"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."