Chapter XI: Mother Goose Settles a Difficulty

The Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe was busy making broth one afternoon when she looked out through the lowest buttonhole of her home and spied Mrs. Dumpty coming up the walk.

“Why, Mrs. Dumpty, this _is_ a surprise!” cried the Old Woman. “I’m so glad to see you. Do come right in.”

Mrs. Dumpty could not muster a smile in answer to the Old Woman’s cordial greeting. She was a jolly little pudding of a lady with a round face and no waistline whatever, but to-day her mouth drooped at the corners and she looked very worried, as indeed she had looked all these weeks of Humpty’s confinement. “I just thought I’d run over a while,” she said to the Old Woman. “Humpty’s asleep.”

“Of course!” exclaimed the Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe delightedly. “I’m so glad you did, Mrs. Dumpty. Now come right in.”

Mrs. Dumpty sighed heavily. She was very fond of the Old Woman, but it was an ordeal to climb into that Shoe every time she wanted to call, and she had always said she didn’t know why in the world the Old Woman didn’t call Jack-of-all-Trades and let him build a few steps up to the Shoe. However, the Old Woman was queer about her home, and so now Mrs. Dumpty bravely lifted one fat little foot for the climb, and pretty soon, panting and pink, she had scrambled into the Shoe.

“And how is Humpty?” inquired the Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe, as she hastened to put the kettle on.

“He will never be any better,” answered Mrs. Dumpty sadly. “He will never walk another step. Oh, Old Woman, if he had only not sat on the wall that day--”

“I know,” murmured the Old Woman sympathetically. “But Humpty doesn’t suffer any pain, does he?”

Mrs. Dumpty’s face cleared. “No, not a bit,” she answered. “But, Old Woman, what do you suppose the doctor says he must have now?”

“I haven’t the faintest notion,” declared the Old Woman.

“A wheel chair!” Mrs. Dumpty’s little eyes bulged as she told her news.

“A wheel chair!” repeated the Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe. “Well, whatever in the world is that?”

“It’s a chair with wheels on it,” explained Mrs. Dumpty. “You see, Old Woman, if Humpty could be pushed around in a wheel chair, it would be almost--not quite, but almost--as good as walking.”

“Why, of course!” agreed the Old Woman. “What won’t they be thinking up next?” she concluded admiringly.

“But,” Mrs. Dumpty’s face became troubled again, “there isn’t a wheel chair in all of Pudding Lane. I’ve been to the butcher’s and the baker’s and the candlestick-maker’s, and they haven’t any. And all the king’s horses and all the king’s men, which the king has so generously put at my disposal”--here Mrs. Dumpty straightened up a bit proudly--“even they have no wheel chair. And meanwhile my poor Humpty sits by the window in his rocker.” She was ready to cry, poor thing.

The Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe brought her a cup of tea without a word, and without a word sat down beside her guest and began to stir her own tea vigorously. She was thinking, was the Old Woman, for this was indeed a dilemma for the Dumpties, and the Old Woman wanted to help them out of it if she could. So she stirred and stirred and stirred her tea, making a great clatter, while Mrs. Dumpty sat looking sadly at her cup.

And finally the Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe set her cup down noisily, with a great light in her eye. “Well, Mrs. Dumpty, why don’t you ride a cockhorse to Banbury Cross and get a wheel chair there?” she exclaimed triumphantly.

At this suggestion Mrs. Dumpty stared at the Old Woman in amazement. It was a daring idea--Mrs. Dumpty had never been to Banbury Cross in her whole life; but it was a sensible one, too, for surely if any place would have a wheel chair, Banbury Cross would be that place. Mother Goose had been to Banbury Cross time and again, and she had reported it to be a flourishing center, with as many as a dozen shops.

Mrs. Dumpty opened her mouth into a little round “O”, then closed it again and finally spoke. “Why--” she brought out. It was such a truly astonishing idea, she just couldn’t grasp it all at once. And yet, too, the minute the Old Woman had spoken, Mrs. Dumpty knew that to go to Banbury Cross was the very thing to do.

“Why not?” the Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe was urging her. “You could go one day, come back the next, and stay at the Threepenny Inn all night. It’s a very fine inn, I hear.”

Mrs. Dumpty hesitated. “I’ve never traveled,” she ventured timidly, her fat little body quivering with the excitement of merely thinking about traveling.

