“Where are you going, son?” asked the old woman.
“To seek my fortune, good mother,” Lars answered.
“And prithee where did you get the shoes?” asked the dame.
“From my good parents,” was the reply.
“Ah!” said the old woman, “you will never know the struggle they have had. They did not send you out into the world barefooted. Never forget them, my son, and never part with the shoes—if you do your good fortune will depart forever.”
Then she disappeared and Lars continued his journey. He traveled in many strange cities. At first he played on the streets and the people passing by stopped to listen to the wonderful music. They filled his cap with pieces of money and wished him good fortune. After awhile men came to Lars and asked him to play in a great theater.
Crowds of people, rich and poor came to hear him. Lars played as never before. He was a little homesick, and instead of rows of strange faces in a grand theater he saw a group of fisher-folk near his own cottage.
He made music for them to dance, and the heart of the great audience before him bounded to the measure and their feet tingled to quaint steps. When his fisher-folk grew tired he played soft music for them; the swish of the tide lapping the rocks, the call of the sea-birds and the moaning of the north wind.
When he had finished, the great audience sat spellbound, while Lars shuffled off behind the stage. Then the people jumped to their feet. Men shouted, women wept; never had they heard such wonderful music.
Men gave Lars so much gold that he was dazzled and wondered what he would do with it all. But he did not forget the old folks, and a good part of his gold found its bright way to the cottage in the far northern country. If he did forget sometimes there was always the shoes to remind him, and Lars wore them constantly and lovingly.