Fifty-Two Stories For Girls Part 69

"What knavery is this?" returned the head menial of the castle, "the royal shoemaker, villain, is no clumsy clown from these parts; but he and his wares come from abroad, from Paris. He is, moreover, with the king at present, receiving his reward for the beautiful new pair of shoes in softly-tanned leather, which arrived last night at dusk. He is an elegant gentleman, this Parisian, and knows fine manners as well as his trade, for he ne'er goes nor comes without dealing out _largesse_ to us, the gentlemen attendants, and therein exhibits his good breeding."

"But the shoes!" stammered out Caspar all aghast. "The shoes! I made them, and His Majesty the king has them on at this very moment. Confound your Parisian!" he screamed, waxing wroth; "it was _I_ who made the shoes--they were found on the western balcony last night--His Majesty must know that they are the work of Caspar the cobbler, of Cobweb Corner!"

At this moment a musical murmur of voices was audible from within, and a creaking of boots; and at once the angry lackeys turned smiling faces towards the departing French merchant, who politely pressed a little coin into each of their outstretched palms.

When at length he took his departure, Caspar followed him some way with a very ugly expression disfiguring his features. "I could kill this dandy interloper, who steals the reward and credit of my hard-earned toil! I could stick my awl through him!"

Poor Caspar, it was well that at this instant he was accosted by his loving little angel, his sweet, blue-eyed Mabel!

"Eh, my Caspar, whatever has come over you, and whither are you going, that you do not even see your own Mabel? And, oh! I am thankful to have met you now, for look, Caspar, with trudging past Cobweb Corner every day my pretty shoes are well-nigh worn through! So I must have a new pair, and you may set about making them at once."

Then poor Caspar told her about his grievous disappointment at the castle, and the insults and humiliation he had experienced at the hands of the royal underlings. "It is too bad." he said, "to think that n.o.body knows that I made them!"

"The swallows know it," added Mabel pensively, "and you should have followed their advice; for, after all, they are your best friends."

"What!" returned Caspar sharply, "and sent only one at a time? Is that what you mean, Mabel?"

"I dare say that was what _they_ meant," she returned.

Caspar groaned.

"But look," continued the little maiden gaily, her blue eyes dancing with a bright idea, "remember this, O Caspar, the king's shoes must by-and-by become worn through, like mine! And then--and then, he must have new ones too--and then--and then we'll take the swallows' advice, and act with greater caution."

That evening when Caspar went home to Cobweb Corner, and flung open his gable-window, there were _no_ graceful circles described overhead, and _no_ twittering amongst the eaves. All was silent. The swallows had taken leave of Cobweb Corner, and of the royal castle, and of the quaint old city, with its many spires and turrets. They were off, all together, a joyous merry troup of tourists, swiftly, swiftly winging their way to warmer climes for the winter.

Poor Caspar missed them sadly, and reproached them a little at first for being heartless, selfish creatures. Soon, however, he gained courage again; and began to work at Mabel's shoes ... and then at the king's--to have them ready by spring time, when, as the little maiden said, "the others should be worn out."

Several times that winter Caspar saw the king walk out in the identical shoes his hands had manufactured; and his heart gave a leap every time he observed them becoming thinner.

At last the soft western breezes, the budding flowers, and the bright-blue, sunny sky of springtime came again; and the swallows returned swiftly, swiftly, swirling and screaming, just as they had done last year. They nested in their old corner under the eaves of Caspar's gable-roof. And by-and-by, when it was gossipped throughout the city that the king's feet were paining him again, because the very last new shoes--which _really_ came from Paris, didn't fit at all, then the swallows at nightfall hissed at Caspar's window, "_Soon, soon, see they be ready! Singly is surely!_"

The dandified tradesman from Paris arrived at the castle with all his samples; but he was received with suspicion, and dismissed in disgrace, and this time distributed no _largesse_ amongst the gold-laced lackeys.

The same night the swallows might have been observed darting off from Cobweb Corner, bearing _one_ neatly-made shoe in soft, well-tanned leather. They dropped it outside the royal window, on the western balcony.

The following morning there was a great proclamation out all over the town. The mayor read it aloud on the market place in front of Christie Clogs' house, offering an immense reward to the person who could produce the missing shoe, "fellow to that one discovered on the king's balcony last night"; and a second reward, "ten times as great to the manufacturer of the said pair of shoes, which fitted His Majesty to a 'T.'"

In front of the crowd thronging the market place stood Caspar, his figure erect, his face transformed into a beautiful face by the delight which had taken possession of his whole soul. The success of an honest workman beamed in his countenance, and rendered the poor cobbler n.o.ble.

Mabel ran to his side, and he placed the missing shoe in her hands. "It is safe with my true, blue-eyed darling!" cried Caspar proudly; and the people raised a hearty cheer.

Then they formed a procession, and, with Caspar and Mabel at their head, marched to the royal presence.

This time the king received Caspar himself, and from Mabel's lips learned the whole story of the shoes from the very beginning.

After that, there was great rejoicing in the quaint old city; for both Caspar and Mabel were now the favourites with all the better folk. The king issued a command for their immediate marriage, and appointed Caspar to a post in the castle.

