The Elves and the Shoemaker

There was once a shoemaker who, through no fault of his own, had grown so poor that at last he had nothing left but the leather for a single pair of shoes. That evening he cut out the shoes, meaning to begin sewing them the next morning; and because his conscience was clear, he lay down quietly in his bed, put himself in God's care, and fell asleep.

In the morning, after he had said his prayers and was just about to sit down to work, he found the two shoes standing finished on his table. He was amazed and did not know what to make of it. He took the shoes in his hands to look at them more closely, and they were so neatly made that there was not a single stitch out of place — just as if they had been meant for a masterpiece.

Soon after, a customer came in, and because the shoes pleased him so much, he paid more than the usual price. With the money the shoemaker was able to buy leather for two pairs of shoes. That evening he cut them out, meaning to set to work the next morning with fresh spirit — but he had no need to, for when he rose, the shoes were already made. And customers were not lacking, either; they gave him money enough to buy leather for four more pairs.

The next morning he found those four pairs finished too, and so it went on: whatever he cut out in the evening was done by morning. Before long he had earned his honest living once again, and in the end he became a wealthy man.

Now it happened, one evening not long before Christmas, that after the man had finished his cutting out, he said to his wife before going to bed, "What would you say if we stayed up tonight to see who it is that lends us such a helping hand?" His wife thought this a fine idea, and she lit a candle. Then the two of them hid in the corners of the room, behind the clothes that hung there, and kept watch.

When midnight came, two dear little naked men appeared. They sat down at the shoemaker's table, gathered up all the work that had been cut out, and set to it — stitching and sewing and tapping away so nimbly and so quickly with their tiny fingers that the shoemaker could not turn his eyes away for wonder. They did not stop until everything was done and stood finished on the table, and then they scampered swiftly away.

The next morning the wife said, "The little men have made us rich, and we really ought to show them how grateful we are. They run about with nothing on their bodies, and must be terribly cold. Do you know what? I will sew them each a little shirt, a coat, a waistcoat, and a pair of trousers, and knit them each a pair of stockings — and you must make them each a little pair of shoes."

"I'll gladly do it," said the man. And one evening, when everything was ready, they laid the gifts together on the table instead of the cut-out work, and then hid themselves to see how the little men would behave.

At midnight the two came bounding in and were about to get straight to work, but when they found no leather cut out — only the pretty little clothes — they were first astonished, and then they showed the greatest delight. As quick as they could, they dressed themselves, smoothing the fine clothes down over their bodies, and singing:

"Now we're such handsome, well-dressed men, why should we cobble shoes again?"

Then they hopped and danced, and leapt over chairs and benches, and at last they danced right out of the door. From that time on they never came again, but as long as the shoemaker lived all went well with him, and everything he set his hand to prospered.