The Wooden Shoe of Little Wolff

The Wooden Shoe of Little Wolff

Adapted from a story by Francois Coppee

Once upon a time, very long ago, there was a little boy name Wolff.  He was seven years old, and because he was an orphan, he was taken care of by an aunt.  She was a hard and selfish old woman who breathed a sigh of regret every time she gave her nephew a bowl of soup.

But little Wolff was naturally so good that he loved the old woman just the same, although she frightened him very much.  He could never look at her without trembling, for fear she would scold him.

Wolff’s aunt was known through all the village to have a stocking full of money in the house, but she made Wolff wear very old and ragged clothes.  The schoolmaster, who liked best those pupils who were well dressed, was very unkind to Wolff and often punished him unjustly.  The other pupils, too, made fun of Wolff’s ill-fitting clothes.  The pool little fellow therefore, was as miserable as the stones in the street, and when Christmas came hid himself in out of the way corners to cry.

The night before Christmas the schoolmaster was to take all of his pupils to midnight mass.  As it was a severely cold winter, the boys set out for the church warmly wrapped and bundled up, with fur caps pulled over their ears, heavy jackets, woolen mittens, and thick, heavy-nailed boots with strong soles.  Only little Wolff came shivering in the clothes that he wore weekdays and Sundays, and with nothing on his feet but coarse socks and heavy wooden shoes.  Wood is not warm at all, but cold.

His thoughtless comrades made a thousand jests about his rough dress; but little Wolff was so occupied in trying to keep warm that he took no notice of them.

The troop of boys, with their master at their head, started for the church.  They boasted of the fine suppers that were awaiting them at home.  They spoke, too, of what the Christ Child would bring them, and of how they would be very careful to leave their wooden shoes near the chimney before going to bed.  For in France at that time the children put out their wooden shoes instead of hanging up their stockings.  The eyes of those boys sparkled as they saw in imagination pink paper bags filled with burnt almonds, toy soldiers drawn up in battalions in their boxes, menageries of toy animals, and amusing jumping jacks.

Little Wolff knew from experience that his stingy old aunt would send him to bed without his supper, but remembering how all the year he had been good and industrious, he hoped that the Christ child would not forget him.  So he, too, looked forward to putting his wooden shoes in the ashes of the fireplace.

When the midnight mass was concluded, everyone rose and left the church.  Now, under the porch, sitting on a stone seat, a child was sleeping.  He was clad in a robe of white linen, but his feet were bare in spite of the cold.  He was not a beggar, for his robe was new and clean.  Near him on the ground were some tools which a carpenter’s apprentice might carry.  Under the light of the stars, his face bore an expression of divine sweetness, and his locks of golden hair seemed to form a halo about his head.  But the child’s feet, blue in the cold of that December night, were sad to see.

The boys who were so well clothed and shod for the winter passed heedlessly by the unknown child.  One of them, a wealthy lad, even looked at the waif with scorn.

But little Wolff, the last to come out of the church, stopped, full of compassion, before the beautiful sleeping child.

“Alas!” said the orphan to himself,  “It is too bad this poor boy has to go barefoot in such cold weather.  But what is worse, he has not even a shoe to set out while he sleeps tonight, so that the Christ Child can put something there to comfort him in his misery.”

So, out of the goodness of his heart, little Wolff took the wooden shoe from his right foot, and laid it in front of the sleeping child.  Then, limping along with only one shoe and dragging his shoeless sock through the snow, he went home.

“Look at that worthless fellow!” cried his aunt.  “What have you done with your wooden shoe, you little wretch?”

Little Wolff did not know how to deceive.  Although he was shaking with terror, he tried to stammer out some account of the good deed he had done.

But the old woman laughed scornfully.

“Ah, this young man thinks he is rich enough to give away his wooden shoe to beggars!  That is something new!  Well, since you are so generous, I am going to put the remaining shoe in the chimney, and I promise you the Christ Child will leave something there to whip you with in the morning.  And you shall pass the day tomorrow on dry bread and water.  We shall see if you give away your shoe next time to the first vagabond that comes along.”

So the wicked woman, after giving the poor boy a good spanking, made him climb up to his old bed in the attic.  Grieved to the heart, the child went to bed in the dark, and soon fell asleep, his pillow wet with tears.

But the next morning, when the old woman went downstairs, what a wonderful sight met her eyes!  She saw the great chimney full of beautiful playthings, and sacks of delicious candies, and all sorts of good things.  And there to her surprise she saw the right shoe, the one that her nephew had given to the little waif, standing by the side of the left shoe which she herself had put there.

“Goodness gracious!” the aunt exclaimed in unbelief.

Little Wolff, hearing his aunt’s exclamation, ran downstairs and stood in ecstasy before all the splendid presents.

Suddenly there were loud peals of laughter out of doors.  The old woman and the little boy hurried outside, where all the neighbors were gathered around the public fountain.  What had happened?  Oh, something very amusing and very extraordinary!  The children of all the rich people of the village, those whose parents had wished to surprise them with the most beautiful gifts, had found only sticks in their shoes.

Then the orphan and the old woman, thinking of all the beautiful things that were in their chimney, were full of amazement.  Presently they saw the priest coming toward them, wonderingly.  In the church porch, where a child, clad in a white robe and with bare feet had rested his sleeping head the evening before, the priest had just found a circle of gold incrusted with precious stones. 

The people realized then that the beautiful child with the carpenter’s tools beside him was the Christ Child in person, become for an hour such as he was when he had worked in his parents’ house.  And they bowed their heads before the miracle that the good God had seen fit to work, to reward the faith and charity of little Wolff.