"But we could take your brothers and sisters, too," said Everychild to the little boy.

The little boy now gazed at Everychild, and the blank expression in his eyes was there no more.

"Come, we'll get them," declared Everychild. "Do you live far away?"

"There," said the little boy, pointing away into the forest, where not a sign of a house was visible.

Here Grettel spoke for the first time: "Let's not," she said. "I don't think I care about wandering away into the woods."

"We might get lost," suggested Cinderella.

And now the giant interposed. "I agree with Everychild that we ought to take the little boy and his brothers and sisters with us," he said; "and as for wandering away into the woods, that will not be necessary.

I'll take you to the house where the little boy lives by a secret method which I understand."

With that he faced the depths of the forest and stood very erect, with hands uplifted. There was a very solemn expression in his eyes. And suddenly it seemed that the nearby trees began to lift and disappear; and presto!--Everychild and his companions were standing quite close to one of the most famous and remarkable houses ever heard of.

Everychild had too little time just then to marvel at the strange feat which had been performed by the giant. He was lost in amazement at the house before which he stood.

It was really an immense, dilapidated shoe, patched and broken. The toe was about to gape open, though it was held here and there by a few threads. The laces were gone and the whole upper sprawled shapelessly.

In brief, it was precisely like any old shoe you will see on a vacant lot, save for its immense size. Its size was prodigious. It was as large as a small house.

A stovepipe stuck out where the little toe would be, and smoke was pouring out of the pipe just as if some one had been putting a supply of fuel on the fire. It was woodsmoke and had a pleasant smell. It seemed that perhaps some one was preparing supper.

Not a soul was in sight about the house--or the shoe--nor about the premises. Yet you could see that some one had been hard at work only a short time before. The wash had been hung out to dry and it was still damp. It hung from a line which was suspended from the highest point of the shoe--where the strap is that you pull it on by--to the limb of a nearby tree. You could tell by the garments that there were a lot of children about. There were best shirts and every-day shirts and petticoats and trousers. There were many colors, so that they all made a rather gay spectacle. And some were of ordinary size, and some were quite tiny.

There were many trees in the background; and one of these cast its shade over the immense shoe in a very pleasing way. There was a table under the tree, and a kind of dinner-bell hanging from a limb of the tree. There were chairs about the table. Finally, there was a ladder standing against the shoe, so that you could climb up and get in at the top.

"And so," said Everychild in a tone of wonder, "this is where you live!" He had taken the little boy by the hand.

The little boy was about to reply when something almost alarming happened. The little boy slipped his hand away from Everychild's and shrank back until he was hiding behind Cinderella's skirt. An astonishing head and shoulders appeared above the top of the shoe!

The Old Woman who Lived in the Shoe had heard them. She remained perched in her place, glaring severely about the yard below.

Nor was this all. Other individuals inside the shoe had evidently heard the voice of Everychild. And now they began to peep out in the most extraordinary fashion. Three pairs of eyes appeared at the broken toe of the shoe. And up the double row of eye-holes, all the way up the front of the shoe, startled faces were to be seen. You could see excited eyes with hair hanging down before them.

All this proved too much for the little black dog, who had gone forward from Tom's side to inspect the shoe. Now he began barking excitedly at the half-hidden faces.

Everychild stood in his place, wide-eyed and with beating heart.

The Old Woman arose more fully into view. She stared down at Everychild. She flung the hair back from her face.

"Humph!" she said.

CHAPTER XVI

AN ELABORATION OF ONE OF HISTORY'S MOST SUCCINCT CHAPTERS

Everychild's companions drew back behind the shelter of a convenient bush. The Old Woman's countenance really did seem, for the moment, quite ferocious. But Everychild did not move.

The Old Woman arose still higher and stepped out of the top of the shoe to the top rung of the ladder. She carried a steaming pot in one hand, and thus handicapped she descended the ladder.

She placed the steaming pot on the table and then turned her attention to Everychild. She exclaimed dubiously: "You're not one o' mine!"

He shook his head. "No, ma'am," he replied.

She sat down deliberately, drawing a long breath, but without taking her eyes from Everychild. "Just an idler," she said, "like all the rest of the young ones. I don't know what's the matter with them these days--children. When I was young I had to work. I expected nothing less. And I tell mine what was good enough for me is good enough for them."

She made this statement as if she hadn't left a single thing to be said.

It seemed rather obscure to Everychild. He tried to think of a more agreeable subject. He looked the Old Woman's house over, up and down.

"It's rather a funny house, isn't it?" he remarked.

The Old Woman's manner became more sullen than ever. She seized upon a ladle and began stirring the steaming pot. "It does very well," she declared. "Houses are funny or otherwise according to what goes on in them. When you've got your hands full of children who don't want to work you can't say that your house is exactly funny. Its being an old shoe--if that's what you mean . . . that's a matter of taste. I prefer it, for my part. I'd never have been able to settle down anywhere else. You see, I had to be on my feet mostly all the time from little on, and now it comes natural, being in a shoe. I can imagine I'm on the go, even if I never get out from one week's end to another."

She lifted the ladle from the pot. She pressed one hand to her bosom and with the other lifted the ladle to her lips, testing the stew.

There was a thoughtful look in her eyes. Then she continued:

"_As for living in a shoe . . . there's plenty of females that live in two_. Always on the go, they're that restless. I tell my undergrowth it's no more disgrace to live in one shoe than in two, so long as you've got one that's big enough."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "As for living in a shoe . . . there's plenty of females that live in two."]

She seemed so pleased with this remark that she had to stir the pot vigorously, as a relief to her emotions.

There was a surprising interruption just here. The Masked Lady and Mr.

Literal were there, after all, standing close behind Everychild. And Mr. Literal was saying: "She seems to be a bit of a cynic. That reference to women on the go . . . _what period should you say she belongs to_?"

"To every period," said the Masked Lady. After which, fortunately, they remained silent. "And your children," said Everychild. "I don't see them anywhere."

"They'll be here soon enough. I hire 'em out by the day--the boys. I tell 'em if they won't work for me I'll put 'em under masters who'll make 'em work. They gather f.a.gots--the boys. The girls are in the house. They did the wash to-day and I keep 'em under my eye until it's time to take the clothes in. Nothing like keeping a girl under your eye if you want to know where she is."

She got up with an air of great industry and went to the line where the wash was hanging.

She tried the garments with her hand. It seemed they were now dry enough to be taken in. She stepped to the bell suspended from the tree and struck it sharply with a little mallet which had been provided for this purpose.

Wonder of wonders!--the top of the shoe began to overflow with girls!

They were rather carelessly dressed, and there was hair in their eyes--they took after their mother in this matter--but being young, they were all fresh and blooming in a way.

They could leave the shoe only one at a time. They began descending the ladder in a sort of procession. You would have thought the last one would never make her appearance.

They paid very little attention to Everychild. They began taking in the wash. Some held their arms out to receive the clothes which others removed from the line. They took the line down the last thing of all.

They wound it up carefully.

Just at this time there were stealthy movements all about the house, as if robbers were coming. From among the trees the boys began to steal home. They came from various directions, all walking on tip-toe. Many of them hung back fearfully, though two of them found courage enough to come up close to Everychild.

"You must be the boys coming home," said Everychild.