A cobbler sat in his little workshop, surrounded by shoes both old and new. Some were waiting patiently to be repaired, while others were being crafted from scratch. Deeply absorbed in his work, he scarcely noticed that the afternoon had already begun to fade towards evening. He hoped to finish the pair of shoes he had promised a customer, for it had become a rare thing indeed for someone to order a brand-new pair made to measure. Because of that, he poured all his skill, pride and devotion into creating footwear that would be as beautiful as it was comfortable.

The workshop door stood wide open. It was summer, after all, and a room filled with the scent of leather, glue and polish welcomed every breath of fresh air. Upon his workbench stood a sturdy wooden toolbox, filled to the brim with every instrument a cobbler might ever need. The bench itself was crowded with tools and materials, while a pair of shoelaces lay nearby, ready to be used.

Just then the little bell above the door gave a cheerful ring. The cobbler looked up.

"Hm?"

There was no one there. Puzzled, he rose from his chair and leaned across the workbench. Then he began to smile. No customer had entered at all. Instead, a squirrel was marching purposefully across the floor towards him.

Sitting down again, the cobbler chuckled.

"And what might a forest dweller be doing in my workshop?"

Naturally, no understandable answer came - only the lively chatter that squirrels are known for. Without the slightest hesitation, the tiny visitor sprang onto the workbench and settled in front of him, studying him with great seriousness. Apparently satisfied with what it saw, it turned its attention to the shoe upon which the cobbler was working. It sniffed it carefully, then reached out with one tiny paw to examine the leather.

"And what are you up to?" the cobbler wondered aloud.

This was certainly no ordinary squirrel. It behaved as though it belonged there, looking around with endless curiosity. Soon it spotted the shoelaces. In a flash one of them belonged to the squirrel. It immediately began playing with its prize. The cobbler watched with an amused smile before returning to his stitching. Meanwhile, the squirrel scampered over to the toolbox and began rummaging through it. 

"Now then," the cobbler laughed, "don't go breaking anything, you little curious squirrel."

The squirrel looked at him in a way that clearly suggested he ought not to make such a fuss. One by one it examined every single tool, sniffing each one carefully, touching it with delicate little paws, and placing it back exactly where it had found it.

The cobbler rose from his chair and disappeared into the room behind the workshop. After a moment he returned carrying a small bowl filled with hazelnuts. He placed it on the bench and quietly resumed his work. The little visitor looked positively delighted. It said something in the squirrel language—it certainly sounded friendly - and immediately helped itself to a nut.

And so the two spent a peaceful afternoon together. The squirrel showed not the slightest intention of leaving. When evening came, the cobbler reluctantly closed the workshop door and locked it. The squirrel seemed entirely unconcerned. It glanced around, then hopped onto a cupboard where several rather well-used cloths had been left. Curling itself into a tiny ball, it prepared to spend the night there.

The cobbler smiled. "So that's your plan, is it?"

Taking a small wicker basket, he lined it with fresh, clean cloths and made the little creature a cosy bed. The invitation was accepted without hesitation. The squirrel carried its treasured shoelace into the basket, curled up around it, and settled down as happily as could be.

"Well," the cobbler said softly, "if you're going to stay, you'll need a name."

He thought for a moment.

"I shall call you Iwariiri - which means Curiosity. Do you like it?"

His newest member of the household answered with a gentle little chirp before drifting peacefully to sleep.

Before retiring to his modest rooms behind the workshop, the cobbler opened the window so Iwariiri would never feel trapped, placed a small bowl of fresh water beside the nuts, and wished the little squirrel good night.

The following morning he entered his workshop - and stopped in astonishment. His workbench had been tidied to perfection. The shoes he had been making stood neatly waiting for him, while every single tool had been arranged in perfect order, ready for use. For one bewildered moment he wondered whether the legendary little brownies had paid him a visit during the night. 

Then he noticed Iwariiri. The squirrel sat proudly upon the bench, looking at him with an expression that seemed to say, Well? What do you think? The cobbler could scarcely believe his eyes.

"Y-you did this?" he stammered.

Iwariiri nodded. His knees suddenly felt rather weak, and he had to sit down before they gave way altogether. The squirrel chattered cheerfully, and quite unexpectedly a thought entered the cobbler's mind. 

This cannot be an ordinary squirrel. It must be some little woodland spirit... one of the good kind.

His hands still trembled with excitement as he began his day's work, while Iwariiri played happily with the shoelaces as though it were the most ordinary squirrel in the world.

Around midday a customer arrived to collect a pair of shoes he had left for repair. The cobbler prepared the bill. Before he could fetch the shoes, however, Iwariiri leapt onto a shelf, climbed into the correct compartment, and dragged the customer's shoes - one after the other - onto the workbench. The very right pair.

The customer was speechless. The cobbler struggled to remain composed. Finally the gentleman laughed.

"My goodness! You've trained that squirrel splendidly! I've never seen anything quite like it."

With a smile he placed a few coins upon the bench.

"For you, little squirrel."

Then he tipped his hat and departed.

Later that afternoon the gentleman who had ordered the new shoes arrived to try them on. They fitted perfectly. He declared them the most comfortable shoes he had ever worn. Delighted, he too left a few coins for Iwariiri.

The cobbler carefully placed them into a little cup beside the squirrel's basket.

"Those are your earnings, my little one," he said with a smile. Iwariiri answered with a contented chatter.

That afternoon proved unusually busy. Customers arrived one after another with worn boots, damaged shoes, and requests for brand-new pairs. Before long, the cobbler found himself apologising for longer waiting times, for he had no assistants and could only work so quickly.

"Well," he thought to himself, "it's just one particularly busy day."

But he was mistaken. The same thing happened the next day. And the day after that. Then the following week. Soon he was obliged to employ two journeymen simply to keep up with the growing number of customers.

Through it all, Iwariiri remained faithfully at his side - fetching shoes, tidying the workbench, and filling the little workshop with cheerful company. The cobbler considered himself the happiest man alive.

Iwariiri had brought good fortune into his life.

And the little squirrel remained his loyal companion until the very end of his days.