"That's vulgar work," said the Darning-needle. "I shall never get through. I'm breaking! I'm breaking!" And she really broke. "Did I not say so?" said the Darning-needle; "I'm too fine!"
"Now it's quite useless," said the Fingers; but they were obliged to hold her fast, all the same; for the cook dropped some sealing-wax upon the needle, and pinned her handkerchief together with it in front.
"So, now I'm a breast-pin!" said the Darning-needle. "I knew very well that I should come to honor; when one is something, one comes to something!"
And she laughed quietly to herself—and one can never see when a darning-needle laughs. There she sat, as proud as if she were in a state coach, and looked all about her.
"May I be permitted to ask if you are of gold?" she inquired of the pin, her neighbor. "You have a very pretty appearance and a peculiar head, but it is only little. You must take pains to grow, for it's not every one that has sealing-wax dropped upon him."
And the Darning-needle drew herself up so proudly that she fell out of the handkerchief right into the sink, which the cook was rinsing out.
"Now we're going on a journey," said the Darning-needle. "If I only don't get lost!"
But she really was lost.
"I'm too fine for this world," she observed, as she lay in the gutter. "But I know who I am, and there's always something in that!"