The colors, for once in
their turn neglected, crowded together to watch, looking in their
bright tin tubes like rows of little soldiers in armor.
"It is the old dull Deposit," they murmured to one another, and
felt contemptuous, yet were curious, as scornful people often will
be.
"But I am going to be glorious and great," thought Lampblack, and
his heart swelled high; for never more would they be able to hurl
the name of Deposit at him, a name which hurt him none the less,
but all the more indeed, because it was unintelligible.
"You will do for this work," said the master, and let Lampblack
out of his metal prison house into the light and touched him with
the brush that was the wand of magic.
"What am I going to be?" wondered Lampblack, as he felt himself
taken on to a large piece of deal board, so large that he felt he
must be going to make the outline of an athlete or the shadows of
a tempest at the least.
Himself he could not tell what he was becoming: he was happy
enough and grand enough only to be employed, and, as he was being
used, began to dream a thousand things of all the scenes he would
be in, and all the hues that he would wear, and all the praise
that he would hear when he went out into that wonderful great
world of which his master was an idol. From his secret dreams he
was harshly roused; all the colors were laughing and tittering
round him till the little tin helmets they wore shook with their
merriment.
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