The Slipper That Fits

A woodcutter found the slipper at dawn. He picked it up, turned it over in his hand, and did not know what to make of it. It was gold, but it was too small to be the shoe of any grown man, and too fine to be the toy of a child. He took it home and showed it to his wife, and she, who knew what was what, put it in a wooden box and said no more.

The word got out, as such words always do. Within a moon the slipper had changed hands three times, and at last it came to the court of the young king who had seen the girl at the festival. He took it in his hands and remembered the blue jacket and the quiet face. He would not let anyone else touch it.

He proclaimed, by the mouth of his herald, that the slipper belonged to a woman whose foot it had been made for; that no foot in his dominions should be left unmeasured until the woman was found; and that when she was found, she should be brought to him, and whatever she asked should be hers.