Stories to Tell to Children

by

Sara Cone Bryant

CONTENTS

 SOME SUGGESTIONS FOR THE STORY-TELLER STORIES FOR REPRODUCTION STORY-TELLING IN TEACHING ENGLISH TWO LITTLE RIDDLES IN RHYME THE LITTLE PINK ROSE THE COCK-A-DOO-DLE-DOO THE CLOUD THE LITTLE RED HEN THE GINGERBREAD MAN THE LITTLE JACKALS AND THE LION THE COUNTRY MOUSE AND THE CITY MOUSE LITTLE JACK ROLLAROUND HOW BROTHER RABBIT FOOLED THE WHALE AND THE ELEPHANT THE LITTLE HALF-CHICK THE LAMBIKIN THE BLACKBERRY-BUSH THE FAIRIES THE ADVENTURES OF THE LITTLE FIELD MOUSE ANOTHER LITTLE RED HEN THE STORY OF THE LITTLE RID HIN THE STORY OF EPAMINONDAS AND HIS AUNTIE THE BOY WHO CRIED "WOLF!" THE FROG KING THE SUN AND THE WIND THE LITTLE JACKAL AND THE ALLIGATOR THE LARKS IN THE CORNFIELD A TRUE STORY ABOUT A GIRL MY KINGDOM PICCOLA THE LITTLE FIR TREE HOW MOSES WAS SAVED THE TEN FAIRIES THE ELVES AND THE SHOEMAKER WHO KILLED THE OTTER'S BABIES? EARLY THE BRAHMIN, THE TIGER, AND THE JACKAL THE LITTLE JACKAL AND THE CAMEL THE GULLS OF SALT LAKE THE NIGHTINGALE MARGERY'S GARDEN THE LITTLE COTYLEDONS THE TALKATIVE TORTOISE ROBERT OF SICILY THE JEALOUS COURTIERS PRINCE CHERRY THE GOLD IN THE ORCHARD MARGARET OF NEW ORLEANS THE DAGDA'S HARP THE TAILOR AND THE THREE BEASTS THE CASTLE OF FORTUNE DAVID AND GOLIATH THE SHEPHERD'S SONG THE HIDDEN SERVANTS

SOME SUGGESTIONS FOR THE STORY-TELLER

Concerning the fundamental points of method in telling a story, I havelittle to add to the principles which I have already stated asnecessary, in my opinion, in the book of which this is, in a way, thecontinuation. But in the two years which have passed since that bookwas written, I have had the happiness of working on stories and thetelling of them, among teachers and students all over this country, andin that experience certain secondary points of method have come to seemmore important, or at least more in need of emphasis, than they didbefore. As so often happens, I had assumed that "those things aretaken for granted;" whereas, to the beginner or the teacher notnaturally a story-teller, the secondary or implied technique is oftenof greater difficulty than the mastery of underlying principles. Thefew suggestions which follow are of this practical, obvious kind. 

Take your story seriously. No matter how riotously absurd it is, orhow full of inane repetition, remember, if it is good enough to tell, it is a real story, and must be treated with respect. If you cannotfeel so toward it, do not tell it. Have faith in the story, and in theattitude of the children toward it and you. If you fail in this, theimmediate result will be a touch of shame-facedness, affecting yourmanner unfavorably, and, probably, influencing your accuracy andimaginative vividness. 

Perhaps I can make the point clearer by telling you about one of thegirls in a class which was studying stories last winter; I feel sure ifshe or any of her fellow students recognizes the incident, she will notresent being made to serve the good cause, even in the unattractiveguise of a warning example. 

A few members of the class had prepared the story of "The Fisherman andhis Wife. " The first girl called on was evidently inclined to feelthat it was rather a foolish story. She tried to tell it well, butthere were parts of it which produced in her the touch ofshamefacedness to which I have referred. 

When she came to the rhyme, --

 "O man of the sea, come, listen to me, For Alice, my wife, the plague of my life, Has sent me to beg a boon of thee, "

she said it rather rapidly. At the first repetition she said it stillmore rapidly; the next time she came to the jingle she said it so fastand so low that it was unintelligible; and the next recurrence was toomuch for her. With a blush and a hesitating smile she said, "And hesaid that same thing, you know!" Of course everybody laughed, and ofcourse the thread of interest and illusion was hopelessly broken foreverybody. 

