High upon a polished table, in a great old house filled with antiques, stood a delicate porcelain shepherdess. She wore a rose-colored dress and held a tiny crook of gold. Beside her was a porcelain chimney sweep, black as soot but smiling bravely, his face painted with kindness .

Behind them towered an old carved cabinet—dark wood, golden trim, and a face in its upper door that seemed almost alive. It was said that the figure carved there was the cabinet’s great-grandfather, who could move its eyes and nod its head.

Within the cabinet lived a proud porcelain figure known as the Chinaman, who claimed he was a mandarin and master of all the porcelain folk. He wished to see the shepherdess married to a hideous old figurine—a porcelain satyr with a cracked grin and goat legs.

The little shepherdess trembled. “I cannot love that ugly one!” she whispered. Her painted eyes filled with tears that glistened like dew. “I would rather flee than live beside him forever.”

The chimney sweep took her tiny porcelain hand. “Come with me,” he said softly. “We shall flee together into the wide world.” His soot-black face seemed noble then, full of courage and devotion.

They climbed down the polished table leg, step by careful step, while the cabinet’s eyes glared down. “Stop them!” thundered the old grandfather cabinet. But they were already gone.

At the hearth, flames flickered like red tongues. “This is the way to freedom,” said the sweep. “Through the stove-pipe and the chimney to the open sky!” The shepherdess looked up, frightened. “But will we ever return?”

They began to climb the dark, narrow chimney. Soot dusted the shepherdess’s dress, and her golden crook shone faintly in the darkness. Below, the flames roared; above, the wind sighed through the flue.

At last, they emerged upon the rooftop. The city spread below like a sea of lamps. The moon floated above, pale and kind. “How wide the world is!” whispered the shepherdess. “It is far too big for me.”

She began to weep softly. “Oh, I long for our table again, and the gentle lamp above us!” The chimney sweep gazed at her tenderly. “If we must go back, then I shall go with you, even to the old cabinet’s door.”

They slid down a drainpipe, landing with a faint clatter upon the floor. The grandfather cabinet loomed above them like a mountain. “So you have returned!” it thundered. Its carved face twisted with anger.

The poor shepherdess nearly fainted. In fear, she flung herself upon the chimney sweep—and with a sharp sound, she broke! A fine crack ran through her porcelain shoulder. The old cabinet grew silent, almost ashamed.

The sweep gathered her pieces gently. “Do not weep, my dear. I would rather have you broken than lose you forever.” His voice was like the hush before dawn.

By morning, all was quiet again. The Chinaman and the cabinet said no more. The shepherdess and the chimney sweep were placed once more upon their little table—side by side, just as before—but now closer than ever.

And so they stood forever together—two small figures, motionless yet full of heart. Though they could not walk the world again, their love had already crossed it. For even porcelain can hold a soul, when it is warmed by love.