One day her mother gave her a pair of new shoes; and after a fuss about
putting them on, Kitty said, as she lay kicking on the floor,--

"I wish these were seven-leagued boots, like Jack the Giant Killer's, then
it would be easy to run errands all the time. Now, I hate to keep
trotting, and I don't like new shoes, and I won't stir a step."

Just as she said that, the shoes gave a skip, and set her on her feet so
suddenly that it scared all the naughtiness out of her. She stood looking
at these curious shoes; and the bright buttons on them seemed to wink at
her like eyes, while the heels tapped on the floor a sort of tune. Before
she dared to stir, her mother called from the next room,--

"Kitty, run and tell the cook to make a pie for dinner; I forgot it."

"I don't want to," began Kitty, with a whine as usual.

But the words were hardly out of her mouth when the shoes gave one jump,
and took her downstairs, through the hall, and landed her at the kitchen
door. Her breath was nearly gone; but she gave the message, and turned
round, trying to see if the shoes would let her walk at all. They went
nicely till she wanted to turn into the china-closet where the cake was.
She was forbidden to touch it, but loved to take a bit when she could. Now
she found that her feet were fixed fast to the floor, and could not be
moved till her father said, as he passed the window close by,--

"You will have time to go to the post-office before school and get my
letters."