ebody 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."

"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