“Good time to begin,” replied the Old Woman energetically.

“It’s as far as ten miles,” she objected feebly.

“The end of the world is farther,” was the Old Woman’s response.

“I don’t know how to ride a cockhorse.”

“You just sit on ’em,” the Old Woman enlightened her, though she herself had never ridden one and didn’t know in the least what she was talking about.

Mrs. Dumpty looked at her friend admiringly. “You are so brave,” she said. “Oh, Old Woman,” she cried out suddenly, “will you go with me?”

“In the name of goodness!” exclaimed the Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe. “What would I do with all my children? Who would spank them and tuck them in their beds?”

But it was finally arranged that the Old Woman should go with Mrs. Dumpty to Banbury Cross to buy the wheel chair for Humpty, and that night everybody in Pudding Lane knew of the proposed expedition. Mrs. Claus had kindly offered to look after Humpty, and Old Mother Hubbard had been asked to bring her poor dog over and stay in the Shoe with the innumerable children. Needless to say, Mother Hubbard was only too glad to leave her bare cupboard for a full one, for a couple of days.

And so the night before the great day Mrs. Dumpty went to bed, trembling with agitation over the bold undertaking of the morrow, and hardly slept a wink. But the Old Woman, who stayed awake too, smiled into the dark as she thought of the journey, for she was an adventurous old woman, and it looked like a lark to her.

Of course the Town Crier had got everything all mixed up in his announcement about the coming event. For he had told it far and wide that the Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe and Mrs. Dumpty would start on their momentous journey at seven o’clock, which was not at all the truth, the ladies having set their hour for six. It seemed rather early; but, as Mrs. Dumpty said, ten miles was a long way, and they might not get there the same day,--terrifying thought.

But somehow, what the Town Crier had said didn’t seem to make any difference, for everybody on Pudding Lane was there at six o’clock just the same. That is, everybody was there except poor Humpty Dumpty himself and the Town Crier (who was much astonished when he went out at seven o’clock to find that the ladies had already gone). The Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe and Mrs. Dumpty were indeed being honored with an impressive send-off.

And you should have seen those two women! They had never been so magnificent before; no, not even when Mrs. Claus gave a party and everybody had been so enormously dressed up. Mrs. Dumpty had got out her wedding dress for the occasion, and she surely did look elegant in it, in spite of the fact that it was much too tight, as fat ladies’ wedding dresses always, always are. In one hand she carried a package containing her nightcap, three fresh handkerchiefs and a bottle of cough sirup; in the other an egg basket filled to bursting with lunch. The Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe had wanted very much to wait and have dinner at the Threepenny Inn, but Mrs. Dumpty would hear of no such carryings-on.

As for the Old Woman herself, she was in black silk with a fine new feather on her bonnet and a pea-green parasol to keep the sun away. Jumbo and Jocko and Judy and all the other children of the Old Woman, who followed their mother in a winding string from the Shoe to the crossroads, had never seen her look so regal and were extremely proud of her appearance.

Well, there they stood at the crossroads, Mrs. Dumpty quivering with fear and excitement, the Old Woman impatient to be off, and all their friends standing around and wondering how it felt to be going on such a long journey. And precisely at six o’clock into their midst pranced the jaunty little cockhorses driven by the keeper of King Cole’s stables. For these travelers were to ride no ordinary cockhorses, but the King’s best. The King was still deeply interested in Humpty’s case and was helping in this substantial manner. One of the horses was a sleek little white horse with a bright eye; the other was black and tossed his mane in the liveliest fashion possible. Mrs. Dumpty grew pale at the sight of them, for she was sure she was going to fall and break her neck. But the dauntless Old Woman picked up her skirts and almost danced a jig in her impatience to be off.

And now the great moment was here. The Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe began hastily to kiss all her children, which took some time, of course. Mr. Claus, the baker, stepped gallantly forward to offer his services to Mrs. Dumpty in mounting her horse, a service that Mrs. Dumpty accepted with deep gratitude. Mr. Claus bent low and cupped his hand, into which Mrs. Dumpty stepped timidly and uncertainly. As Mr. Claus gave her a boost, Mrs. Dumpty grabbed the horse’s mane, the horse started to go, but “Whoa, whoa!” commanded Mr. Claus in a bellowing voice, and finally, shaking and pale, the little fat lady was on her horse.

