ntented; and
Spare kept the merry ones.

I do not know how many years passed in this manner, when a certain great
lord, who owned that village, came to the neighborhood. His castle stood
on the moor. It was ancient and strong, with high towers and a deep
moat. All the country as far as one could see from the highest turret
belonged to its lord; but he had not been there for twenty years, and
would not have come then only he was melancholy. And there he lived in
a very bad temper. The servants said nothing would please him, and the
villagers put on their worst clothes lest he should raise their rents.

But one day in the harvest-time His Lordship chanced to meet Spare
gathering water-cresses at a meadow stream, and fell into talk with the
cobbler. How it was nobody could tell, but from that hour the great lord
cast away his melancholy. He forgot all his woes, and went about with a
noble train, hunting, fishing, and making merry in his hall, where all
travelers were entertained, and all the poor were welcome.

This strange story spread through the North Country, and great company
came to the cobbler's hut,--rich men who had lost their money, poor men
who had lost their friends, beauties who had grown old, wits who had
gone out of fashion,--all came to talk with Spare, and, whatever their
troubles had been, all went home merry.

The rich gave him presents, the poor gave him thanks. Spare's coat
ceased to be ragged, he had bacon with his cabbage, and the villagers
began to think there was some sense in him.

By this time his fame had reached the capital city, and even the court.
There were a great many discontented people there; and the king had
lately fallen into ill humor because a neighboring princess, with seven
islands for her dowry, would not marry his eldest son.

So a royal messenger was sent to Spare, with a velvet mantle, a diamond
ring, and a command that he should repair to court immediately.

"To-morrow is the first of April," said Spare, "and I will go with you
two hours after sunrise."

The messenger lodged all night at the castle, and the cuckoo came at
sunrise with the merry leaf.

"Court is a fine place," it said, when the cobbler told it he was going,
"but I cannot come there; they would lay snares and catch me; so be
careful of the leaves I have brought you, and give me a farewell slice
of barley bread."

Spare was sorry to part with the cuckoo, little as he had of its
company, but he gave