On a Pincushion by Mary de Morgan

On the border of a large forest there once stood a little village, where all the people were happy, for they were all good and industrious and honest. It was the pleasantest little village in the world. No fevers or illnesses ever came near it. The people died only of old age, and all the children were well grown and strong. The villagers never quarrelled with each other, but lived as peacefully as the flowers in the forest. Now, there was an old proverb about the place, which said that as long as the people were honest and hardworking, and never quarrelled or were greedy or avaricious, no troubles should come near them, but that heavy misfortune would fall on them directly they forgot to behave well. The children in this village were as happy as their parents, but perhaps the happiest child of all was little Siegfrid, the shoemaker's little son. He had no brothers or sisters, but he never felt lonely, for he played with the miller's little daughter Handa, who was just his own age, and as pretty a little maiden as you would wish to see. Siegfrid's father, Ralph, was the only shoemaker in the village, and made shoes and boots for all the people. Once a year each one would come to him and say, "Ralph, I want a new pair of shoes, and be sure you make them as good as the last. " So Ralph had plenty to do, but he took a long time making each pair, for he always wanted them to be well made, and would have been ashamed if he had been told that they had worn out before their time or did not fit well.

His father meant to teach little Siegfrid his trade, and that he should be village shoemaker after him; and when he was grown up Siegfrid meant to marry Handa, and already the villagers, when they saw the children walking hand in hand to and from school, as they did every day, laughed and said, "There go Siegfrid and his little wife."