She was on, but she wished for all the world that she were off.

However, there was nothing to do except start, and there, who was that galloping by on the white horse but the Old Woman, holding on for dear life and waving her parasol in joyful excitement! The black horse started then too, and clutching the lines and the egg basket and her bonnet all at once, and screaming weakly, Mrs. Dumpty was seen to follow her friend in a mad gallop down Pinafore Pike. And that was the last that Pudding Lane saw of them for seven whole days.

Yes, Mrs. Dumpty and the Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe actually stayed away from home for seven whole days, a thing that nobody in Pudding Lane had ever done before, except Mother Goose, who was of course a privileged character.

At the end of the second day everybody went down to the crossroads to meet the home-coming travelers, for nobody dreamed that they wouldn’t come back just as they had promised; they were such extremely reliable women. But dusk came, and they had not appeared. Little wobbly stars ventured out, and no cockhorses came flourishing around the corner. At last it grew quite black and was really night, and still the Old Woman and Mrs. Dumpty had not come home to their children.

Where could they be? asked everybody of everybody else. It was very mysterious.

“I’m afraid they’re lost on the road,” said the butcher.

“It’s a perfectly straight road,” the baker reminded him.

“They may have come to grief in Banbury Cross,” suggested the candlestick-maker.

“I fear they have,” said the carpenter.

Just then one of the king’s men came riding by and saw the anxious group. “What is the matter?” he inquired.

The cobbler stepped up with respectful importance. “The Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe and Mrs. Dumpty went to Banbury Cross two days ago and have not returned, sir,” he said.

“Have you had bad news of them?” asked the king’s man. “No news is good news in King Cole’s kingdom, you know,” and with that he flicked his horse and rode off.

How relieved they all were! For of course that explained everything. No news was good news. That was one of old King Cole’s laws. How they had forgotten it, even for a moment, they could not imagine; but they had, every one of them, though you couldn’t find a body of more law-abiding citizens in the whole kingdom. So they went home to bed, with no further anxiety about the Old Woman and Mrs. Dumpty so far away in Banbury Cross.

But even if the Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe and Mrs. Dumpty had not been safe and sound, Pudding Lane would have had no time to worry about them after that. For something else happened so much more serious that nobody could think of anything except that.

It began, indeed, that very night. Everything was still and quiet throughout the whole village, for it was way past midnight and Pudding Lane had been asleep hours and hours, when suddenly Polly, one of the little girls who lived in the Shoe (the fat one, you know), woke up. It was a queer thing for her to do, to wake up right in the middle of the night like that, but then she felt queer, with a wavy feeling in her stomach that was most uncomfortable. Polly had never had such a feeling before, except one time when she ate too much jelly cake at Mistress Mary’s birthday party. But there had been no jelly cake this night. Just the usual broth and spanking. The broth could not do that to her stomach, she thought to herself, and certainly Old Mother Hubbard’s gentle little spankings wouldn’t hurt a mouse. The tender-hearted old lady did not enjoy that part of her duty in the Shoe one bit, and the children had really almost forgotten what a good sound spanking was like.

As Polly lay there, wishing the wavy feeling would go away, she heard Patsy in the next bed give a little moan. (Patsy was the one without any front teeth.) The next minute Judy, on the other side of her (the one who couldn’t spell), turned over in her sleep with a sob. The baby began to cry; Jocko and Jumbo and the twins and the several unnamed children sat up in bed with a start; Mother Hubbard’s poor dog began to bark as if in pain.

“Mercy on us!” Mother Hubbard jumped out of bed and began to fumble for a candle. “What in the world is the matter with you children?”

Just then she stumbled against one of the little beds and the next minute was pitched off her feet over against another bed.

“What _is_ the matter?” cried old Mother Hubbard desperately. “Why are the children sobbing and moaning? Why is this beast yowling? Why can’t I keep my feet?”

With that she lighted a candle and looked around, and she soon discovered what the trouble was. The trouble was that the Shoe, up to that time a perfectly substantial dwelling, was swaying ever so slightly in the wind, for all the world like a ship on the gently rolling waves of the sea. No wonder the children were sick! No wonder the poor dog yowled and old Mother Hubbard couldn’t walk straight!

