The Elves and the Shoemaker

The Tiny Helpers

The shoemaker was old. His shop was small. His hands were tired. And he had only enough leather for one last pair of shoes.

He put the leather on his table. He would make the shoes in the morning. But now it was bedtime.

"Goodnight, leather," he said. Because old shoemakers talk to their leather. It helps.

He went to sleep.

In the morning, he came to his table. And there — on the table — sat a pair of shoes.

Beautiful shoes. Shiny shoes. The best shoes he had EVER seen. And he had not made them.

"Who made these shoes?" said the shoemaker.

Nobody answered.

He sold the shoes. He bought more leather. He put the leather on the table. He went to sleep.

In the morning — MORE shoes! Beautiful, shiny, perfect. He had not made them.

"WHO is making these shoes?" said the shoemaker.

Nobody answered.

This happened again. And again. And again.

Every night — leather on the table. Every morning — beautiful shoes. The shoemaker sold the shoes. He bought more leather. He bought food. He was not poor anymore.

But he wanted to know. WHO was helping him?

One night, he did not go to sleep. He hid behind the door. He peeked through the crack.

Tick, tick, tick went the clock. The candle burned low. And then — tip-tap, tip-tap — two tiny elves climbed onto the table!

They were SO small. No bigger than the shoes. They had pointy ears. Rosy cheeks. And no shoes on their tiny bare feet.

They picked up the leather. Snip, snip. They cut it. Stitch, stitch. They sewed it. Tap, tap. They hammered tiny nails. Their fingers went so fast — snip-stitch-tap, snip-stitch-tap — and by the time the clock struck midnight, two perfect shoes sat on the table.

The elves smiled. They hopped down. Tip-tap, tip-tap. And they disappeared.

The shoemaker looked at his wife. His wife looked at the shoemaker.

"They have no shoes," she said. "These tiny helpers who make shoes for everyone... have no shoes of their own."

The shoemaker smiled. He knew what to do.

He made two tiny pairs of shoes. Very small. With tiny buckles. He made two tiny coats. With tiny buttons. He put them on the table.

That night, the elves came. Tip-tap, tip-tap. They climbed onto the table. They saw the tiny shoes. They saw the tiny coats.

They put them on. The shoes fit PERFECTLY. The coats fit PERFECTLY.

The elves danced. They spun. They jumped. They were SO happy. They danced right off the table and out the window and into the night, laughing — a tiny, tinkling laugh, like little bells.

They did not come back. They didn't need to. The shoemaker's hands were not tired anymore. He had learned from watching their tiny fingers. And he made beautiful shoes all by himself.

That night, the shoemaker's shop was quiet. The leather was on the table. The candle was out. The moon came through the window.

And if you listened very carefully... you could hear it... very far away... tip-tap, tip-tap... tiny shoes on tiny feet... two little elves dancing somewhere in the moonlight... in their brand new shoes... and their brand new coats... happy... and warm... and free.

And the shoemaker's shop was still... and dark... and cozy... and the old man slept in his warm bed... smiling... because someone had helped him... and he had helped them back... and that is the very best feeling... in the whole wide world.

Shhhh.