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tune： 〃Tiddity…tum…ti…ti。 Have some milk for your tea。 Cream for your
coffee to drink to…night； thick； and smooth； and sweet； and white；〃 and the
man's sabots beat an accompaniment： 〃Plop！ trop！ milk for your tea。
Plop！ trop！ drink it to…night。〃 It was very pleasant out there； but it was
lonely here in the big room。 The little boy gulped at a tear。
It was queer how dull all his toys were。 They were so still。 Nothing
was still in the square。 If he took his eyes away a moment it had changed。
The milkman had disappeared round the corner； there was only an old
woman with a basket of green stuff on her head； picking her way over the
shiny stones。 But the wind pulled the leaves in the basket this way and
that； and displayed them to beautiful advantage。 The sun patted them
condescendingly on their flat surfaces； and they seemed sprinkled with
silver。 The little boy sighed as he looked at his disordered toys on the
floor。 They were motionless； and their colours were dull。 The dark
wainscoting absorbed the sun。 There was none left for toys。
The square was quite empty now。 Only the wind ran round and
round it； spinning。 Away over in the corner where a street opened into
the square； the wind had stopped。 Stopped running； that is； for it never
stopped spinning。 It whirred； and whirled； and gyrated； and turned。 It
burned like a great coloured sun。 It hummed； and buzzed； and sparked；
and darted。 There were flashes of blue； and long smearing lines of
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saffron； and quick jabs of green。 And over it all was a sheen like a
myriad cut diamonds。 Round and round it went； the huge wind…wheel；
and the little boy's head reeled with watching it。 The whole square was
filled with its rays； blazing and leaping round after one another； faster and
faster。 The little boy could not speak； he could only gaze； staring in
amaze。
The wind…wheel was coming down the square。 Nearer and nearer it
came； a great disk of spinning flame。 It was opposite the window now；
and the little boy could see it plainly； but it was something more than the
wind which he saw。 A man was carrying a huge fan…shaped frame on his
shoulder； and stuck in it were many little painted paper windmills； each
one scurrying round in the breeze。 They were bright and beautiful； and
the sight was one to please anybody； and how much more a little boy who
had only stupid； motionless toys to enjoy。
The little boy clapped his hands； and his eyes danced and whizzed；
for the circling windmills made him dizzy。 Closer and closer came the
windmill man； and held up his big fan to the little boy in the window of
the Ambassador's house。 Only a pane of glass between the boy and the
windmills。 They slid round before his eyes in rapidly revolving
splendour。 There were wheels and wheels of colours big； little； thick；
thin all one clear； perfect spin。 The windmill vendor dipped and raised
them again； and the little boy's face was glued to the window…pane。 Oh！
What a glorious； wonderful plaything！ Rings and rings of windy colour
always moving！ How had any one ever preferred those other toys which
never stirred。 〃Nursie； come quickly。 Look！ I want a windmill。 See！
It is never still。 You will buy me one； won't you？ I want that silver one；
with the big ring of blue。〃
So a servant was sent to buy that one： silver； ringed with blue； and
smartly it twirled about in the servant's hands as he stood a moment to pay
the vendor。 Then he entered the house； and in another minute he was
standing in the nursery door； with some crumpled paper on the end of a
stick which he held out to the little boy。 〃But I wanted a windmill which
went round；〃 cried the little boy。 〃That is the one you asked for； Master
Charles；〃 Nursie was a bit impatient； she had mending to do。 〃See； it is
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Men； Women and Ghosts
silver； and here is the blue。〃 〃But it is only a blue streak；〃 sobbed the
little boy。 〃I wanted a blue ring； and this silver doesn't sparkle。〃 〃Well；
Master Charles； that is what you wanted； now run away and play with it；
for I am very busy。〃
The little boy hid his tears against the friendly window…pane。 On
the floor lay the motionless； crumpled bit of paper on the end of its stick。
But far away across the square was the windmill vendor； with his big
wheel of whirring splendour。 It spun round in a blaze like a whirling
rainbow； and the sun gleamed upon it； and the wind whipped it； until it
seemed a maze of spattering diamonds。 〃Cocorico！〃 crowed the golden
cock on the top of the ‘Stadhuis'。 〃That is something worth crowing for。〃
But the little boy did not hear him； he was sobbing over the crumpled bit
of paper on the floor。
The Red Lacquer Music…Stand
A music…stand of crimson lacquer； long since brought In some fast
clipper…ship from China； quaintly wrought With bossed and carven flowers
and fruits in blackening gold； The slender shaft all twined about and
thickly scrolled With vine leaves and young twisted tendrils； whirling；
curling； Flinging their new shoots over the four wings； and swirling Out
on the three wide feet in golden lumps and streams； Petals and apples in
high relief； and where the seams Are worn with handling； through the
polished crimson sheen； Long streaks of black； the under lacquer； shine
out clean。 Four desks； adjustable； to suit the heights of players Sitting to
viols or standing up to sing； four layers Of music to serve every instrument；
are there； And on the apex a large flat…topped golden pear。 It burns in red
and yellow； dusty； smouldering lights； When the sun flares the old barn…
chamber with its flights And skips upon the crystal knobs of dim
sideboards； Legless and mouldy； and hops； glint to glint；