But the Ball, which had a coat of morocco leather, and thought herself
as good as any fine lady, had nothing to say to such a thing. The next
day came the little boy who owned the toys: he painted the Top red and
yellow, and drove a brass nail into it; and the Top looked splendidly
when he turned round.

"Look at me!" he cried to the Ball. "What do you say now? Shall we not
be lovers? We go so nicely together? You jump and I dance! No one could
be happier than we two should be."

"Indeed! Do you think so?" said the Ball. "Perhaps you do not know that
my papa and my mamma were morocco slippers, and that I have a cork
inside me?"

"Yes, but I am made of mahogany," said the Top; "and the mayor himself
turned me. He has a turning-lathe of his own, and it amuses
him greatly."

"Can I depend on that?" asked the Ball.

"May I never be whipped again if it is not true!" replied the Top.

"You talk well for yourself," said the Ball, "but I cannot do what you
ask. I am as good as half engaged to a swallow: every time I leap up
into the air he sticks his head out of the nest and says, 'Will you?
will you?' And now I have silently said 'Yes,' and that is as good as
being half engaged; but I promise I will never forget you."

"Much good that will do!" said the Top.