'Old man! I do not know your name,
Nor what you are, nor whence you came—
But this: if I but had your shoes
This champion race I ne'er could lose.
To call them mine, those shoes divine,
I'll gladly pay should you incline.'
The stranger merely bowed his head—
'The shoes are yours,' he gruffly said.
'I change with you, though at a loss;
And in return I ask that cross
Which, while she sung, your mother hung
Around your neck when you were young.'
Carl hesitated when he heard
The price, but not for long demurred,
And gave the cross. With trembling haste
The shoes upon his feet were laced—
So long, yet light and polished bright—
His heart beat gladly at the sight.
Now, on the morning of the race,
Expectancy on every face,
They come the programme to fulfil
Upon the slope of Township Hill.
With silent feet the people meet,
While youths and maidens laughing greet.