Now, any one who chanced to hear Miss Shedlock tell that same storywill remember that the absurd rhyme gave great opportunity forexpression, in its very repetition; each time that the fisherman cameto the water's edge his chagrin and unwillingness was greater, and hissummons to the magic fish mirrored his feeling. The jingle IS foolish;that is a part of the charm. But if the person who tells it FEELSfoolish, there is no charm at all! It is the same principle whichapplies to any address to any assemblage: if the speaker has the air offinding what he has to say absurd or unworthy of effort, the audiencenaturally tends to follow his lead, and find it not worth listening to. 

Let me urge, then, take your story seriously. 

Next, "take your time. " This suggestion needs explaining, perhaps. Itdoes not mean license to dawdle. Nothing is much more annoying in aspeaker than too great deliberateness, or than hesitation of speech. But it means a quiet realization of the fact that the floor is yours, everybody wants to hear you, there is time enough for every point andshade of meaning and no one will think the story too long. This mentalattitude must underlie proper control of speed. Never hurry. Abusiness-like leisure is the true attitude of the storyteller. 

And the result is best attained by concentrating one's attention on theepisodes of the story. Pass lightly, and comparatively swiftly, overthe portions between actual episodes, but take all the time you needfor the elaboration of those. And above all, do not FEEL hurried. 

The next suggestion is eminently plain and practical, if not an all tooobvious one. It is this: if all your preparation and confidence failsyou at the crucial moment, and memory plays the part of traitor in someparticular, if, in short, you blunder on a detail of the story, NEVERADMIT IT. If it was an unimportant detail which you misstated, passright on, accepting whatever you said, and continuing with it; if youhave been so unfortunate as to omit a fact which was a necessary linkin the chain, put it in, later, as skillfully as you can, and with asdeceptive an appearance of its being in the intended order; but nevertake the children behind the scenes, and let them hear the creaking ofyour mental machinery. You must be infallible. You must be in thesecret of the mystery, and admit your audience on somewhat unequalterms; they should have no creeping doubts as to your completeinitiation into the secrets of the happenings you relate. 

Plainly, there can be lapses of memory so complete, so all-embracing, that frank failure is the only outcome, but these are so few as not toneed consideration, when dealing with so simple material as that ofchildren's stories. There are times, too, before an adult audience, when a speaker can afford to let his hearers be amused with him over achance mistake. But with children it is most unwise to break the spellof the entertainment in that way. Consider, in the matter of a detailof action or description, how absolutely unimportant the mere accuracyis, compared with the effect of smoothness and the enjoyment of thehearers. They will not remember the detail, for good or evil, half solong as they will remember the fact that you did not know it. So, fortheir sakes, as well as for the success of your story, cover your slipsof memory, and let them be as if they were not. 

And now I come to two points in method which have to do especially withhumorous stories. The first is the power of initiating theappreciation of the joke. Every natural humorist does this by instinctand the value of the power to story-teller can hardly be overestimated. To initiate appreciation does not mean that one necessarily gives wayto mirth, though even that is sometimes natural and effective; onemerely feels the approach of the humorous climax, and subtly suggeststo the hearers that it will soon be "time to laugh. " The suggestionusually comes in the form of facial expression, and in the tone. Andchildren are so much simpler, and so much more accustomed to followinganother's lead than their elders, that the expression can be much moreoutright and unguarded than would be permissible with a mature audience. 

Children like to feel the joke coming, in this way; they love theanticipation of a laugh, and they will begin to dimple, often, at yourfirst unconscious suggestion of humor. If it is lacking, they aresometimes afraid to follow their own instincts. Especially when you arefacing an audience of grown people and children together, you will findthat the latter are very hesitant about initiating their own expressionof humor. It is more difficult to make them forget their surroundingsthen, and more desirable to give them a happy lead. Often at thefunniest point you will see some small listener in an agony of endeavorto cloak the mirth which he--poor mite--fears to be indecorous. Lethim see that it is "the thing" to laugh, and that everybody is going to. 

Having so stimulated the appreciation of the humorous climax, it isimportant to give your hearers time for the full savor of the jest topermeate their consciousness. It is really robbing an audience of itsrights, to pass so quickly from one point to another that the mind mustlose a new one if it lingers to take in the old. Every vital point ina tale must be given a certain amount of time: by an anticipatorypause, by some form of vocal or repetitive emphasis, and by actualtime. But even more than other tales does the funny story demand this. It cannot be funny without it. 

