the cobbler's
most famous customer was a well-known giant who ordered of him his
seven-league boots. These boots, as you may well imagine, were of
prodigious size, and the giant himself was so big that when he left
his order he sat outside on the pavement and thrust his stockinged
foot in through the window for the cobbler to get his measure.

[Illustration]

I was laughing heartily at this when I observed that a strange
procession was passing by the cobbler's door. First there was a man
who was burdened with a great tinsel box hung with velvet, in which
were six plush chairs. After him came another who was smothered with
rugs and pictures. A third carried upon his back his wife, a great fat
creature, who glittered with jewels. Behind him he dragged a dozen
trunks, from which dangled brocades and laces. This was all so absurd
that in my mirth I missed what followed, but it seemed to be a long
line of weary persons, each of whom staggered under the burden of an
unworthy vanity.

As I laughed the night came on--a dull hot night of summer. And in the
shop I saw the cobbler on his bench, an old and wrinkled man like a
dwarf in a fairy tale. There was a sign now above his door. "Boots for
Runaways," it read. About its margin were pictures of many kinds of
boots--a shoe of a child who runs to seek adventure, Atalanta's
sandals, and sturdy boots that a man might wear.

And now I saw a man coming in the dark with tired and drooping head.
In both hands he clutched silver pieces that he had gathered in the
day. When he was opposite the cobbler's shop, the great sign caught
his eye. He wagged his head as one who comes upon the place he seeks.
"Have you boots for me?" he asked, with his head thrust in the door.

"For everyone who needs them," was the cobbler's answer.

"My body is tired," the man replied, "and my soul is tired."

"For what journey do you prepare?" the cobbler asked.

The man looked ruefully at his hands which were still tightly clenched
with silver pieces.

"Getting and spending," said the cobbler slowly.

"It has been my life." As the man spoke he banged with his elbow on
his pocket and it rattled dully with metal.

"Do you want boots because you are a coward?" the cobbler asked. "If
so, I have none to sell."

"A coward?" the man answered, and he spoke deliberately as one in deep
thought. "All my life I have been a coward, fearing that I might not
keep even with my neighbors. Now, for the first time