Now the eighth boy had very small feet and had worn the shoes rather
longer than the others, and Timothy got them somewhat later than
usual. Even though she was very conscientious, Timothy's mother found
it hard not to spoil the youngest in the family. Master Timothy was
wilful, and his feet became used to taking their own way before he
stepped into the fairy shoes. He played truant from school, and was
late for dinner so often that at length his mother decided that
something must be done about Timothy. One morning the leather of the
fairy shoes was brightly blacked and the copper tips polished, and
Timothy wore them for the first time.
"Now, Timothy, dear, I know you will be a good boy," his mother said.
"And mind you don't loiter or play truant, for if you do, these shoes
will pinch you horribly, and you'll be sure to be found out."
Timothy looked as if he didn't believe it. He was off like an arrow
from a bow, and he gave not one more thought to what his mother had
said.
The winter had been very cold, the spring had been fitful and stormy,
but May had suddenly burst upon the country with one broad, bright
smile of sunshine and flowers. If Timothy had loitered on the way to
school when the frost nipped his nose, and the ground was muddy, and
the March winds crept up his jacket sleeves, it was hard to hurry now
when every nook had a flower and every bush a bird.
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