Every one who is familiar with the theatre must have noticed howcareful all comedians are to give this pause for appreciation andlaughter. Often the opportunity is crudely given, or too liberallyoffered; and that offends. But in a reasonable degree the practice isundoubtedly necessary to any form of humorous expression. 

A remarkably good example of the type of humorous story to which theseprinciples of method apply, is the story of "Epaminondas. " It will beplain to any reader that all the several funny crises are of theperfectly unmistakable sort children like, and that, moreover, thesefunny spots are not only easy to see; they are easy to foresee. Theteller can hardly help sharing the joke in advance, and the tale is anexcellent one with which to practice for power in the points mentioned. 

Epaminondas is a valuable little rascal from other points of view, andI mean to return to him, to point a moral. But just here I want spacefor a word or two about the matter of variety of subject and style inschool stories. 

There are two wholly different kinds of story which are equallynecessary for children, I believe, and which ought to be given in aboutthe proportion of one to three, in favor of the second kind; I make theratio uneven because the first kind is more dominating in its effect. 

The first kind is represented by such stories as the "Pig Brother, "which has now grown so familiar to teachers that it will serve forillustration without repetition here. It is the type of story whichspecifically teaches a certain ethical or conduct lesson, in the formof a fable or an allegory, --it passes on to the child the conclusionsas to conduct and character, to which the race has, in general, attained through centuries of experience and moralizing. The storybecomes a part of the outfit of received ideas on manners and moralswhich is an inescapable and necessary possession of the heir ofcivilization. 

Children do not object to these stories in the least, if the storiesare good ones. They accept them with the relish which nature seems tomaintain for all truly nourishing material. And the little tales areone of the media through which we elders may transmit some very slightshare of the benefit received by us, in turn, from actual ortransmitted experience. 

The second kind has no preconceived moral to offer, makes no attempt toaffect judgment or to pass on a standard. It simply presents a pictureof life, usually in fable or poetic image, and says to the hearer, "These things are. " The hearer, then, consciously or otherwise, passesjudgment on the facts. His mind says, "These things are good;" or, "This was good, and that, bad;" or, "This thing is desirable, " or thecontrary. 

The story of "The Little Jackal and the Alligator" is a goodillustration of this type. It is a character-story. In the naive formof a folk tale, it doubtless embodies the observations of a seeing eye, in a country and time when the little jackal and the great alligatorwere even more vivid images of certain human characters than they noware. Again and again, surely, the author or authors of the tales musthave seen the weak, small, clever being triumph over the bulky, well-accoutred, stupid adversary. Again and again they had laughed atthe discomfiture of the latter, perhaps rejoicing in it the morebecause it removed fear from their own houses. And probably never hadthey concerned themselves particularly with the basic ethics of thestruggle. It was simply one of the things they saw. It was life. Sothey made a picture of it. 

The folk tale so made, and of such character, comes to the childsomewhat as an unprejudiced newspaper account of to-day's happeningscomes to us. It pleads no cause, except through its contents; itexercises no intentioned influence on our moral judgment; it is there, as life is there, to be seen and judged. And only through such seeingand judging can the individual perception attain to anything of poweror originality. Just as a certain amount of received ideas isnecessary to sane development, so is a definite opportunity forfirst-hand judgments essential to power. 

In this epoch of well-trained minds we run some risk of an inundationof accepted ethics. The mind which can make independent judgments, canlook at new facts with fresh vision, and reach conclusions withsimplicity, is the perennial power in the world. And this is the mindwe are not noticeably successful in developing, in our system ofschooling. Let us at least have its needs before our consciousness, inour attempts to supplement the regular studies of school by suchside-activities as story-telling. Let us give the children a fairproportion of stories which stimulate independent moral and practicaldecisions. 

And now for a brief return to our little black friend. "Epaminondas"belongs to a very large, very ancient type of funny story: the tale inwhich the jest depends wholly on an abnormal degree of stupidity on thepart of the hero. Every race which produces stories seems to havefound this theme a natural outlet for its childlike laughter. Thestupidity of Lazy Jack, of Big Claus, of the Good Man, of Clever Alice, all have their counterparts in the folly of the small Epaminondas. 

Evidently, such stories have served a purpose in the education of therace. While the exaggeration of familiar attributes easily awakensmirth in a simple mind, it does more: it teaches practical lessons ofwisdom and discretion. And possibly the lesson was the original causeof the story. 

