In a little market town, full of corner shops, greengrocers and ice cream kiosks, stood a lonely boutique selling all kinds of footwear. The shopkeeper loved his work. Each morning he happily unlocked the door with an old, worn key, breathed in the smell of freshly delivered stock, arranged it on the shelves and packed away into boxes the shoes that had not sold all year.
Among those shoes that nobody had bought for years lived a lonely felt boot. However hard the shopkeeper tried to summon the courage to throw it out, he never managed it.
The boot was old, a little worn in places and, what's more, there was only one of it. The shopkeeper could not remember where the other had gone. Yet there was something familiar, warm and cosy about this boot, and he simply could not bring himself to put it in the bin.
The boot felt lonely and miserable. It could not imagine what it would be like to be worn on someone's foot, keeping them warm on cold winter days. The little boot stood furthest back on the shelf, behind a heap of other shoes, both smart and comfortable. Not one person in all those years had even tried it on.
At night, after the kind shopkeeper pulled on his coat and, finishing a strong, fragrant cup of tea, locked up the boutique, the boot suffered most of all. The smart pairs standing in the window began to tease it.
How old and dusty and plain you are, said the comfortable sandals that had only been put out on the shelf today.
Quite right, lonely and of no use to anyone, agreed the shoes with a flower-shaped buckle that shimmered in the sunlight.
We can't understand why the owner keeps you here! The moths will soon eat you up, and we could all be harmed, protested the trainers with bright yellow laces.
The boot had nothing to say in reply. It did not understand why the shopkeeper kept it on the shelf either. It simply gazed silently out of the window, where the moon shone dimly, dreaming that one day it would become somebody's needed companion.
Weeks passed, and night followed day. The warm summer days ended and autumn arrived. New shoes were delivered, each finding its place among the few shelves in the boutique. More customers came in. Families walked in together, choosing shoes for autumn and winter, and buying summer styles in the seasonal sale.
A pair of trainers with bright yellow laces was taken by a boy in an equally bright yellow anorak. Next, a young mum bought sandals for her little son, who was starting nursery for the first time that year.
A few weeks later, a stern-looking dad with a thick beard bought his daughter those very shoes with the flower-shaped buckle that shimmered in the sunlight.
Only our felt boot, standing alone on the far shelf, watched sadly as shoes were swiftly and deftly taken from the window displays. Throughout all this time, not one person had so much as glanced at it.
One late, wintry, bitterly cold evening, the shopkeeper, pulling an old sheepskin coat over the blue jumper his wife had given him for Christmas, was searching for his keys to lock the door. Suddenly, over the howling of a snowstorm, someone tapped on the window. A moment later, an elderly grandad in a snow-covered overcoat with thick fleece lining stepped through the door. His nose was as red as a tomato. Rubbing his hands together to warm them, he addressed the shopkeeper:
Hello there, sonny. What a frost today, it's making my eyes sting. The weather's really turned nasty. I need to buy some footwear from you, and quickly. I'm in a bit of a fix.
The kind shopkeeper, who was already getting ready to go home, did not turn the old man away:
Of course, I'll help you. I have everything here. Something for every taste, as they say. What's happened, Grandad?
Grinning from ear to ear with his toothless mouth and eyeing the boots, the grandad began to explain:
It's my dog, a yard dog called Bess. You won't believe it, sonny, she chewed up my left felt boot. Maybe she was hungry, or maybe it's just her game. Now there's a great big hole in it, as big as my fist. And those felt boots were so comfy and warm. I could tromp through the snowdrifts and clear snow off the roof without a worry. I need a new pair to keep my old feet warm.
The shopkeeper immediately started offering the old man various felt boots, both long and short, made from felt and from sheep's wool. The old man looked at everything for a long time, tried things on, turned them over in his hands and even sniffed some of them. In the end, he settled on tall felt boots reaching the knee, made from camel wool. The shopkeeper named the price. The boots were very good quality, but they turned out to be beyond the old man's means. Far too expensive.
Disappointed, the grandad decided not to keep the kind shopkeeper any longer and to head home quickly, and to try finding cheaper boots tomorrow. As he put on his hat and made his way towards the door, the owner of the boutique suddenly had an idea. He remembered that very felt boot which had been gathering dust on his shelves for several years.
Wait! I know how I can help you!
The old man froze on the spot. Hope flickered in his eyes, mixed with some obvious bewilderment at the kind shopkeeper's sudden shout. The grandad turned round, but the shopkeeper was no longer behind the counter. The kind owner, standing on a wooden chair with trembling knees, was rummaging among the shelves and blowing off the dust.
He reached into the far corner for that very lonely boot. Stretching out his arm, he grabbed it by the heel and nimbly hopped down from the chair. He took a dry cloth, wiped the boot clean, turned it over in his hands a few times to make sure it was still in one piece, and handed it to the grandad.
Here you are! It's been gathering dust for years. I don't remember where the other one went, but I never had the heart to throw it away. I thought it might come in handy, and now the chance has come along.
The old man examined the boot carefully. His face lit up with joy. It was exactly like the one his dog Bess had chewed. The grandad, with a trembling, wrinkled hand, offered a few coins to the shopkeeper, but he shook his head:
No, I'm sorry. I won't take any money for it from you.
But the old man insisted. This boot, though it was not worth a penny, had captured the grandad's heart from the very first second.
For the first time in many years of loneliness, the little boot found itself in warm, caring hands. Our felt boot's soul rejoiced. It had become needed and dear to someone's heart. And that is the true meaning of happiness, being needed by someone.
