. . .

The wooden boy sighs.

“I’ll keep looking,” he says.

He gathers up his treasures. He straightens. He starts to turn away.

“What do you want?” Hans asks.

“Oh,” says the little wooden boy. “I can’t dance. I have two left feet. Well, three now, but one of them has got a thorn.”

Hans makes a gruff face.

“Can you help me?” the wooden boy asks. “Can you teach me dancing?”

But Hans just shows him a mirror.

“You’re a wooden doll!”

<< . . .

. . . >>