LET’S cuddle up in the Talking Chair,” said Dorothy, one wet afternoon, “and perhaps we’ll hear a new story.”  
“I’m ready,” cried Ray squeezing in beside his little cousin.
 
“You don’t look quite comfortable, children,” said Aunt Polly smiling. “I’ll tell you what we’ll do,” she continued, “let me sit in the Talking Chair; Dorothy can sit on my lap and Ray on the little hassock at my feet. Then perhaps the chair will whisper a new story to me.”
 
“I feel something tickling¹ my ear now,” said Aunt Polly, when they were all settled, and she told this story about
 
A PAIR OF OLD SHOES.
 
Once upon a time in a far, northern country lived a little boy named Lars. His home was236 a rude cottage on the seashore, but it was a very happy one to Lars, because it contained all that he loved—his good father, who was a great fisherman, and his thrifty² mother who knitted his warm socks.
 
Day after day Lars watched the great ocean and sailed tiny ships on its blue surface. He played hide-and-seek among the rocks and listened to the cry of the sea-birds in their flight.
 
He held beautiful shells close to his ear to hear the sound of breakers imprisoned³ there by sea-fairies and every delight that a fisher-boy loves was known to Lars.
 
Among other things that he liked to do was this:—he would take a small piece of wood and stretch fishing lines or twine⁴ of any kind from end to end, making a sort of rude fiddle⁵.
 
Then he would play on the cords and enjoyed the sounds very much.
 
One day the father of Lars found an old237 violin that had been saved from a wrecked⁶ ship. He brought it home to his little boy, who danced with delight when he saw it. From that day Lars was a very busy boy. He sat on the rocks and played on the old violin, to his heart’s content.
 
He had listened to the sea-birds so long that he could make their cries out, and his ear was so acute that he could imitate the moaning of the north wind.
 
When Lars grew older his fame as a fiddler had spread among the fisher-folk far and wide.
 
He played for them at every marriage feast and merry-making, and the good people rejoiced at his skill.
 
But his own people were very poor. His father was growing old and his mother’s busy fingers were not so active as they had been.
 
Lars told his dear violin that he wanted to238 do something to help them. He played the story on the old fiddle, one moonlight night until it dropped out of his hands and he fell fast asleep among the rocks, on the beach.
 
Then the mermaids⁷ came and whispered wonderful murmurs⁸ in his ear and sang of wealth and power beyond the ocean.
 
They touched his ears, kissed his hands and one tuned⁹ the cords of the old violin.
 
And Lars awoke a new being. He caught up his violin and hurried to the cottage to tell of his wonderful dream.
 
“And I’m going away,” said Lars, “far away to play for strange people, and perhaps I can earn some money for you, my father and mother.”
 
The day came that Lars was to start out into the great world. When he was ready his father and mother appeared with a pair of shoes for him. Lars was overjoyed.
 
He put on the shoes, and taking his old violin239 under his arm, bade his good parents farewell.
 
He had not walked very far, when he met an old woman, bent¹⁰ with age.
 
“Where are you going, son?” asked the old woman.
 
“To seek my fortune, good mother,” Lars answered.
 
“And prithee where did you get the shoes?” asked the dame¹¹.
 
“From my good parents,” was the reply.
 
“Ah!” said the old woman, “you will never know the struggle they have had. They did not send you out into the world barefooted. Never forget them, my son, and never part with the shoes—if you do your good fortune will depart forever.”
 
Then she disappeared and Lars continued his journey. He traveled in many strange cities. At first he played on the streets and the people passing by stopped to listen to the wonderful240 music. They filled his cap with pieces of money and wished him good fortune. After awhile men came to Lars and asked him to play in a great theater.
 
Crowds of people, rich and poor came to hear him. Lars played as never before. He was a little homesick, and instead of rows of strange faces in a grand theater he saw a group of fisher-folk near his own cottage.
 
He made music for them to dance, and the heart of the great audience before him bounded to the measure and their feet tingled¹² to

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