But old Mother Hubbard knew what to do, right enough. She staggered to the cupboard and took down a big bottle, after which, stumbling and tumbling, she went to each little bed with a dose and a comforting pat for every child. She gave the poor dog, not a bone, but a dose of medicine too, and finally, after she herself had taken a big tablespoonful, she rolled back into bed, the baby in her arms, her nightcap over one ear.

The wind quieted down and the children went to sleep, but the next day old Mother Hubbard had a fine tale for the women of Pudding Lane.

“Well, I never!” exclaimed Mrs. Claus, when she heard of it. “Whatever did you do?”

“I gave ’em a quart of peppermint oil,” related Old Mother Hubbard. “And they all went to sleep.”

“Well!” Mrs. Claus drew a long breath. “I must say, neighbor, I’m glad I have only Humpty to look after. To live in a shoe with all those children, and to have it act like a rocking-chair at night--” Mrs. Claus threw up her hands at the thought of such a situation and thanked her stars it wasn’t _her_ who had to go through it.

And that was only the beginning of it. The real disaster came four nights later.

It was the worst night Pudding Lane had seen in many a day, as Mrs. Claus said,--a real November storm with a whipping rain that lashed angrily in every direction and wind that tore at trees and chimneys until they creaked and cracked with the strain.

Nobody on Pudding Lane so much as stuck a nose out that night. By seven o’clock everybody was tight in bed, some of them even hiding under the bedclothes, and there wasn’t a candle burning in the whole of the village, not even in the palace of Old King Cole.

Mrs. Claus, who was staying at the Dumpties’, wondered anxiously about her own children at home with the baker. As for Mother Hubbard, she did wish to goodness that she were not sleeping in an old, weather-beaten shoe that night, for although Jumbo had fastened the buttons up tight and had put the canvas top up, still she feared that the Shoe might rock again as it had the other night.

And sure enough, just as she feared, as the storm grew worse and worse, the Shoe began to do its old trick. At first it rocked only gently, slipping uncertainly around in the mud.

“Oh, dear!” cried Polly. “We are rocking again, Mother Hubbard.”

“We are that,” replied Mother Hubbard grimly, longing for the safety of her own kitchen.

“What shall we do?” asked Polly. “Shall we take more peppermint oil?”

“There is no more,” replied Old Mother Hubbard. “Let’s see. Supposing--” She was trying to think of some way to amuse all the children so they would forget the storm.

But Mother Hubbard got no further, for suddenly the Shoe leaned over to one side in the wind, tipping everybody and everything into one corner. Such a hubbub of noise and confusion as there was! The pots and pans rattled as they flew from their hooks; the poor dog whimpered and wailed; the baby cried. Even the older children, who tried to be brave, were bruised from the bumping and frightened beyond words. Oh, dear, what a fearful and unexpected catastrophe! And still the storm grew worse, and the Shoe rocked harder, until they felt as if they were in a tipsy boat on a sea that raged and tossed. You never would have thought that this was the dear old Shoe that had been such a happy home all these years.

“We’ll have to get out,” said Old Mother Hubbard to herself.

But as she peeped through the lowest buttonhole she saw that the rain was beating harder than ever against the trees, and the wind was waving a thousand arms.

Worse and worse it got. The Shoe tilted to one side and then the other. Once it almost tipped completely over, but the wind whirled suddenly around the other way, and up came the Shoe again, tottering dizzily.

There was no hope. Mother Hubbard looked around at the frightened children in the madly-rocking Shoe.

“We must get out,” she said. “Jumbo, fly out and unbutton the Shoe as fast as ever you can. Jocko, take the twins with you. Judy and Patsy and Polly and Nancy, and all the others, line up in a row. I’ll take the baby. The rest of you jump out the minute the Shoe is opened.”

Jumbo bravely climbed out of the top of the Shoe into the storm. Jumbo was twelve and very courageous, as you see. It was his duty to open and close the Shoe every night, and although the buttonhook was a rather large and clumsy affair, he handled it like a man, and had often been much complimented on his skill. In a twinkling the Shoe was open, and in another twinkling the children had all jumped out into the rain and wind and thunder and lightning.

They were just in time. Old Mother Hubbard and the poor dog had but just stepped out of the rickety Shoe when over it went for the last time, spilling beds and stoves and stools helter-skelter. It was a sad spectacle for the children of the Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe. But there was no time for repining. Already they were all soaked and shivering. On a run they all started for Mother Hubbard’s kitchen.

