A PAIR OF OLD SHOES.
“Let’s cuddle up in the Talking Chair,” said Dorothy, one wet
afternoon, “and perhaps we’ll hear a new story.”
“I’m ready,” cried Ray squeezing in beside his little cousin.
“You don’t look quite comfortable, children,” said Aunt Polly smiling.
“I’ll tell you what we’ll do,” she continued, “let me sit in the
Talking Chair; Dorothy can sit on my lap and Ray on the little hassock
at my feet. Then perhaps the chair will whisper a new story to me.”
“I feel something tickling my ear now,” said Aunt Polly, when they were
all settled, and she told this story about
A PAIR OF OLD SHOES.
Once upon a time in a far, northern country lived a little boy named
Lars. His home was a rude cottage on the seashore, but it was a very
happy one to Lars, because it contained all that he loved--his good
father, who was a great fisherman, and his thrifty mother who knitted
his warm socks.
Day after day Lars watched the great ocean and sailed tiny ships on its
blue surface. He played hide-and-seek among the rocks and listened to
the cry of the sea-birds in their flight.
He held beautiful shells close to his ear to hear the sound of breakers
imprisoned there by sea-fairies and every delight that a fisher-boy
loves was known to Lars.
Among other things that he liked to do was this:--he would take a small
piece of wood and stretch fishing lines or twine of any kind from end
to end, making a sort of rude fiddle.
Then he would play on the cords and enjoyed the sounds very much.
One day the father of Lars found an old violin that had been saved
from a wrecked ship. He brought it home to his little boy, who danced
with delight when he saw it. From that day Lars was a very busy boy. He
sat on the rocks and played on the old violin, to his heart’s content.
He had listened to the sea-birds so long that he could make their cries
out, and his ear was so acute that he could imitate the moaning of the
north wind.
When Lars grew older his fame as a fiddler had spread among the
fisher-folk far and wide.
He played for them at every marriage feast and merry-making, and the
good people rejoiced at his skill.
But his own people were very poor. His father was growing old and his
mother’s busy fingers were not so active as they had been.
Lars told his dear violin that he wanted to do something to help them.
He played the story on the old fiddle, one moonlight night until it
dropped out of his hands and he fell fast asleep among the rocks, on
the beach.
Then the mermaids came and whispered wonderful murmurs in his ear and
sang of wealth and power beyond the ocean.
They touched his ears, kissed his hands and one tuned the cords of the
old violin.
And Lars awoke a new being. He caught up his violin and hurried to the
cottage to tell of his wonderful dream.
“And I’m going away,” said Lars, “far away to play for strange people,
and perhaps I can earn some money for you, my father and mother.”
The day came that Lars was to start out into the great world. When he
was ready his father and mother appeared with a pair of shoes for him.
Lars was overjoyed.
He put on the shoes, and taking his old violin under his arm, bade his
good parents farewell.
He had not walked very far, when he met an old woman, bent with age.
“Where are you going, son?” asked the old woman.
“To seek my fortune, good mother,” Lars answered.
“And prithee where did you get the shoes?” asked the dame.
“From my good parents,” was the reply.
“Ah!” said the old woman, “you will never know the struggle they have
had. They did not send you out into the world barefooted. Never forget
them, my son, and never part with the shoes--if you do your good
fortune will depart forever.”
Then she disappeared and Lars continued his journey. He traveled in
many strange cities. At first he played on the streets and the people
passing by stopped to listen to the wonderful music. They filled his
cap with pieces of money and wished him good fortune. After awhile men
came to Lars and asked him to play in a great theater.
Crowds of people, rich and poor came to hear him. Lars played as never
before. He was a little homesick, and instead of rows of strange faces
in a grand theater he saw a group of fisher-folk near his own cottage.
He made music for them to dance, and the heart of the great audience
before him bounded to the measure and their feet tingled to quaint
steps. When his fisher-folk grew tired he played soft music for them;
the swish of the tide lapping the rocks, the call of the sea-birds and
the moaning of the north wind.
When he had finished, the great audience sat spellbound, while Lars
shuffled off behind the stage. Then the people jumped to their feet.
Men shouted, women wept; never had they heard such wonderful music.
Men gave Lars so much gold that he was dazzled and wondered what he
would do with it all. But he did not forget the old folks, and a
good part of his gold found its bright way to the cottage in the far
northern country. If he did forget sometimes there was always the shoes
to remind him, and Lars wore them constantly and lovingly.
Now it so happened that a certain rich woman heard of the wonderful
genius of Lars.
She invited him to play in one of her numerous palaces and offered him
more money than he had ever earned.
Lars played at her palace and was covered with new honors. Other
wealthy people followed her example, invited Lars to their mansions and
he found himself courted and admired on all sides.
At first he did not care for it at all, and went only because it
brought him gold for the far-off cottage.
After awhile the smiles of rich men and the soft words of beautiful
women became as precious to the great musician, as the gold.
Then he began to feel dissatisfied with himself. He thought less of the
far-off cottage and more of the glittering palaces.
He began to find fault with everything connected with himself, and most
of all with the pair of old shoes that his parents had given him.
One night he was going to play in the palace of a king. When he was all
ready to start he happened to notice his shoes.
“They are old-fashioned,” said Lars, “and people will laugh at them.”
Poor, foolish Lars! He took them off and put them away in a corner.
Then he encased his feet in very stylish shoes and went to the palace.
But the new shoes, although very fine to look at, pinched his feet and
made Lars feel awkward and uncomfortable.
The old shoes had always been so easy that they seemed a part of
himself and he never knew he had them on. But with the new shoes it was
all different. He could not keep his thoughts away from them, and the
night he played before the king his mind was filled with the new shoes
that pinched his feet, instead of his beloved music.
For the first time in his career Lars was a failure. Other failures
followed, for the new shoes tried him sorely. As time went on people
became disappointed. When he first came among them, they had found Lars
charming because he was natural. That was the time he wore the old
shoes. The people had never noticed these shoes that Lars wore with
such ease and grace. Now they began to notice the new shoes. Men nudged
each other and ladies smiled behind their fans.
One by one they dropped him out of their lives, and one morning Lars
awoke to find himself quite alone and almost as poor as when he had
left the northern cottage.
It was a long time since he had thought of the dear, northern cottage
and a mighty longing came into his heart to see it.
It was a long time since he had seen the pair of old shoes. He
remembered them now and he went to the corner where he had left them,
but they had disappeared.
He searched for them everywhere, but they could not be found.
He traveled day and night, and reached the dear, northern cottage. It
was empty. The pair of old shoes, dear old shoes that had been left in
the corner so long had disappeared. A strange loneliness crept into the
heart of Lars. He threw himself on the shore of the great ocean and
cried himself to sleep.
The North-wind found him and kissed his cheek. She is a great,
beautiful woman with long, flowing hair and she likes well Lars’
northern country.
At first Lars shivered at her touch, but it did not sting like the
ridicule of the great world he had lived in.
After a while the kiss of the North-wind was a magic touch to Lars. He
became a boy again. He nestled on the back of the North-wind and played
with her flowing hair. He drew it in shining threads to his finger-tips
and made music as he used to do on his old violin.
“What would you like to have more than all else in the world?”
whispered the North-wind caressingly.
“The pair of old shoes,” murmured Lars.
The North-wind sighed, and rising in the air with Lars nestling among
her tresses, swept over the house-tops, peeking down the chimneys and
into cracks and crevices.
And on cold nights when little boys and girls are warm in bed, and they
hear the North-wind go sweeping by, they must know that Little Lars is
playing on her hair and sighing for “a pair of old shoes.”