ary 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