Not long ago, I happened upon an instance of the teaching power ofthese nonsense tales, so amusing and convincing that I cannot forbearto share it. A primary teacher who heard me tell "Epaminondas" oneevening, told it to her pupils the next morning, with great effect. Ayoung teacher who was observing in the room at the time told me whatbefell. She said the children laughed very heartily over the story, andevidently liked it much. About an hour later, one of them was sent tothe board to do a little problem. It happened that the child made anexcessively foolish mistake, and did not notice it. As he glanced atthe teacher for the familiar smile of encouragement, she simply raisedher hands, and ejaculated "'For the law's sake!'"

It was sufficient. The child took the cue instantly. He lookedhastily at his work, broke into an irrepressible giggle, rubbed thefigures out, without a word, and began again. And the whole classentered into the joke with the gusto of fellow-fools, for once wise. 

It is safe to assume that the child in question will make fewerneedless mistakes for a long time because of the wholesome reminder ofhis likeness with one who "ain't got the sense he was born with. " Andwhat occurred so visibly in his case goes on quietly in the hiddenrecesses of the mind in many cases. One "Epaminondas" is worth threelectures. 

I wish there were more of such funny little tales in the world'sliterature, all ready, as this one is, for telling to the youngest ofour listeners. But masterpieces are few in any line, and stories fortelling are no exception; it took generations, probably, to make thisone. The demand for new sources of supply comes steadily from teachersand mothers, and is the more insistent because so often met by thedisappointing recommendations of books which prove to be for readingonly, rather than for telling. It would be a delight to print a listof fifty, twenty-five, even ten books which would be found full ofstories to tell without much adapting. But I am grateful to have foundeven fewer than the ten, to which I am sure the teacher can turn withreal profit. The following names are, of course, additional to thelist contained in "How to Tell Stories to Children. "

ALL ABOUT JOHNNIE JONES. By Carolyn Verhoeff. Milton Bradley Co. , Springfield, Mass. Valuable for kindergartners as a supply ofrealistic stories with practical lessons in simplest form. 

OLD DECCAN DAYS. By Mary Frere. Joseph McDonough, Albany, New York. A splendid collection of Hindu folk tales, adaptable for all ages. 

THE SILVER CROWN. By Laura E. Richards. Little, Brown & Co. , Boston. Poetic fables with beautiful suggestions of ethical truths. 

THE CHILDREN'S HOUR. BY Eva March Tappan. Houghton, Mifflin & Co. , Boston, New York, and Chicago. A classified collection, in tenvolumes, of fairy, folk tales, fables, realistic, historical, andpoetical stories. 

FOR THE CHILDREN'S HOUR. BY Carolyn Bailey and Clara Lewis. MiltonBradley Co. , Springfield. A general collection of popular stories, welltold. 

THE SONS OF CORMAC. By Aldis Dunbar. Longmans, Green & Co. , London. Rather mature but very fine Irish stories. 

For the benefit of suggestion to teachers in schools wherestory-telling is newly or not yet introduced in systematic form, I amglad to append the following list of stories which have been found, onseveral years' trial, to be especially tellable and likable, in certaingrades of the Providence schools, in Rhode Island. The list is notmine, although it embodies some of my suggestions. I offer it merelyas a practical result of the effort to equalize and extend thestory-hour throughout the schools. Its makers would be the last toclaim ideal merit for it, and they are constantly improving anddeveloping it. I am indebted for the privilege of using it to theprimary teachers of Providence, and to their supervisor, Miss Ella L. Sweeney. 

STORIES FOR REPRODUCTION

 FIRST GRADE Chicken Little The Dog and his Shadow Barnyard Talk The Hare and the Hound Little Red Hen Five Little Rabbits Little Gingerbread Boy The Three Bears The Lion and the Mouse The Red-headed Wood- The Hungry Lion pecker The Wind and the Sun Little Red Riding-Hood The Fox and the Crow Little Half-Chick The Duck and the Hen The Rabbit and the Turtle The Hare and the Tortoise The Shoemaker and the The Three Little Robins Fairies The Wolf and the Kid The Wolf and the Crane The Crow and the Pitcher The Cat and the Mouse The Fox and the Grapes Snow-White and Rose-Red

 SECOND GRADE The North Wind The Lark and her Little The Mouse Pie Ones The Wonderful Traveler The Wolf and the Goslings The Wolf and the Fox The Ugly Duckling The Star Dollars The Country Mouse and the The Water-Lily City Mouse The Three Goats The Three Little Pigs The Boy and the Nuts Diamonds and Toads The Honest Woodman The Thrifty Squirrel The Pied Piper How the Robin's Breast King Midas became Red The Town Musicians The Old Woman and her Raggylug Pig Peter Rabbit The Sleeping Apple The Boy who cried "Wolf" The Cat and the Parrot