But the only t.i.tle Caspar was willing to accept was that of "Cobbler to the King"; and, as such, he subsequently removed his belongings from Cobweb Corner to a fine large house which was prepared for him in the market place.

The fairy G.o.dmother was allowed to come and grace the wedding with her presence; and she promised so many blessings that Caspar and Mabel ought to have been still happier if that had been possible.

As for Dame Dimity, she married Christie Clogs herself; and report says she led a sore life of it when he came home tipsy at night, and began to fling his wooden shoes about.

IV.

DAME DOROTHY'S DOG.

On the outskirts of Langaffer village, and not far from the great pine forest, stood the cottage of old Dame Dorothy, with its latticed windows and picturesque porch, and its pretty little garden, fenced in with green palings and privet hedge.

Dame Dorothy was a nice, particular old lady, who spent her time in and about her house, trying to make things neat and cosy. In winter she might be seen polis.h.i.+ng her mahogany furniture, rubbing bright her brazen candlesticks and copper kettle, or sweeping about the fireplace; whilst in summertime she was mostly busy weeding her garden, raking the little walks, and watering her flowers.

Yet she never smiled, only sighed very often; and toiled every day more diligently than the day before.

Strange to say, Dame Dorothy was not comfortable in spite of all her conscientiously-performed labours; nor happy, although she lived in such a beautiful little cottage. She never imagined for a moment that the cause of this could be the fact--that she kept a black dog.

Black Nero was a magnificent mastiff, with not a white hair on his back.

He had run into Dame Dorothy's one Fifth of November from the forest, when quite a little puppy; and she had housed him and fed him ever since; and now she was so much attached to him that she declared she could not part with him for the world.

In return for her care he trampled over her flower-beds, tore down her hollyhocks, and sc.r.a.ped up the roots of her "London Pride" with his fore-paws; made a pa.s.sage for himself through her privet hedge, and lay stretched on fine days his full length on her rustic sofa in the door-porch.

When the rosy-cheeked village children pa.s.sed by to school in the morning Nero snarled and snapped at them through the railings, so that not one durst venture to say "Good-morrow, Dame Dorothy."

Even the next-door neighbours were afraid of him; and some acquaintances of the widow, who themselves kept cats and dogs, and nice little soft kittens as pets, now rarely invited her over to a friendly dance or a wedding or christening; for if they did the black dog was certain to accompany his mistress; and then, in the midst of the party, he would raise such a barking, and create such a confusion, that none of the dames could get speaking.

In winter, when the cold blasts swirled dreamily through the leafless branches of the Langaffer beeches, causing them to creak and moan; when the snow lay thick upon the ground, and the nights closed in apace, and the villagers relished the comforts of the "ingle-nook,"

then--alas!--there was no fireside enjoyment for poor Dame Dorothy. She might fasten her shutters, and draw her armchair close to the hearth; she might pile up the logs in the chimney to make a blazing fire--but all in vain! Home cheer there was none; for the black dog was there, with his great body extended between her and the warmth. She might boil the kettle, and gaze at herself in its s.h.i.+ning lid; but Nero's face was reflected in the kettle-lid too; and in all the lids, and pots and pans, and pewters and coppers right round the room, with his ugly muzzle half-open for growling and snarling.

Moreover, the dog was so greedy and thankless, he never wagged his tail, but would snap at the victuals his mistress herself was eating; and when she did give him the choicest dainties that came off her gridiron, and the very top of the cream, he would only whine for more.

For all this, Dame Dorothy had no idea of parting with the graceless brute, but continued to pet and pamper him. She was even secretly proud of Nero, because he was the biggest dog in the village, and by far the most terrible. Once she told the neighbours over the palings that he was a great protection to her, especially at night, and she "such a poor lone widow!"

Whereupon these good people honestly replied, "Oh, Mistress Dorothy, never dread a worse enemy than your own black dog!"

Then in her heart she remembered how that very morning Nero had indeed caught her thumb between his teeth when impatiently s.n.a.t.c.hing his food; and how the evening before he had upset the milkpail, and left the black mark of his paw on her new knitted quilt; and how, one day last week, he had sat down on her best Sunday cap. And Dame Dorothy knew in her heart that the village folk spoke truly; but she would not acknowledge it, no--but with a melancholy shake of her head, repeated, "Poor dear Nero!

People have something against thee, my dear black doggie!"

Now it happened that one fine morning in May, when the lark was warbling high overhead, and the hawthorn bushes were putting on their first pink blossoms, and all the forest was gay with budding flowers and singing birds, and the village school-children were pa.s.sing hand-in-hand, carrying their little slates and satchels, that they met a tiny fairy all in white, with a wondrous beaming face, and golden hair floating down over her shoulders. Naturally they stopped to stare at her, for they had never seen such a lovely little lady before; and she smiled pleasantly, for she had never beheld such a collection of wondering round eyes, and so many wide-open mouths gaping at her.

Presently she asked, "Can you tell me, young people, whose is that pretty cottage, so nicely situated at the corner of the wood, with the beautiful porch and palings?"

"Dame Dorothy's!" exclaimed they all in a breath.

"It must be very delightful there," she continued. "I shall go in, and see Dame Dorothy."

"Don't! She keeps a dog," cried one, "and he will eat you up."