Short Stories
sitting at the gates. He flew into dark lanes, and saw the white
faces of starving children looking out listlessly at the black
streets. Under the archway of a bridge two little boys were lying
in one another’s arms to try and keep themselves warm. “How
hungry we are!” they said. “You must not lie here,” shouted the
Watchman, and they wandered out into the rain.
Then he flew back and told the Prince what he had seen.
“I am covered with fine gold,” said the Prince, “you must
take it off, leaf by leaf, and give it to my poor; the living always
think that gold can make them happy.”
Leaf after leaf of the fine gold the Swallow picked off, till the
Happy Prince looked quite dull and grey. Leaf after leaf of the fi-
ne gold he brought to the poor, and the children’s faces grew
rosier, and they laughed and played games in the street. “We
have bread now!” they cried.
Then the snow came, and after the snow came the frost. The
streets looked as if they were made of silver, they were so bright
and glistening; long icicles like crystal daggers hung down from
the eaves of the houses, everybody went about in furs, and the
little boys wore scarlet caps and skated on the ice.
The poor little Swallow grew colder and colder, but he
would not leave the Prince, he loved him too well. He picked up
crumbs outside the baker’s door when the baker was not looking
and tried to keep himself warm by flapping his wings.
But at last he knew that he was going to die. He had just
strength to fly up to the Prince’s shoulder once more. “Good-
bye, dear Prince!” he murmured, “will you let me kiss your
hand?”
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