You can imagine what an uproar there was in Pudding Lane the next day, when everybody heard of the accident that had happened to the Shoe. Everybody went to Mother Hubbard’s kitchen to see the children, to ask questions, to shake their heads and to say what a dreadful thing it was. It was a great day for the children who had lived in the Shoe, for although it was sad to be homeless, still they did enjoy being talked about and made over, and soon began to feel very important.

On that day nobody even thought of poor Humpty Dumpty, except Mrs. Claus, who was still staying with him, and Humpty sat at home alone, wondering where his mother was and wishing somebody--oh, just anybody--would come to see him. And just as he was wishing that, who do you suppose came up the walk?

Yes, it was Mrs. Dumpty, wheeling a great chair in front of her and smiling as she used to smile in the days when Humpty was well. When he saw her, Humpty almost jumped out of his rocker with delight, and indeed that reunion between the Dumpties was such a one as to make Mrs. Claus, who was there, sniffle and clear her throat.

“Well, where on earth have you been?” was Mrs. Claus’s question.

“We’ve been in Banbury Cross,” answered Mrs. Dumpty. “Where else?”

“But why did you stay so long?” persisted Mrs. Claus. “We have been so alarmed about you.”

“Oh,” replied Humpty’s mother, “we had to wait for the sick boy, who had this chair, to get well. It was the only chair in Banbury Cross, you see.”

Mrs. Dumpty’s home-coming was a happy one, but what do you think the feelings of the Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe must have been when she found out what had happened?

The Old Woman had had a good time in Banbury Cross. In fact, she had never had quite such a good time in all her life, she told Mrs. Dumpty. But just the same, she was most eager to get home to her dear children, and she was anxious to live in a shoe again after those days in the Threepenny Inn. And so as she rode the cockhorse up Pinafore Pike and turned into Pudding Lane, she was indeed a happy woman.

And then her eyes fell on the poor old overturned Shoe, and she thought she should faint with terror. Up she dashed to inspect the ruins. The Shoe was twisted and bent and lying on its side deep in the mud. How horrible to come home from a journey and find your home a wreck!

But where were the children? Had they all been carried off by the storm? With a cry the Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe ran down Pudding Lane. Soon she learned the truth. She was indeed relieved to find her children, every single one of them, safe and happy with Old Mother Hubbard. But it was a sorrow to have no home, and the Old Woman, for the first time in her life, had not the heart to spank the children all around before putting them to bed.

The next morning King Cole sent for the Old Woman to come to the palace, and it was suspected that the merry old soul had some plan for new quarters for her and all her children. Mother Hubbard’s cupboard was barer than ever now, and they really could not stay there another day longer. It turned out to be just as the two women had thought. Old King Cole, after considering the matter carefully, handsomely offered the Old Woman the use of The House-that-Jack-Built, rent free, until another shoe could be found. Shoes were so scarce, you know, that she might never find one again. And so it was considered that the King’s offer was a very fine one, and that the Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe and her children ought to be thankful and happy to be given such a beautiful home.

But somehow the Old Woman was not happy one single bit, for although The House-that-Jack-Built was a much more elegant affair than the old Shoe, still the Old Woman didn’t like houses, however elegant, and had always said, you know, that she would never live in one.

She thought and thought before she accepted the King’s offer. The old slipper she had gone to housekeeping in so many years ago was empty, but it was far too small for the innumerable children and therefore would not do. The laced shoe she had moved into next was unfit for habitation now. It had never been repaired or blackened since it was first made, and, of course, no shoe can last with that kind of treatment. So finally she had to accept Old King Cole’s offer, simply because there wasn’t anything else to do. And that afternoon they moved in, the Old Woman and all those children.

The House-that-Jack-Built was really a very beautiful house, with porches and steps and fine furniture; for Jack had expected to live there himself and had put a good deal of work on it, as you know. Moreover, nobody had ever lived in it at all, for Jack had suddenly lost interest in the house and had gone back to the city, after selling the house to King Cole. It was understood that the lady for whom Jack was building the house had changed her mind about marrying him.

Yes, it was a beautiful house, but somehow the Old Woman and even the children did not appreciate it at all. It was hard for them to live in a house, you see, after spending their lives in a shoe, and it really isn’t any wonder that they all cried a little bit into their pillows that night before going off to sleep.

The Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe had really expected that she and her children would get over their homesickness but it seemed that every day they longed for their old home a little more, until they really were not happy at all, but quite miserable. They were ashamed of themselves, for King Cole had been so good to them they felt almost wicked to be ungrateful, and they tried hard not to let anybody know how wretched they were in their grand new house. But the truth was that they all wanted only one thing in the world, and that was their old buttoned Shoe again, where they could go on living as before.

And then one day it all came out. The Old Woman was calling on Mrs. Claus when somebody mentioned the Shoe. Before she knew what she was doing, the Old Woman was crying--yes, crying as hard as she could cry--and though she was furious with herself for doing it, she couldn’t stop at all.

Mrs. Claus was amazed at this. “Why, Old Woman,” she said kindly, “I didn’t know you felt that way about the Shoe.”

The Old Woman nodded her head, as she continued to sob and rock. And right then Mrs. Claus made a promise to herself. She promised herself that Mr. Claus, who was a very influential citizen, should go to the King and tell him just how the Old Woman felt, for surely their good, kind King could do something about the Shoe, if only he knew how important it was.

Mrs. Claus kept that promise to herself, and the next day the baker went off to interview the King, who was most surprised to hear this news and extremely worried over it. He was such a merry old soul he could not bear to have anybody in the kingdom in the least troubled or unhappy.

“But there’s no other shoe,” he told Mr. Claus. “What can I do to help the poor Old Woman?”

“Could this one not be set up again?” inquired Mr. Claus helpfully. “Mended, perhaps, and fastened firmly against future storms?”

“I’ll see; I’ll see,” said the King. “I’ll send for the carpenter and let him look it over.”

That same afternoon the carpenter made a careful inspection of the Shoe. He looked at the buttons. They seemed sound and good. He investigated the buttonholes, and they were found to be satisfactory. The sole had not a single hole in it, and the toe could be patched to be as good as new. But there was that heel, a run-over affair that made the whole Shoe stand crooked. And even if that were made even again, he doubted whether it would not slip in the mud as it had before, when the rains came again.

The carpenter was about to give an unfavorable report to King Cole, when he had a sudden and brilliant idea. They could put a rubber heel on the Shoe, and it would then stand firm and true and never again be blown by the wind and pushed around in the mud. It was the very thing!

Old King Cole hailed this as a most excellent idea and straightway sent for the Old Woman.

“Dear me, what next?” said the Old Woman, when she got the message to appear again at the royal palace, for she did not know that Mr. Claus had taken up her case with the King, you see.

But up to the palace she went, and when old King Cole told her that she could live in her Shoe again, after it had been repaired with a patch on the toe and a rubber heel, the elated woman just danced a jig right there in the throne room, until King Cole laughed to see her, and even the Queen was amused. She could hardly stop to thank the King, but she did manage to make a bow, after which she ran home to the children, kicking up her heels and waving her arms in hilarious delight. Such a furor as she created when she told those children that they were going back to live in the Shoe again. They had never been such a happy family before.

Old King Cole had said that they might move into the Shoe in exactly one week, during which time the carpenter was to make the Shoe as good as new, even to polishing it with fine new polish. But the King did not know, when he made that promise, that there was going to be more trouble.

The trouble arose when the cobbler heard that the carpenter was going to London to buy a rubber heel for the Old Woman’s Shoe.

“Shoes are a cobbler’s business,” he said, and with that he went in great indignation to Old King Cole.

“What is this you are saying?” asked the King, who did not always listen very carefully to what people said.

“I’m saying, sir,” repeated the cobbler, “that shoes are a cobbler’s business.”

“I agree with you,” replied the King. “But why have you come here to tell me what I already know?”

“Because, sir, you have put the carpenter to work mending a shoe here in Pudding Lane,” said the cobbler.

“Nonsense, of course I haven’t,” began King Cole. “Oh, I see, you mean the Old Woman’s Shoe?” he asked.

“That, and no other, sir,” said the cobbler.

The King looked embarrassed. “Oh--er--well, let’s call the carpenter in,” he said, for he saw that the cobbler was determined to stay it out.

But when the carpenter came in, and old King Cole told him that the cobbler had objected to their previous arrangement, then it was the carpenter’s turn to be offended.

“But, sir,” said he, “the Shoe is the Old Woman’s house, isn’t it? Then why isn’t it a carpenter’s business to make the necessary repairs?”

