Gala-Days [82]
and then drawn back. The walk was an agony. It so happened that on our return, without any intention, we came out of woods in the immediate vicinity of the shoemaker's aforesaid, and the Individual was quite sure she heard the sound of his hammer. She remembered that, when she was young and at school, she was familiar with a certain "wardrobe" which was generally so bulging-full of clothes that the doors could not, by any fair, straightforward means, be shut; but if you sprang upon them suddenly, taking them unawares, as it were, and when they were off their guard, you could sometimes effect a closure. She determined to try this plan on the shoemaker. So she bade the rest of the party go on, while she turned off in the direction of the hammering. She went straight into the shop, without knocking, the door being ajar. There he was at it, sure enough.
"Your tools have come!" she exclaimed, with ill-concealed exultation. "Now, will you mend my shoes?"
"Well, I don't know as I can, hardly. I'm pretty much in a hurry. What with moving and haying, I've got a little behindhand."
"Oh! but you must mend them, because I am going up on the mountain tomorrow, and I have no others to wear, and I am afraid of the snakes; so you see, you must."
"Got 'em here?"
Individual furtively works off the best one, and picks it up,-- while his eyes are bent on his work,--as if she had only dropped it, and hands it to him. He takes it, turns it over, pulls it, knocks it, with an evident intention of understanding the subject thoroughly.
"Rather a haggard-looking boot," he remarks, after his close survey.
"Yes, but--"
"Other a'n't so bad, I suppose?"
"Well--I--don't know--that is--"
"Both bad enough."
"Yes, indeed," with an uneasy laugh.
"Let's see the other one." The other one is produced, and examined in silence.
"Are YOU going to wear them boots up the mountain?" with a tone that said very plainly, "Of course you're not."
"Why, yes, I WAS going to wear them. Don't you think they will do?"
"I wouldn't trust MY feet in 'em."
"O--h! ARE there snakes? Do you think snakes could bite through them?"
A shake of the head, and a little, low, plaintive whistle, is the only reply, but they speak in thunder of boa-constrictors, anacondas, and cobra de capellos.
"They were very good and stout when I had them. I called them very stout shoes."
"O yes, they're made of good material, but you see they 're worn out. I don't believe I could mend them worth while. The stitches would tear out."
"But couldn't you, somehow, glue on a pair of soles? any way to make them stick. I'll pay you anything, if you'll only make them last till I go home, or even till I get down the mountain. Now, I am sure you can do it, if you will only think so. Don't you know Kossuth says, 'Nothing is difficult to him who wills'?"
He was evidently moved by the earnestness of the appeal. "I suppose they'd be worth more to you now than half a dozen pair when you get home."
"Worth! why, they would be of inestimable value. Think of the snakes! I don't care how you do them, nor how you make them look. If you will only glue on, or sew on, or nail on, or rivet on, something that is thick and will stick, I will pay you, and be grateful to you through the remainder of my natural life."
"Well,--you leave 'em, and come over again this afternoon, and if I can do anything, I'll do it by that time."
"Oh! I am so much obliged to you"; and I went away in high spirits, just putting my head back through the door to say, "Now you persevere, and I am sure you will succeed."
I was as happy as a queen. To be sure, I had to walk home without any shoes; but the grass was as soft as velvet, and the dust as clean as sand, and it did not hurt me in the least. To be sure, he had not promised to mend them; but I had faith in him, and how did it turn out? Verily, I should not have known the boots, if I seen only the soles. They were clipped, and shaved, and underpinned, and smoothed, and looked as if they had taken out "a
"Your tools have come!" she exclaimed, with ill-concealed exultation. "Now, will you mend my shoes?"
"Well, I don't know as I can, hardly. I'm pretty much in a hurry. What with moving and haying, I've got a little behindhand."
"Oh! but you must mend them, because I am going up on the mountain tomorrow, and I have no others to wear, and I am afraid of the snakes; so you see, you must."
"Got 'em here?"
Individual furtively works off the best one, and picks it up,-- while his eyes are bent on his work,--as if she had only dropped it, and hands it to him. He takes it, turns it over, pulls it, knocks it, with an evident intention of understanding the subject thoroughly.
"Rather a haggard-looking boot," he remarks, after his close survey.
"Yes, but--"
"Other a'n't so bad, I suppose?"
"Well--I--don't know--that is--"
"Both bad enough."
"Yes, indeed," with an uneasy laugh.
"Let's see the other one." The other one is produced, and examined in silence.
"Are YOU going to wear them boots up the mountain?" with a tone that said very plainly, "Of course you're not."
"Why, yes, I WAS going to wear them. Don't you think they will do?"
"I wouldn't trust MY feet in 'em."
"O--h! ARE there snakes? Do you think snakes could bite through them?"
A shake of the head, and a little, low, plaintive whistle, is the only reply, but they speak in thunder of boa-constrictors, anacondas, and cobra de capellos.
"They were very good and stout when I had them. I called them very stout shoes."
"O yes, they're made of good material, but you see they 're worn out. I don't believe I could mend them worth while. The stitches would tear out."
"But couldn't you, somehow, glue on a pair of soles? any way to make them stick. I'll pay you anything, if you'll only make them last till I go home, or even till I get down the mountain. Now, I am sure you can do it, if you will only think so. Don't you know Kossuth says, 'Nothing is difficult to him who wills'?"
He was evidently moved by the earnestness of the appeal. "I suppose they'd be worth more to you now than half a dozen pair when you get home."
"Worth! why, they would be of inestimable value. Think of the snakes! I don't care how you do them, nor how you make them look. If you will only glue on, or sew on, or nail on, or rivet on, something that is thick and will stick, I will pay you, and be grateful to you through the remainder of my natural life."
"Well,--you leave 'em, and come over again this afternoon, and if I can do anything, I'll do it by that time."
"Oh! I am so much obliged to you"; and I went away in high spirits, just putting my head back through the door to say, "Now you persevere, and I am sure you will succeed."
I was as happy as a queen. To be sure, I had to walk home without any shoes; but the grass was as soft as velvet, and the dust as clean as sand, and it did not hurt me in the least. To be sure, he had not promised to mend them; but I had faith in him, and how did it turn out? Verily, I should not have known the boots, if I seen only the soles. They were clipped, and shaved, and underpinned, and smoothed, and looked as if they had taken out "a