Fifty-Two Stories For Girls Part 68

Moreover, poor Caspar had to learn that even honest work sometimes fails to ward off hunger and poverty. For many a long month the crooked little cobbler was doomed to toil, and to suffer privation as well. He might make his boots and shoes night and day, and lay them out, pair by pair, in neat rows along a shelf in the corner of his attic, but what availed all this if no customer ever ventured up to look at them, nor even to order mendings?

The fact was, that about this time the folk in that old city began to wear _wooden_ shoes, which, they said, were good enough for them, and lasted longer than any other.

Only fair-haired, blue-eyed Mabel, Dame Dimity's daughter, who had the daintiest little feet in the world, and knew how to dance like any fairy--she wore lovely little shoes manufactured by Caspar.

When Midsummer-day came round Mabel was elected May-queen. Then she came tripping up the rickety staircase, and along the dingy pa.s.sage to the attic workshop, in Cobweb Corner. "Caspar, Caspar, here, quick! My measure for a darling little pair of shoes to dance in!" and she held out the most elegant little foot which any shoemaker could possibly choose for a pattern.

Three days after that the shoes were finished, a bonnie wee pair of crimson ones, in the softest of kid-leather; and when Mabel came to fetch them, and tried them on, they fitted like a glove. She drew them both on, and danced round the room to show how delighted she was. And dear! how lovely they looked, all three--Mabel and the little red shoes!!

Poor deformed Caspar smiled as he watched her, and felt happy to have rendered her so happy.

"I love to see you, little Mabel," he said, "and that is why I shall shut up my workshop on Midsummer-day, and go out to the common when you are crowned 'Queen o' the May.' I only wish the sky may be as blue--as blue--as your eyes are, Mabel!" And then the crooked little cobbler stammered and blushed at his own forwardness in paying such a compliment to the prettiest maiden in the land.

But little Mabel said, "I will watch out for you, Caspar. I shall care for n.o.body on all the green so much as you."

Caspar could scarcely quite believe little Mabel when she said this; yet he was greatly touched by her kindness, and he promised to go and look at her from afar.

When Midsummer-day dawned over that old city the weather was beautiful--the sky, as blue as Mabel's eyes; and young and old flocked out to bask in the sunshine, and enjoy the games and the merry-making.

Even the king sallied forth from his castle, accompanied by his courtiers, to favour with his presence the time-honoured custom of crowning the May-queen.

When he beheld little Mabel he exclaimed, "What a lovely maiden, fit to be a princess!"

Caspar was standing quite near, and heard it with his own ears. He expected after that to see Mabel drop a curtsey to the king. But no, the little maiden looked straight at him--poor Caspar--instead, and with her queen's flowery wand, pointed down to her bonnie crimson shoes.

The cobbler of Cobweb Corner was becoming dazed with happiness. Curious thoughts about his fairy-G.o.dmother crept into his head; strange thrills of pleasure and of pain shot through his dwarfish frame, and turned him well-nigh sick with emotion. It seemed to Caspar that he had grown older and younger in that one summer day. He felt giddy, and suddenly longed for his quiet attic in Cobweb Corner.

He stole silently away, and had left the crowd behind him on the Common, when he suddenly became aware of a tiny hand slipped into his own; and, looking down to the ground, observed a dainty pair of red shoes tripping lightly by his side. "What! little Mabel?"

"I just wanted to leave when you would leave, Caspar. For there was n.o.body on all the green I cared for so much as you."

Ah, this time he did believe her,--poor Caspar! And so he must tell her all _his_ secret. "I love you, little Mabel, oh so much! And oh, if some day you could marry me, I should keep you in darling little crimson shoes all your life! And who knows--perhaps through your love Mabel--I might grow better-looking. They said my G.o.dmother promised it."

"I love you as you are, plain or handsome, you dear, good Caspar," cried little Mabel, "and I will marry you just as soon as my mother, Dame Dimity, gives her consent!"

Alas! True love is ever doomed to be crossed, else this little tale of ours had been a good deal shorter; had, perhaps, even ended here!

Dame Dimity would on _no_ account yield her consent to the union of her daughter, the beauty of the town, with the cobbler of Cobweb Corner.

Why, if it came to that, there was Christopher Clogs, the wooden shoemaker, who was a good figure and a wealthy man to boot! He lived in the Market Place, and drove a thriving business, whilst Caspar was known to have only one coat to his back. Really the effrontery of Cobweb Corner was astounding!

Poor Mabel's eyes were now often dimmed with tears; yet once every day she pa.s.sed through the narrow street near the castle wall, and gazed up at Caspar's gable-window, until she saw the little shoemaker smile down at her. After she had vanished, Caspar would feel very lonely; yet he said to himself, "When I want to see her blue eyes, then I must look at the sky. She'll always have blue eyes, and she'll always be _my Mabel_."

These days Caspar rarely left his workshop in the old garret. He was very poor, and had nothing to buy with; so he went to no shops, and he avoided the neighbours, as they were beginning to make merry about him, and Mabel, and Dame Dimity. He could not bear to hear them say that Mabel was betrothed to Christie Clogs, the wooden shoemaker. Anything but that!

When he had n.o.body to talk to, why, he opened his window to converse with the swallows, and asked them every evening what was the news--for Caspar could not afford to take in a newspaper.

