Home > Authors Index > Browse all available works of Eugene Field > Text of Lonesome Little Shoe
A short story by Eugene Field |
||
The Lonesome Little Shoe |
||
________________________________________________
Title: The Lonesome Little Shoe Author: Eugene Field [More Titles by Field] The clock was in ill humor; so was the vase. It was all on account of the little shoe that had been placed on the mantel-piece that day, and had done nothing but sigh dolorously all the afternoon and evening. "Look you here, neighbor," quoth the clock, in petulant tones, "you are sadly mistaken if you think you will be permitted to disturb our peace and harmony with your constant sighs and groans. If you are ill, pray let us know; otherwise, have done with your manifestations of distress." "Possibly you do not know what befell the melancholy plaque that intruded his presence upon us last week," said the vase. "We pitched him off the mantelpiece, and he was shattered into a thousand bits." The little shoe gave a dreadful shudder. It could not help thinking it had fallen among inhospitable neighbors. It began to cry. The brass candlestick took pity on the sobbing thing, and declared with some show of temper that the little shoe should not be imposed on. "Now tell us why you are so full of sadness," said the brass candlestick. "I do not know how to explain," whimpered the little shoe. "You see I am quite a young thing, albeit I have a rusty appearance and there is a hole in my toes and my heel is badly run over. I feel so lonesome and friendless and sort of neglected-like, that it seems as if there were nothing for me to do but sigh and grieve and weep all day long." "Sighing and weeping do no good," remarked the vase, philosophically. "I know that very well," replied the little shoe; "but once I was so happy that my present lonesome lot oppresses me all the more grievously." "You say you once were happy--pray tell us all about it," demanded the brass candlestick. The vase was eager to hear the little shoe's story, and even the proud, haughty clock expressed a willingness to listen. The matchbox came from the other end of the mantel-piece, and the pen-wiper, the paper-cutter, and the cigar-case gathered around the little shoe, and urged it to proceed with its narrative. "The first thing I can remember in my short life," said the little shoe, "was being taken from a large box in which there were many of my kind thrown together in great confusion. I found myself tied with a slender cord to a little mate, a shoe so very like me that you could not have told us apart. We two were taken and put in a large window in the midst of many grown-up shoes, and we had nothing to do but gaze out of the window all day long into the wide, busy street. That was a very pleasant life. Sometimes the sunbeams would dance through the window-panes and play at hide-and-seek all over me and my little mate; they would kiss and caress us, and we learned to love them very much--they were so warm and gentle and merrisome. Sometimes the raindrops would patter against the window-panes, singing wild songs to us, and clamoring to break through and destroy us with their eagerness. When night came, we could see stars away up in the dark sky winking at us, and very often the old mother moon stole out from behind a cloud to give us a kindly smile. The wind used to sing us lullabies, and in one corner of our window there was a little open space where the mice gave a grand ball every night to the music of the crickets and a blind frog. Altogether we had a merry time." "I 'd have liked it all but the wind," said the brass candlestick. "I don't know why it is, but I 'm dreadfully put out by the horrid old wind!" "Many people," continued the little shoe, "used to stop and look in at the window, and I believe my little mate and I were admired more than any of our larger and more pretentious companions. I can remember there was a pair of red-top boots that was exceedingly jealous of us. But that did not last long, for one day a very sweet lady came and peered in at the window and smiled very joyously when she saw me and my little mate. Then I remember we were taken from the window, and the lady held us in her hands and examined us very closely, and measured our various dimensions with a string, and finally, I remember, she said she would carry us home. We did not know what that meant, only we realized that we would never live in the shop window again, and we were loath to be separated from the sunbeams and the mice and the other friends that had been so kind to us." "What a droll little shoe!" exclaimed the vase. Whereupon the clock frowned and ticked a