“SHOEMAKER, STICK TO YOUR LAST.”
MAXIMILIAN JOSEPH, the late king of Bavaria, was one summer day sitting in plain, civil costume in the garden of his palace at Tegernsee. The heat was indeed great, and it was so very quiet in the garden that the king fell asleep over the book he was reading. He laid it down beside him on the bench and continued to slumber. When he awoke he thought he would drive away his drowsiness by taking a walk. The road, which took him farther and farther away from the garden, brought him at last to the meadow, which extended on both sides from the shores to the beautiful lake near which the palace stood. Here the king remembered his book which he had left lying on the bench in the park. If anyone passed by he might take the volume, which, being rather a rare one, the king did not wish to lose. As he was unwilling to return the same way, he looked about him for someone who would fetch the book for him; but, far and wide, he did not see a single human being, except a boy who was watching a flock of geese. The king went up to him and said:— “Listen, my boy; you can go and fetch me a book which I have left lying on a bench in the park, and you shall have a florin for your trouble.” The lad, who did not know the king, looked at the gentleman with much distrust. A florin for so small a service seemed to him so large an offer as to be a hoax. “I am not the simpleton you take me for,” he said, turning away. “What makes you think I take you for a simpleton?” asked the king, smiling, pleased with the open manner of the lad. “Because you offer me a florin for such a trifling service,” replied the boy; “money is not earned so easily. The people down there,” he added, pointing his finger to the distant palace, “take us all for fools, and I know you are one of them.” “Well, what if I am?” said the king. “Come, here's half a florin in advance! Now go and fetch me the book.” The boy's eyes sparkled when he beheld the money in his hand, for he did not get much more than that for looking after the geese the whole year; but still he hesitated. “Well,” asked the king, “and why don't you go?” The boy pushed his cap on one side, and scratched himself behind the ear. “Yes,” said he, “I will—but—I dare not. If the farmers heard that I had left the geese, they would dismiss me, and I would lose my daily bread.” “I will watch them till you come back.” “You?” replied the boy, measuring the stranger from top to toe; “you don't look to me like one who can take care of geese. If they were to run away and get lost in these meadows I might have to pay more than I should earn in a year. Look at that fellow with a black head, who belongs to the court gardener; he is an awful old bird, a deserter, a good-for-nothing, like all people who have to do with a court; he would play you fine tricks whilst I was away. No, no, that would never do!” “And why should I not be able to keep these geese in order, as well as I succeed in keeping men in order?” said the king. “You?” replied the lad, again eyeing the monarch with a grin. “They must be fine fellows, indeed! Ah, now I have it! You are a school-master. I tell you, boys are much easier to manage than geese.” “Possibly; but, come, be quick! Will you fetch me the book? I will answer for any mischief that may happen.” This decided the boy. He enjoined the king to keep a watchful eye over the goose which he called the gardener—a splendid gander, who might run off directly, leading the whole herd after him. Then the boy gave him the whip, and ran off, but soon stood still, and then came back again. “What does this mean?” cried the king to him. “Crack it once!” ordered the boy. The king tried it, but it would not crack at all. “That's just what I thought!” exclaimed the boy. “The school-master fancies he can take care of geese, and cannot even crack the whip!” Then he took the whip out of the king's hand, and showed him how to crack it. His majesty could scarcely repress his laughter; he tried all he could to learn how to crack it, and when he had succeeded, the boy enjoined him to use it at the right moment, and then ran away. Now the king could laugh as much as he liked. But, in fact, it seemed as if the geese observed at once that their young but severe master no longer held the reins of government. The gander which the boy had pointed out as the court gardener raised his long neck, looked everywhere around him, uttered several “quack! quack!” and then all the geese raised their wings, screamed aloud, and, before the king could look around, rushed off to all points of the compass in the meadows around the lake. The king cried out—it was of no use; he wanted to crack the whip, but the whip gave out no sound; he ran to the right, he ran to the left—all of no use whatever. Out of breath with laughing, he sat down on the trunk of a tree, where the boy had been sitting, and let the geese go. “The boy was really right,” he said to himself, “that it is easier to govern a couple of millions of men than to manage a herd of geese. Only it was that scoundrel, the court gardener, who was the cause of all this mischief.” The boy meanwhile had found the book, and came merrily back. But when he saw what had happened, he let the book fall out of his hand. “There we have it!” he exclaimed, sobbing with anger and grief. “Didn't I say you understood nothing about it? Just look now! I can't collect them together by myself. Now you will have to help me!” After the boy had instructed the king how he must lift up his arms, wave them about, and shout aloud, he ran off to fetch the most distant of the strayed flock. The king did all that was in his power, and after great exertions the whole flock was at last assembled again; then the boy began to scold the king for doing his duty so badly, concluding with these words:— “Never in my life will I trust the whip out of my hands again. I wouldn't even trust it to the king himself, if he tried to persuade me to leave my flock.” “You are right, my brave lad,” said the king, bursting into a loud laugh; “he understands no more about it than I do, for I am the king myself.” “You? You may make a simpleton believe that, but not me!” he exclaimed. “Take your book, and make haste and go home. To pretend, indeed, that you are the king after showing yourself so clumsy!” “Don't be out of temper,” said the good-natured king, as he offered him another florin. “I will pledge you my word never again to take charge of geese.” The boy thanked him, thought for a little while, then said: “Whoever you are, you are a good gentleman; but don't deceive yourself that you are a goose herder. Remember the proverb, ‘Shoemaker, stick to your last.’” —Illustrated Christian Weekly.