"Oh, what do you think!" they cried one night, swirling round his head in circles, as their custom was, "here is something to interest you, Caspar! The king has got _sore feet_--from wearing tight boots, they say,--and sits in an arm-chair with his feet wrapped up in a flannel.

We saw it all just a while ago."

"I took stock of His Majesty's feet that day," said Caspar promptly, "the day he was out on the 'Green.' I can't help measuring people's feet with my eye," he added apologetically to the swallows; "you see, it's my trade, and it is the only thing I am good at."

But ere he had finished speaking, the friendly swallows had described their last swift circle in the air, and, with a sharp scream of "Goodnight," had darted into their nests under the old pointed roof.

That evening, ere he lay down in _his_ nest, poor Caspar had cut out of soft, well-tanned leather a pair of shoes, which he knew to be the king's own measure. "Ah," said Caspar, "the poor king must have his new shoes as soon as possible, for it is awful to suffer toe-ache, and to be obliged to sit all day long with one's feet swathed in flannel." And Caspar sat with his leather ap.r.o.n on, and wrought as if for life and death at the new shoes. He was too busy even to rise and look at the window for little Mabel pa.s.sing by.

At last they were completed. Then the humpbacked cobbler, having washed his hands, and brushed his one coat, went off, quivering with excitement, bearing the new shoes in his hands, away downstairs, and through the narrow street under the castle wall, till he came and stood before the castle gate. Here the sentinel on duty demanded what he wanted.

"Pair of shoes for His Majesty," responded Caspar in a businesslike manner, and was admitted.

When he had crossed the courtyard, and had arrived at the entrance of the inner apartments, he was accosted by a couple of lackeys covered with gold lace, and with powdered hair.

"Heigho! What's all this!" they exclaimed. "Where dost thou hail from, old Hop-o'-my-thumb?"

"I am Caspar the cobbler, of Cobweb Corner," replied the little man gravely; "as you may perceive by these new shoes which I bring for the king, and which are His Majesty's exact fit."

"Begone, knave!" cried the lackeys indignantly. "Dost thou imagine the king would wear anything contrived by the likes of thee. Be off, old mountebank, ere thou and thy shoes are flung into the castle dungeon!"

In vain poor Caspar intreated; they would not even listen to him. At last, in utter terror for his life, he hurried away, disappointed, mortified, sick at heart, carrying the despised piece of workmanship, at which he had toiled so carefully and conscientiously all these weeks, back home to his obscure lodging in Cobweb Corner. Here, overcome with vexation, the little man flung himself upon his bed, and cried himself asleep.

When he awoke it was evening. A fresh breeze was gently stirring the cas.e.m.e.nt, the window was open, and the swallows pa.s.sing and repa.s.sing it in circles, producing a screaming, chattering noise all the time.

Caspar's eye fell first on his work-table, on which lay, side by side, his latest, best work, the brand new shoes for the king. Ah! the swallows saw them too, and this was the cause of all the extra twittering and screaming this evening.

"Dear feathered friends," cried Caspar, springing to the open window, "how can ye help me? They are finished! They fit! But how are they to be conveyed to His Majesty? The menials in the castle would not let me in."

"Wee--wee--we could carry _one_!" piped the swallows, slily, dipping their long lanced wings, and swirling swiftly by.

"No, not _one_, ye silly creatures!" cried Caspar all out of breath; "_both_ or none!"

The swallows made a second long sweep, and as they neared the gablet again, hissed forth, "Singly were surer." But, as Caspar made a sign of impatience, four of his friends, the swifts, darted straight across the window-sill to the work-table, and, seizing the new shoes by heel and toe, sped off with them across the old wall to the royal castle.

It seemed but an instant and they were back, screaming and hissing and circling towards their nest in the eaves. Caspar put his head out at the open cas.e.m.e.nt, and listened anxiously to their sounds.

"Dropped them at his bed-room window--the little balcony--some one opened--took them in--so, so, sleep well, sleep well,--goodnight!"

The following morning Caspar the cobbler was up and dressed before daybreak, and down in the streets, in and out amongst the crowds, trying to overhear some gossip about the king.

The city folk were surprised to see him once more in their midst; and good-naturedly permitted him to sit at their firesides for old times'

sake, although he called for no ale, nor lighted a long pipe like the others. All poor Caspar desired was to ascertain the latest court news; but, to his annoyance, he was doomed to learn first a great many things that did not please him about Dame Dimity and Christie Clogs.

At last, late on in the afternoon, somebody inquired if the company were informed of the good tidings, "that His Majesty the king was recovered of his foot-ache, and could walk about again, thanks to a shoemaker who had succeeded in fitting His Majesty's foot to a 'T.'"

"_That_ shoemaker, whoever he be, has founded his own fortune this day!"

exclaimed the innkeeper.

Caspar sprang to his feet, and at the same time the pewter tankards and all the pipes, the host and all the customers, danced round before his eyes. With a great gasp of excitement he bounded out to the street, and sped on to the market place, past Dame Dimity's, and past Christie Clogs', and on to the narrow street with the overshadowing wall, and on, and on, until he arrived at the royal entrance. He obtained admittance as before, and pressed forward till he was arrested by the supercilious lackeys in gold-lace livery.

"What! here again, old Hop-o'-my-thumb!" cried they.

"But I am the royal shoemaker, gentlemen!" exclaimed Caspar, proudly, "and that was my own work which I carried in my hand yesterday morning."