warning to the vase not to interrupt the little shoe in the midst of its diverting narrative. "It is not necessary for me to tell you how we were wrapped in paper and carried a weary distance," said the little shoe; "it is sufficient to my purpose to say that, after what seemed to us an interminable journey and a cruel banging around, we were taken from the paper and found ourselves in a quiet, cozy room--yes, in this very apartment where we all are now! The sweet lady held us in her lap, and at the sweet lady's side stood a little child, gazing at us with an expression of commingled astonishment, admiration, and glee. We knew the little child belonged to the sweet lady, and from the talk we heard we knew that henceforth the child was to be our little master." As if some sudden anguish came upon it, hushing its speech, the little shoe paused in its narrative. The others said never a word. Perhaps it was because they were beginning to understand. The proud, haughty clock seemed to be less imperious for the moment, and its ticking was softer and more reverential. "From that time," resumed the little shoe, "our little master and we were inseparable during all the happy day. We played and danced with him and wandered everywhere through the grass, over the carpets, down the yard, up the street--ay, everywhere our little master went, we went too, sharing his pretty antics and making music everywhere. Then, when evening came and little master was put to sleep, in yonder crib, we were set on the warm carpet near his bed where we could watch him while he slept, and bid him good-morrow when the morning came. Those were pleasant nights, too, for no sooner had little master fallen asleep than the fairies came trooping through the keyholes and fluttering down the chimney to dance over his eyes all night long, giving him happy dreams, and filling his baby ears with sweetest music." "What a curious conceit!" said the pen-wiper. "And is it true that fairies dance on children's eyelids at night?" asked the paper-cutter. "Certainly," the clock chimed in, "and they sing very pretty lullabies and very cunning operettas, too. I myself have seen and heard them." "I should like to hear a fairy operetta," suggested the pen-wiper. "I remember one the fairies sang my little master as they danced over his eyelids," said the little shoe, "and I will repeat it if you wish." "Nothing would please me more," said the pen-wiper. "Then you must know," said the little shoe, "that, as soon as my master fell asleep, the fairies would make their appearance, led by their queen, a most beautiful and amiable little lady no bigger than a cambric needle. Assembling on the pillow of the crib, they would order their minstrels and orchestra to seat themselves on little master's forehead. The minstrels invariably were the cricket, the flea, the katydid, and the gnat, while the orchestra consisted of mosquitos, bumblebees, and wasps. Once in a great while, on very important occasions, the fairies would bring the old blind hop-toad down the chimney and set him on the window-sill, where he would discourse droll ditties to the infinite delight of his hearers. But on ordinary occasions, the fairy queen, whose name was Taffie, would lead the performance in these pleasing words, sung to a very dulcet air: Little eyelids, cease your winking;
Tiddle-de-dumpty, tiddle-de-dee-- Rumpty-tumpty, pimplety-pan--
When all around from out the ground The children hear my chirrup clear When summer goes, and Christmas snows And, when they hear my chirrup clear,
A flimflam flopped from a fillamaloo, The gluglug glinked in the glimmering gloam,
Once on a time an old red hen A season later, this old hen The following spring the old red hen But oh! alas, how very sad! I half suspect that many men,
There are two stars in yonder steeps Beside his loving mother-sheep Sleep, little lamb; sleep, little child--
"So it is," replied the little shoe, "but you should hear it sung by the fairy queen!" "Did the operetta end with that lullaby?" inquired the cigar-case. "Oh, no," said the little shoe. "No sooner had the queen finished her lullaby than an old gran'ma fairy, wearing a quaint mob-cap and large spectacles, limped forward with her crutch and droned out a curious ballad, which seemed to be for the special benefit of the boy and girl fairies, very many of whom were of the company. This ballad was as follows: A little boy whose name was Tim That night, while all the household slept, At first, she 'd tickle Timmy's toes At last, fantastic, wild, and weird, Next morning, looking pale and wild,
The eastern sky is streaked with red,
And thou, twin orbs of love and joy!
