“Because half an hour may last for so long,” wept the little Marionette.
“You are talking nonsense,” she replied contemptuously. “Everybody knows that half an hour can only last thirty minutes.”
“Not always. It may sometimes last a whole year—many years.”
“Tut, tut!” replied the common-sense Doll; “you have no reasoning power. That I can see by your face. Still, if I can help you I will. What would you have me do?”
“Give me back my dream,” said the Marionette. Then she covered her face with her hands and gave a great sigh.
The common-sense Doll looked even more practical than before.
“That is it, is it?” she said. “A morbid longing after a Dream. I begin to understand. Nerves,—indigestion,—too many sweet things,—I fear I cannot, then, be of much assistance. However, the General of the Tin Soldiers has a wonderful turn for doctoring, quite a natural gift. I will send him to you. He may be able to do you some good.”
So she went on her way, and the little Marionette was once more alone with her sorrow and regret.
By and by, however, the General of the Tin Soldiers trotted up on his handsome black charger, and reined in before her.