting that the two old pictures of the pedler and the goose-tender now hung in the banqueting hall: they had been blown on to the wall the evening before. A real connoisseur said that these portraits had been painted by a master’s hand; so they were restored, and allowed to remain where they hung.
“Everything in the right place.” It all came to that at last; and so we shall find our right places in eternity, whatever they may be now; as related in this story.
THE MONEY-BOX.
In a nursery where a number of toys lay scattered about, a money-box stood on the top of a very high wardrobe. It was made of clay in the shape of a pig, and had been bought of the potter. In the back of the pig was a slit, and this slit had been enlarged with a knife, so that dollars, or crown pieces, might slip through; and, indeed, there were two in the box, besides a number of pence. The money-pig was stuffed so full that it could no longer rattle, which is the highest state of perfection to which a money-pig can attain. There he stood upon the cupboard, high and lofty, looking down upon everything else in the room. He knew very well that he had enough inside him to buy up all the other toys, and this gave him a very good opinion of his own value. The rest thought of this fact also, although they did not express it, for there were so many other things to talk about. A large doll, still handsome, though rather old, for her neck had been mended, lay inside one of the drawers which was partly open. She called out to the others, “Let us have a game at being men and women, that is something worth playing at.”
Upon this there was a great uproar; even the engravings, which hung in frames on the wall, turned round in their excitement, and showed that they had a wrong side to them, although they had not the least intention to expose themselves in this way, or to object to the game. It was late at night, but as the moon shone through the windows they had light at a cheap rate. And as the game was now to begin, all were invited to take part in it, even the children’s waggon, which certainly belonged to the coarser playthings. “Each has its own value,” said the waggon; “we cannot all be noblemen; there must be some to do the work.”