"Yes," said the little shoe, with a sigh of regret. "The fairies were such bewitching creatures, and they sang so sweetly, I could have wished they would never stop their antics and singing. But, alas! I fear I shall never see them again." "What makes you think so?" asked the brass candlestick. "I 'm sure I can't tell," replied the little shoe; "only everything is so strange-like and so changed from what it used to be that I hardly know whether indeed I am still the same little shoe I used to be." "Why, what can you mean?" queried the old clock, with a puzzled look on her face. "I will try to tell you," said the little shoe. "You see, my mate and our master and I were great friends; as I have said, we roamed and frolicked around together all day, and at night my little mate and I watched at master's bedside while he slept. One day we three took a long ramble, away up the street and beyond where the houses were built, until we came into a beautiful green field, where the grass was very tall and green, and where there were pretty flowers of every kind. Our little master talked to the flowers and they answered him, and we all had a merry time in the meadow that afternoon, I can tell you. 'Don't go away, little child,' cried the daisies, 'but stay and be our playfellow always.' A butterfly came and perched on our master's hand, and looked up and smiled, and said: 'I 'm not afraid of _you_; you would n't hurt me, would you?' A little mouse told us there was a thrush's nest in the bush yonder, and we hurried to see it. The lady thrush was singing her four babies to sleep. They were strange-looking babies, with their gaping mouths, bulbing eyes, and scant feathers! 'Do not wake them up,' protested the lady thrush. 'Go a little further on and you will come to the brook. I will join you presently.' So we went to the brook." "Oh, but I would have been afraid," suggested the pen-wiper. "Afraid of the brook!" cried the little shoe. "Oh, no; what could be prettier than the brook! We heard it singing in the distance. We called to it and it bade us welcome. How it smiled in the sunshine! How restless and furtive and nimble it was, yet full of merry prattling and noisy song. Our master was overjoyed. He had never seen the brook before; nor had we, for that matter. 'Let me cool your little feet,' said the brook, and, without replying, our master waded knee-deep into the brook. In an instant we were wet through--my mate and I; but how deliciously cool it was here in the brook, and how smooth and bright the pebbles were! One of the pebbles told me it had come many, many miles that day from its home in the hills where the brook was born." "Pooh, I don't believe it," sneered the vase. "Presently our master toddled back from out the brook," continued the little shoe, heedless of the vase's interruption, "and sat among the cowslips and buttercups on the bank. The brook sang on as merrily as before. 'Would you like to go sailing?' asked our master of my mate. 'Indeed I would,' replied my mate, and so our master pulled my mate from his little foot and set it afloat upon the dancing waves of the brook. My mate was not the least alarmed. It spun around gayly several times at first and then glided rapidly away. The butterfly hastened and alighted upon the merry little craft. 'Where are you going?' I cried. 'I am going down to the sea,' replied my little mate, with laughter. 'And I am going to marry the rose in the far-away south,' cried the butterfly. 'But will you not come back?' I cried. They answered me, but they were so far away I could not hear them. It was very distressing, and I grieved exceedingly. Then, all at once, I discovered my little master was asleep, fast asleep among the cowslips and buttercups. I did not try to wake him--only I felt very miserable, for I was so cold and wet. Presently the lady thrush came, as she had said she would. The child is asleep--he will be ill--I must hasten to tell his mother,' she cried, and away she flew." "And was he sick?" asked the vase. "I do not know," said the little shoe. "I can remember it was late that evening when the sweet lady and others came and took us up and carried us back home, to this very room. Then I was pulled off very unceremoniously and thrown under my little master's bed, and I never saw my little master after that. "How very strange!" exclaimed the match-safe. "Very, very strange," repeated the shoe. "For many days and nights I lay under the crib all alone. I could hear my little master sighing and talking as if in a dream. Sometimes he spoke of me, and of the brook, and of my little mate dancing to the sea, and one night he breathed very loud and quick and he cried out and seemed to struggle, and then, all at once, he stopped, and I could hear the sweet lady weeping. But I remember all this very faintly. I was hoping the fairies would come back, but they never came. "I remember," resumed the little shoe, after a solemn pause, "I remember how, after a long, long time, the sweet lady came and drew me from under the crib and held me in her lap and kissed me and wept over me. Then she put me in a dark, lonesome drawer, where there were dresses and stockings and the little hat my master used to wear. There I lived, oh! such a weary time, and we talked--the dresses, the stockings, the hat, and I did--about our little master, and we wondered that he never came. And every little while the sweet lady would take us from the drawer and caress us, and we saw that she was pale and that her eyes were red with weeping." "But has your little master never come back!" asked the old clock. "Not yet," said the little shoe, "and that is why I am so very lonesome. Sometimes I think he has gone down to the sea in search of my little mate and that the two will come back together. But I do not understand it. The sweet lady took me from the drawer to-day and kissed me and set me here on the mantelpiece." "You don't mean to say she kissed you?" cried the haughty vase, "you horrid little stumped-out shoe!" "Indeed she did," insisted the lonesome little shoe, "and I know she loves me. But why she loves me and kisses me and weeps over me I do not know. It is all very strange. I do not understand it at all." [The end] GO TO TOP OF SCREEN |