THE BEETLE.
The emperor's favourite horse was shod with gold. It had a golden shoe on each of its feet.
And why was this?
He was a beautiful creature, with delicate legs, bright intelligent eyes, and a mane that hung down over his neck like a veil. He had carried his master through the fire and smoke of battle, and heard the bullets whistling around him, had kicked, bitten, and taken part in the fight when the enemy advanced, and had sprung with his master on his back over the fallen foe, and had saved the crown of red gold, and the life of the emperor, which was more valuable than the red gold; and that is why the emperor's horse had golden shoes.
And a beetle came creeping forth.
"First the great ones," said he, "and then the little ones; but greatness is not the only thing that does it." And so saying, he stretched out his thin legs.
"And pray what do you want?" asked the smith.
"Golden shoes, to be sure," replied the beetle.
"Why, you must be out of your senses," cried the smith. "Do you want to have golden shoes too?"
"Golden shoes? certainly," replied the beetle. "Am I not just as good as that big creature yonder, that is waited on, and brushed, and has meat and drink put before him? Don't I belong to the imperial stable?"