The godmother arrived for the christening, dressed in plum-colored
satin and carrying a small brown parcel.
"Fortunatus' purse!" whispered one of the guests, nudging his
neighbor.
"A mere trifle for the boy," said the fairy godmother, laying the
parcel down on the table. "It is a very common gift to come from my
hands, but I trust it will prove useful."
She untied the string of the parcel and gave the baby's mother--what
do you think?
A small pair of strong leather shoes, copper-tipped and heeled!
"They'll never wear out, my dear," she said. "And, after all, my
little gift is not quite so shabby as it looks. These shoes, have
another quality besides that of not wearing out. The little feet that
are in them cannot very easily go wrong."
"Mrs. Godmother's broomstick is at the door," shouted some one. So
the fairy godmother took her departure.
As years went by and her family increased, the mother learned the full
value of the fairy shoes. Her nine boys wore them in turn, but they
never wore them out. So long as these shoes were on their feet, they
were pretty sure to go where they were sent and to come back when they
were wanted. So, at last, the fairy shoes descended to the ninth and
youngest boy, and became Timothy's.
Now the eighth boy had very small feet and had worn the shoes rather
longer than the others, and Timothy got them somewhat later than
usual. Even though she was very conscientious, Timothy's mother found
it hard not to spoil the youngest in the family. Master Timothy was
wilful, and his feet became used to taking their own way before he
stepped into the fairy shoes. He played truant from school, and was
late for dinner so often that at length his mother decided that
something must be done about Timothy. One morning the leather of the
fairy shoes was brightly blacked and the copper tips polished, and
Timothy wore them for the first time.
"Now, Timothy, dear, I know you will be a good boy," his mother said.
"And mind you don't loiter or play truant, for if you do, these shoes
will pinch you horribly, and you'll be sure to be found out."
Timothy looked as if he didn't believe it. He was off like an arrow
from a bow, and he gave not one more thought to what his mother had
said.
The winter had been very cold, the spring had been fitful and stormy,
but May had suddenly burst upon the country with one broad, bright
smile of sunshine and flowers. If Timothy had loitered on the way to
school when the frost nipped his nose, and the ground was muddy, and
the March winds crept up his jacket sleeves, it was hard to hurry now
when every nook had a flower and every bush a bird.
It was wrong to play truant, but still it was very tempting.
_Twir-r-r-r_, up to the sky flew the larks. Down in the marsh below
the king-cups blossomed, as shining as gold.
Once or twice Timothy stopped, but his shoes pinched him and he ran on
all the more willingly because a bright butterfly went before him. But
where the path ran on above the marsh, and he looked down and saw the
king-cups, he dismissed all thoughts of school. The bank was long and
steep, but that did not matter to him. King-cups he must have; no
other flowers would do. He threw his school bag on the grass, and
began to scramble down the bank.
Timothy turned his feet toward the king-cups, but his shoes seemed
resolved to go to school. As he persisted in going toward the marsh,
he had such twitches and twinges as the fairy shoes pinched him that
it seemed as if his feet would be wrenched off. But Timothy was a
resolute little fellow, and he managed to drag himself, shoes and all,
down to the marsh.
Then he could not find a king-cup within reach. Not one grew on the
safe edge, but, like so many Will-o'-the-wisps, they shone out of the
depths of the treacherous bogs. Timothy wandered round the marsh;
_pinch, jerk_, every step hurt more than the one before. At last,
desperate with pain and disappointment, he fairly jumped into a patch
of the flowers that looked fairly near, and was at once ankle deep in
water. But, to Timothy's delight, the wet mud soaked the shoes off his
feet, and he was able to wade about among the rushes, reeds, and
king-cups, happy.
And he was none the worse, although he ought to have been. He moved
about very cautiously, feeling his way with a stick from tussock to
tussock of reedy grass, wondering why his eight brothers had never
thought of taking off the fairy shoes when they grew troublesome.
At last, though, Timothy began to feel tired. He hurt his foot on a
sharp stump. A fat green frog jumped up in his face and so startled
him that he nearly fell backwards in the water. He had gathered more
king-cups than he could hold. So he scrambled out of the marsh,
climbed up the bank, cleaned himself as well as he could, and thought
he would go on to school.
Now, with all his faults, Timothy was not a coward or a liar. With a
quaking heart he made up his mind to tell the teacher that he had
played truant. He was trying to make up his mind just exactly what he
would say first and had got no farther than, "Please, ma'am--" when he
found himself in the schoolroom, and under the teacher's very eye.
Timothy did not see her frown; he did not hear the children's titters.
His eyes were fixed upon the schoolroom floor, where--beside Timothy's
desk--stood the fairy shoes, very muddy, and with a yellow king-cup
sticking up out of each.
"You've been in the marsh, Timothy," said his teacher. "Put on your
shoes."
So Timothy put them on, and when his lessons were over, he let his
shoes take him straight home.