They looked like any other pair of boy's shoes, the same stout soles, strong lacings, shiny tips and uppers. But when the old shoemaker put them on Gustave, and laced them up, and saw that they exactly fitted, he said to Gustave:
"Wonder shoes, little man. They will be wonder shoes!"
The old shoemaker had lived a great many years. He had made shoes for Gustave's father, and when he said anything about heels or toes or leather it was quite sure to be true. But here was something very strange. Gustave's blue eyes looked and looked in surprise at his new shoes. They seemed not in the least different from those that he had just worn out, or those that he kept for Sunday. He glanced up at his mother, who was giving the shoemaker a shining silver dollar and a shining silver half dollar to pay for them. She did not say anything. She only smiled back into his eyes. Then Gustave spoke to the old shoemaker.
"Why are they wonder shoes?" he asked.
"Oh you will find out!" chuckled the old shoemaker as he patted Gustave's head. So Gustave and his mother went out of the old shoemaker's shop and up the street.
It was a windy, blustering day. The dry leaves were flying, and the weather cocks turned, creaking, around, and Gustave had to hold his head low for he was only a little boy and the wind nearly pushed him down. A bent old gentleman, walking with a cane, passed them. Puff, whisk, the wind took the old gentleman's hat and sent it racing ahead of him along the street.
But the wonder shoes were quicker than the wind. They carried Gustave like a flying breeze after the old gentleman's hat. He caught it, and picked it up and gave it back to the old gentleman, who was very grateful indeed, and gave Gustave a bright penny.
"A swift little boy!" exclaimed the old gentleman, but Gustave did not tell him about the wonder shoes. He had decided to keep that for a secret.
When Gustave and his mother reached home, his mother decided to make a loaf of white cake. But, alas; when she went to the pantry, she discovered that she had no butter.
"Run to the grocery shop, Gustave," she said, "and bring me back a pat of butter by the time that the fire is burning brightly for baking the cake."