But, to Timothy's delight, the wet mud soaked the shoes off his
feet, and he was able to wade about among the rushes, reeds, and
king-cups, happy.
And he was none the worse, although he ought to have been. He moved
about very cautiously, feeling his way with a stick from tussock to
tussock of reedy grass, wondering why his eight brothers had never
thought of taking off the fairy shoes when they grew troublesome.
At last, though, Timothy began to feel tired. He hurt his foot on a
sharp stump. A fat green frog jumped up in his face and so startled
him that he nearly fell backwards in the water. He had gathered more
king-cups than he could hold. So he scrambled out of the marsh,
climbed up the bank, cleaned himself as well as he could, and thought
he would go on to school.
Now, with all his faults, Timothy was not a coward or a liar. With a
quaking heart he made up his mind to tell the teacher that he had
played truant. He was trying to make up his mind just exactly what he
would say first and had got no farther than, "Please, ma'am--" when he
found himself in the schoolroom, and under the teacher's very eye.
Timothy did not see her frown; he did not hear the children's titters.
His eyes were fixed upon the schoolroom floor, where--beside Timothy's
desk--stood the fairy shoes, very muddy, and with a yellow king-cup
sticking up out of each.
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