"The swallows know it," added Mabel pensively, "and you should have followed their advice; for, after all, they are your best friends."
"What!" returned Caspar sharply, "and sent only one at a time? Is that what you mean, Mabel?"
"I dare say that was what they meant," she returned.
Caspar groaned.
"But look," continued the little maiden gaily, her blue eyes dancing with a bright idea, "remember this, O Caspar, the king's shoes must by-and-by become worn through, like mine! And then—and then, he must have new ones too—and then—and then we'll take the swallows' advice, and act with greater caution."
That evening when Caspar went home to Cobweb Corner, and flung open his gable-window, there were no graceful circles described overhead, and no twittering amongst the eaves. All was silent. The swallows had taken leave of Cobweb Corner, and of the royal castle, and of the quaint old city, with its many spires and turrets. They were off, all together, a joyous merry troup of tourists, swiftly, swiftly winging their way to warmer climes for the winter.
Poor Caspar missed them sadly, and reproached them a little at first for being heartless, selfish creatures. Soon, however, he gained courage again; and began to work at Mabel's shoes ... and then at the king's—to have them ready by spring time, when, as the little maiden said, "the others should be worn out."
Several times that winter Caspar saw the king walk out in the identical shoes his hands had manufactured; and his heart gave a leap every time he observed them becoming thinner.
At last the soft western breezes, the budding flowers, and the bright-blue, sunny sky of springtime came again; and the swallows returned swiftly, swiftly, swirling and screaming, just as they had done last year. They nested in their old corner under the eaves of Caspar's gable-roof. And by-and-by, when it was gossipped throughout the city that the king's feet were paining him again, because the very last new shoes—which really came from Paris, didn't fit at all, then the swallows at nightfall hissed at Caspar's window, "Soon, soon, see they be ready! Singly is surely!"
The dandified tradesman from Paris arrived at the castle with all his samples; but he was received with suspicion, and dismissed in disgrace, and this time distributed no largesse amongst the gold-laced lackeys.