I just finished a re-read of this Tolkien short story, and I liked the heartfelt reverence JRRT shows for the world of fantasy. Young Smith swallows the magical star hidden in the Great Cake baked for children every 24th winter in the village of Wootton Major, and becomes a repeat traveler in the land of Faery, and his travels have the benefit of adding beauty, charm, and endurance to his subsequent blacksmith work and to his relationships with his family and neighbors.
The Feast had been in mid-winter, but it was now June, and the night was hardly dark at all. The boy got up before dawn, for he did not wish to sleep: it was his tenth birthday. He looked out of the window, and the world seemed quiet and expectant. A little breeze, cool and fragrant, stirred the waking trees. Then the dawn came, and far away he heard the dawn-song of the birds beginning, growing as it came towards him, until it rushed over him, filling all the land round the house, and passed on like a wave of music into the West, as the sun rose above the rim of the world.
"It reminds me of Faery," he heard himself say, "but in Faery the people sing, too." Then he began to sing, high and clear, in strange words that he seemed to know by heart; and in that moment the star fell out of his mouth and he caught it on his open hand. It was bright silver now, glistening in the sunlight; but it quivered and rose a little, as if it were about to fly away. Without thinking he clapped his hand to his head, and there the star stayed in the middle of his forehead, and he wore it for many years.
Few people in the village noticed it though it was not invisible to attentive eyes; but it became part of his face, and it did not usually shine at all. Some of its light passed into his eyes; and his voice, which had begun to grow beautiful as soon as the star came to him, became ever more beautiful as he grew up. People liked to hear him speak, even if it was no more than a "good morning."
He became well known in his country, not only in his own village but in many others round about, but in many others round about, for his good workmanship. His father was a smith, and he followed him in his craft and bettered it. Smithson he was called while his father was still alive, and then just Smith. For by that time he was the best smith between Far Easton and the Westwood, and he could make all kinds of things of iron in his smithy. Most of them, of course, were plain and useful, meant for daily needs: farm tools, carpenter's tools, kitchen tools and pots and pans, bars and bolts and hinges, pot-hooks, fire-dogs, and horse-shoes, and the like. They were strong and lasting, but they also had a grace about them, being shapely in their kinds, good to handle and to look at.
But some things, when he had time, he made for delight; and they were beautiful for he could work iron into wonderful forms that looked as light and delicate as a spray of leaves and blossom, but kept the stern strength of iron, or seemed even stronger. Few could pass by one of the gates or lattices that he made without stopping to admire it; no one could pass through it once it was shut. He sang when he was making things of this sort; and when Smith began to sing those nearby stopped their own work and came to the smithy to listen.
The star gives Smith the ability to envision and explore a fantasy world, and he values the ability because of how it enhances so many aspects of his own life. This attitude of Smith's stands in stark contrast to that of the village's Master Cook, Nokes, who considers matters concerning fantasy to be of great silliness.
His chief notion was that it should be very sweet and rich; and he decided that it should be entirely covered in sugar-icing (at which Prentice [a skilled assistant of Nokes that takes matters of fantasy quite seriously] had a clever hand). "That will make it pretty and fairylike," he thought. Fairies and sweets were two of the very few notions he had about the tastes of children. Fairies he thought one grew out of; but of sweets he remained very fond. "Ah! fairylike," he said, "that gives me an idea"; and so it came into his head that he would stick a little doll on a pinnacle in the middle of the Cake, dressed all in white, with a little wand in her hand ending in a tinsel star and Fairy Queen written in pink icing round her feet.
But when he began preparing the materials for the cake-making he found that he had only dim memories of what should go inside a Great Cake; so he looked in some old books of recipes left behind by previous cooks. They puzzled him, even when he could make out their handwriting, for they mentioned many things that he had not heard of, and some that he had forgotten and now had no time to get; but he thought that he might try one or two of the spices that the books spoke of. He scratched his head and remembered an old black box with several different compartments in which the last Cook had once kept spices and other things for special cakes. He had not looked at it since he took over, but after a search he found it on a high shelf in a store-room.
He took it down and blew the dust off the lid; but when he opened it he found that very little of the spices was let, and they were dry and musty. But in one compartment in the corner he discovered a small star, hardly as big as one of our sixpences, black-looking as if it was made of silver but was tarnished. "That's funny!" he said as he held it up to the light.
"No, it isn't!" said a voice behind him , so suddenly that he jumped. It was the voice of Prentice, and he had never spoken to the Master in that tone before. Indeed he seldom spoke to Nokes at all unless he was spoken to first. Very right and proper in a youngster; he might be clever with icing but he had a lot to learn yet: that was Nokes's opinion.
"What do you mean, young fellow?" he said, not much pleased. "If it isn't funny what is it?"
"It is fay," said Prentice. "It comes from Faery."
Then the Cook laughed. "All right, all right," he said. "It means much the same, but call it that if you like. You'll grow up some day. Now you can get on with stoning the raisins. If you notice any funny fairy ones, tell me."
"What are you going to do with the star, Master?" said Prentice.
"Put it into the Cake, of course," said the Cook. "Just the thing, especially if it's fairy," he sniggered. "I daresay you've been to children's parties yourself, and not so long ago either, when little trinkets like this were stirred into the mixture, and little coins and what not. Anyway, we do that in this village: it amuses the children."
"But this isn't a trinket, Master, it's a fay-star," said Prentice.
"So you've said already," snapped the Cook. Very well, I'll tell the children. It'll make them laugh."
"I don't think it will, Master," said Prentice. "But it's the right thing to do, quite right."
"Who do you think you're talking to?" said Nokes.
Nokes thinks fantasy is only for children, has no idea what really goes into it, and envisions it only has to do with sweets, and so disdains it. Smith (and Prentice) sees matters of fantasy as having value deep inside themselves, as something worthy of serious consideration. Thus people who appreciate matters of fantasy are perceptive and appreciate matters greater than themselves, while people who disdain matters of fantasy are shortsighted and vain. That's what I get from this Tolkien short story, which is gracefully written, and seems allegorical (despite Tolkien saying he dislikes allegory).