their forms were too noble for that, their skin too fine, the cut of their dress too striking.  Two fairies were they; the younger, it is true, was not Dame Fortune herself, but one of the waiting-maids of her handmaidens who carry about the lesser good things that she distributes; the other looked extremely gloomy—­it was Care.  She always attends to her own serious business herself, as then she is sure of having it done properly.

They were telling each other, with a confidential interchange of ideas, where they had been during the day.  The messenger of Fortune had only executed a few unimportant commissions, such as saving a new bonnet from a shower of rain, etc.; but what she had yet to perform was something quite unusual.

“I must tell you,” said she, “that to-day is my birthday; and in honor of it, a pair of walking-shoes or galoshes has been entrusted to me, which I am to carry to mankind.  These shoes possess the property of instantly transporting him who has them on to the place or the period in which he most wishes to be; every wish, as regards time or place, or state of being, will be immediately fulfilled, and so at last man will be happy, here below.”

“Do you seriously believe it?” replied Care, in a severe tone of reproach.  “No; he will be very unhappy, and will assuredly bless the moment when he feels that he has freed himself from the fatal shoes.”

“Stupid nonsense!” said the other angrily.  “I will put them here by the door.  Some one will make a mistake for certain and take the wrong ones—­he will be a happy man.”

Such was their conversation.

II.  What Happened to the Councillor

It was late; Councillor Knap, deeply occupied with the times of King Hans, intended to go home, and malicious Fate managed matters so that his feet, instead of finding their way to his own galoshes, slipped into those of Fortune.  Thus caparisoned the good man walked out of the well-lighted rooms into East Street.  By the magic power of the shoes he was carried back to the times of King Hans; on which account his foot very naturally sank in the mud and puddles of the street, there having been in those days no pavement in Copenhagen.

“Well!  This is too bad!  How dirty it is here!” sighed the Councillor.  “As to a pavement, I can find no traces of one, and all the lamps, it seems, have gone to sleep.”

The moon was not yet very high; it was besides rather foggy, so that in the darkness all objects seemed mingled in chaotic confusion.  At the next corner hung a votive lamp before a Madonna, but the light it gave was little better than none at all; indeed, he did not observe it before he was exactly under it, and his eyes fell upon the bright colors of the pictures which represented the well-known group of the Virgin and the infant Jesus.

“That is probably a wax-work show,” thought he; “and the people delay taking down their sign in hopes of a late visitor or two.”