The King sighed. It was a problem. Whose business was it to mend the Old Woman’s Shoe, the cobbler’s or the carpenter’s? It was a shoe, and it was a house. He was frank to say he couldn’t settle it. He turned to the queen, but she, as usual, was asleep, her crown on her nose. The poor King didn’t know which way to turn.

There was nothing to do except send for the whole town to come up to the palace to consider the weighty problem. So the Town Crier was sent out in a great hurry to summon all the people to the palace. And for once in his life the Town Crier managed to get through the job without making a single mistake.

The people of Pudding Lane were indeed surprised that King Cole should send for them in that hasty manner.

“It must be very serious,” they told each other.

“Maybe the Queen is sick,” suggested Mr. Horner.

“She might even be dead!” Mrs. Grundy added hopefully.

“Well, come along, let’s hurry,” urged the piper, and so they all rushed into the street and hurried pell-mell to answer the summons of the King.

The King shook hands with everybody and then tried to awaken the Queen, but that lady must have been exceedingly tired and sleepy, for though he shook her and shook her, she wouldn’t wake up at all.

“Let her sleep,” said the butcher in a kindly manner. “We all know what it is to be sleepy.”

The King, looking relieved, cleared his throat and told them all just what the trouble was. When he mentioned the Shoe the Old Woman almost fell over with astonishment, for she had no idea that it was on account of her that the meeting had been called. And when he related how the cobbler and the carpenter were quarreling, the Old Woman felt a terrible fear in her heart. Supposing the matter never could be settled, and she would have to stay in The House-that-Jack-Built all the rest of her life.

“And now,” the King ended, “I leave it to the people to decide.”

Everybody looked scared. It was such a knotty problem, and there was so much to be said for the standpoint of both the cobbler and the carpenter, that they just stood there and didn’t say anything.

“Come,” said King Cole. “What do you say, candlestick-maker?”

The candlestick-maker started and then tried to look wise. “Well, I wouldn’t exactly know what to say, sir,” he said importantly.

“What about you, Mr. Horner?” The King turned to Jack Horner’s father. “What advice have you to offer?”

Mr. Horner shook his head. “It’s too much for me, sir,” he admitted.

Then the Old Woman herself was asked for an opinion.

“Oh, I don’t know, I don’t know, King Cole!” she cried out. “But do let’s settle it somehow. I feel as if I should die if I couldn’t go back to live in the old Shoe once more.”

At this outburst of grief the King’s distress increased. He looked at the cobbler and at the carpenter, but neither one of them would give in an inch; he could tell that by the set look of their faces. King Cole sighed loudly, and then opened his mouth to speak. He was going to tell the Old Woman that, after all, she could not live in the Shoe again, but would have to put up with the House-that-Jack-Built as best she could.

And just at that moment Mother Goose was ushered in. She was on her way for a visit to the Clauses, and she said she thought she’d just run in to say hello to the King.

“But, mercy on us!” she exclaimed, looking around at the assembled people. “What is it--a coronation?”

Old King Cole explained affairs to his friend. He told her how sad the Old Woman was and pointed out the cobbler and the carpenter, who were standing there, glaring at each other, the cause of the whole trouble.

“Now isn’t that a hard one?” he asked the old lady, looking at her anxiously to see what she thought of the matter.

“Hard one, nothing!” replied Mother Goose, looking sharply at the cobbler and the carpenter. “Give the business to Jack-of-All-Trades and let those fellows go.”

What a happy solution that was. How glad they all were. The Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe was too overjoyed for words, but the rest of the people just chattered and buzzed and fluttered around in their pleased excitement.

And so it was decided that Jack-of-All-Trades should mend the shoe, and the cobbler and the carpenter, feeling very cheap, were dismissed from the presence of the King.

It was exactly one week later that the Old Woman took all her children and moved back into the Shoe, which now stood up proudly on its rubber heel, mended and polished until it looked like new. In fact, it looked so fine that the Old Woman and her children hardly recognized it as the same old Shoe and were almost afraid the King had fooled them and had got a new shoe somewhere.

But, sure enough, when they climbed inside, there were the same old spots and stains on the wall, the same old beds, and the same old pots and pans. And then they all settled down and knew they would be happy forever after, because they were back in their dear Shoe, never to leave it again.