Once upon a time there was a Darning-needle which thought itself so fine and grand it ought to have been a sewing-needle.

“Be careful,” it said to the fingers which held it. “Be sure you don’t let me fall, for I am so thin you will never find me again.”

“That’s what you think,” said the fingers, as they closed firmly round its body.

“Look out! I am followed by my train,” said the Darning-needle, and a long thread came trailing behind it; but the thread had no knot in it.

The fingers guided the needle straight toward the cook’s slipper.

There was a little tear in the leather, and it must be mended.

“This sort of work is quite beneath me,” said the Needle; “I can never do it. I shall break—I know I shall!” And break it did. “Did not I tell you I was too slender for such a task?” asked the Darning-needle.

“There, now you are good for nothing,” said the fingers; but they still held the needle firmly, and soon they had fixed a ball of sealing-wax on the top.

The cook now used it as a pin to fasten her scarf.

“Ho, ho! So I’m a scarf-pin now! I always knew I should make my way in the world. Worth always tells in the end,” said the Needle. And it chuckled to itself, although you could not see it do so. A darning-needle never lets you see it laugh.

This one sat bolt upright and gazed in all directions, just as if it were riding in a state carriage.

“Might I be allowed to inquire if you are made of gold?” it asked of its neighbor—a pin. “You have a very bright look, and a head of your own, though it is ridiculously small. You must do your best to grow a bit. Of course, it is not every one who is decorated with a ball of red sealing-wax!”

The Darning-needle drew itself up so proudly as it said this, that it overbalanced and fell out of the scarf into the sink, which the cook at that moment was rinsing down.

“Now I am going to see the world,” thought the Needle. “I hope I shall not lose myself.” But lose itself it did. And as it was washed through a long, greasy pipe and carried away into the gutter, it said: “I am not coarse and strong enough to hold my own in this world, but I know who and what I am, and that’s a great comfort.”

And the Darning-needle kept its proud bearing, and did not lose its bright way of looking at things, although all sorts of objects passed over it—chips of wood, and pieces of straw, and old newspaper.

“Look how they sail!” it said. “But they little know what lies beneath them. I stick fast here, and there goes a chip, a mere chip, looking as if it thought it was all the world. And there’s a straw floating by, too. How it whirls round and round; it had better take care lest it run against a stone. Ah! and now there is a piece of newspaper. Giving itself such airs, too! as if all that was printed on it was not forgotten long ago. I have to sit still, patiently and alone; but I know who I am, and that I shall continue still to be, and that is a great comfort.”

One day a piece of glass bottle lay beside the Darning-needle, and because it glittered so splendidly the needle thought it must certainly be a diamond; so it spoke and introduced itself.

“Good morning,” it said. “I am a scarf-pin. I believe I have the pleasure of speaking to a diamond?”

“Yes, I am a member of that family, I believe,” was the answer.

And thus they both thought each other very superior, and spoke together of the vanity and pride of the world.

“I lived in a girl’s work-box,” the Darning-needle said. “She was a cook, and had five fingers on each hand; but I never saw anything so conceited as those fingers in my life! And after all is said and done, they were only there to take me out and put me back into the box again.”

“Were they very aristocratic, then?” the piece of glass asked.

“Aristocratic? No; but very proud. They were brothers, all born fingers, and they kept to themselves. They were various heights, too. The first—named the Thumb—was short and broad, and held himself rather aloof from the others. He only had one joint in his back, so could only make one bow; but he said a man could not be a soldier unless he possessed one like him on his hand. The second was called Sweet-tooth, and was used to put into sweet and sour dishes, to point to the sky and the stars, and to make the down-strokes of the pen when the fingers wrote a letter. Long-one was the third, and could look over all the heads of the others. Ringold, the fourth, wore a golden belt round his waist; and the last one of all was Playboy, who never did a stroke of work, and was proud of it. But I had to leave them,” said the Needle; “they could do nothing but boast.”

“And now here we sit and glitter,” murmured the piece of glass.

But at that moment the water came rushing along the gutter and carried off the piece of glass in its arms.

“He has received promotion already,” said the Darning-needle. “It is my pride that stands in my way. I am so very fine, and I am quite right to keep myself to myself,” and it sat up erect and proud, and was filled with great thoughts. “I surely must be the child of some sunbeam,” it thought. “I am so very fine, and the sunbeams always seem to me to be trying to find me beneath the water. Perhaps I am too slender for my mother to be able to see me. I’m sure if I had my old eye that was broken off I should cry. But I won’t; it’s not well-bred to cry.”

Then one day some ragamuffins came poking in the gutter to find farthings and old nails, and other such precious things. It was very muddy and dirty, but they only enjoyed it the better for that.

“Ugh!” cried one, as the Darning-needle ran into his finger. “Ugh! you great ugly fellow!”

“I am a miss, and not a fellow!” shrieked the Darning-needle; but no one heard it.

The ball of sealing-wax had fallen off, and the needle had turned quite black, but it felt more pleased with itself than ever, for one looks so much slimmer in black.

“Here, let us stick it into this egg-shell!” they called, and the Darning-needle was fixed firmly.

“These white walls must be very becoming to me,” the Darning-needle thought. “I shall show up well against them, and shall certainly be seen at last. I hope I shall not become seasick or break.”

But the Darning-needle became neither seasick, nor did it break. A steel stomach is a good preventive against seasickness; and it did not forget that it was something better than a mere man.

“Really, the finer one is, the more one can bear,” it thought.

“C-r-r-rack!” groaned the egg-shell, as the wheels of a cart passed over it.

“Gracious heavens! how it presses!” gasped the Darning-needle. “I do believe I am going to be seasick, after all. I shall break!”

But, although the heavy cart rolled over it, it did not break, only lay stretched full length in the mud, and there it may stay, for there is no more of its story worth listening to.