Children -- Fiction; Elves -- Fiction; Kentucky -- Fiction; Magic -- Fiction; Pride and vanity -- Fiction
But close the book for a minute and guess. Can not? Try it again! Not
yet? No--nor could you, were you to try from New Year's morn to New
Year's eve. Wonderful, as you may think it, Sprigg saw there on the
ground, not a dozen paces from him, his cast-off moccasins, coming
slowly toward him--first the right foot, then the left--without so much
as a pair of knee buckles to show for legs, till they had set their toes
within easy speaking distance, squarely confronting him. The boy stood
stock still, staring before him, with no more power to move from the
spot than the bushes around him. So great was his astonishment, not to
say terror, he felt at the sight of this fantastic apparition.
CHAPTER IX.
Finds the Red Moccasins Whole-souled Friends in Need.
"Are we not beautiful things for the feet, Sprigg? Oh, but we are! You
can't deny it! On with us, then, and away to grandpap's house! Who said
we couldn't take Sprigg to grandpap's house? Who said we couldn't take
Sprigg to young Ben Logan's house? Who said we couldn't take Sprigg to
pretty little Bertha's house? If Will-o'-the-Wisp said so, he lied! He
lied, too, if he said our Sprigg was not a brave boy! He-he-he!"
The boy knew well enough, for he heard it distinctly enough this time,
that the voice did not come from his own heart, nor yet from the
moccasins, but from a point in the air, about as high up from the ground
as his own mouth, as if he who spoke were standing in the moccasins,
face to face with him, though not even so much as a shade of a shadow
could he see.
"An elf! An elf is in the moccasins!" cried the boy, and tearing his
feet from the ground, where he had stood as rooted, fled for his life,
the moccasins following right at his heels and mockingly keeping step
for step with him, till down in a swoon he sank at the foot of an old
oak tree. How long he lay thus he never knew, but when he recovered his
senses, there before him were the red moccasins, side by side, the toe
of the left one turned slightly outward, as if he who stood in them were
taking it quite at his ease. A self-assured air, well suiting the
self-assured voice, which, in tones quite new and strange, pronounced
these words, with an emphatic pause at the end of each brief sentence:
"You may run to the green earth's end, my boy! To the sea, where the
bright sun soon shall set! To the sea, where the pale moon soon shall
rise! But, step for step, come we at your heels, though borne you be on
the wings of the wind!"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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