The Elves and the Shoemaker

By Stevie Kontnier

 

            An old man in a tiny, rundown shack on the edge of the village spent his days making the finest shoes anyone had ever worn. The leather was supple, they never squeaked, no matter the weather, and the old man whistled as he made them. He made every pair special, believing that the town deserved only the best.

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            As the years went on, the old man’s hands began to tremble as he made the shoes, and his whistling winded him too much. He continued making the shoes, but one pair could take weeks, and he worried for the poor feet of the village children.

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            Early one morning, after the old shoemaker and his wife had gone to bed quite anxious about the upcoming winter, they were awoken by a faint whistling coming from the workshop.

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            On the old man’s workbench sat three pairs of finely crafted boots, each just like the ones the man had made in the height of his shoemaking career. Coming from outside the window, the whistling continued. Three tiny beings with rat-like tails and hooved feet were running off into the forest, each carrying a basket of shoemaking supplies.

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            The old man adjusted his spectacles. “Well, I’ll be! It seems we’ve acquired help,” he said, “The winter may not be so dreadful now.” He felt warm relief and gratitude spread throughout his chest and hands.

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            “Oh, dear, how might we repay them? Surely, we must,” the old man’s wife added. “Who do you suppose sent them? Shall we send them a fruit basket? Oh, what if the berries are too bruised this late in the season?”

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            “Not a worry, dear wife. There is no clearer deed to be done now.”

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            That night, the shoemaker, whistling as gently as he could, sat down to craft his first ever pair of shoes for tiny, hooved feet.