 THIRD GRADE The Crane Express How the Mole became Little Black Sambo Blind The Lantern and the Fan How Fire was brought to Why the Bear has a Short the Indians Tail Echo Why the Fox has a White Piccola Tip to his Tail The Story of the Morning- Why the Wren flies low Glory Seed Jack and the Beanstalk The Discontented Pine The Talkative Tortoise Tree Fleet Wing and Sweet Voice The Bag of Winds The Golden Fleece The Foolish Weather-Vane The Little Boy who wanted The Shut-up Posy the Moon Pandora's Box Benjy in Beastland The Little Match Girl Tomtit's Peep at the World

 FOURTH GRADE Arachne The First Snowdrop The Porcelain Stove The Three Golden Apples Moufflou Androclus and the Lion Clytie The Old Man and his The Legend of the Trailing Donkey Arbutus The Leak in the Dike Latona and the Frogs King Tawny Mane Dick Whittington and his The Little Lame Prince Cat Appleseed John Dora, the Little Girl of the Narcissus Lighthouse Why the Sea is Salt Proserpine The Little Hero of Haarlem The Miraculous Pitcher The Bell of Justice

STORY-TELLING IN TEACHING ENGLISH

I have to speak now of a phase of elementary education which lies veryclose to my warmest interest, which, indeed, could easily become anactive hobby if other interests did not beneficently tug at my skirtswhen I am minded to mount and ride too wildly. It is the hobby of manyof you who are teachers, also, and I know you want to hear itdiscussed. I mean the growing effort to teach English and Englishliterature to children in the natural way: by speaking andhearing, --orally. 

We are coming to a realization of the fact that our ability, as apeople, to use English is pitifully inadequate and perverted. ThoseAmericans who are not blinded by a limited horizon of culturedacquaintance, and who have given themselves opportunity to hear thenatural speech of the younger generation in varying sections of theUnited States, must admit that it is no exaggeration to say that thiscountry at large has no standard of English speech. There is nogeneral sense of responsibility to our mother tongue (indeed, it is inan overwhelming degree not our mother tongue) and no generalappreciation of its beauty or meaning. The average young person inevery district save a half-dozen jealously guarded little precincts ofgood taste, uses inexpressive, ill-bred words, spoken without regard totheir just sound-effects, and in a voice which is an injury to the earof the mind, as well as a torment to the physical ear. 

The structure of the language and the choice of words are dark mattersto most of our young Americans; this has long been acknowledged andstruggled against. But even darker, and quite equally destructive toEnglish expression, is their state of mind regarding pronunciation, enunciation, and voice. It is the essential connection of theseelements with English speech that we have been so slow to realize. Wehave felt that they were externals, desirable but not necessaryadjuncts, --pretty tags of an exceptional gift or culture. Many anintelligent school director to-day will say, "I don't care much aboutHOW you say a thing; it is WHAT you say that counts. " He cannot seethat voice and enunciation and pronunciation are essentials. But theyare. You can no more help affecting the meaning of your words by theway you say them than you can prevent the expressions of your face fromcarrying a message; the message may be perverted by an uncouth habit, but it will no less surely insist on recognition. 

The fact is that speech is a method of carrying ideas from one humansoul to another, by way of the ear. And these ideas are very complex. They are not unmixed emanations of pure intellect, transmitted to pureintellect: they are compounded of emotions, thoughts, fancies, and areenhanced or impeded in transmission by the use of word-symbols whichhave acquired, by association, infinite complexities in themselves. The mood of the moment, the especial weight of a turn of thought, thedesire of the speaker to share his exact soul-concept with you, --theseseek far more subtle means than the mere rendering of certain vocalsigns; they demand such variations and delicate adjustments of sound aswill inevitably affect the listening mind with the response desired. 

There is no "what" without the "how" in speech. The same writtensentence becomes two diametrically opposite ideas, given opposinginflection and accompanying voice-effect. "He stood in the front rankof the battle" can be made praiseful affirmation, scornful skepticism, or simple question, by a simple varying of voice and inflection. Thisis the more unmistakable way in which the "how" affects the "what. "Just as true is the less obvious fact. The same written sentiment, spoken by Wendell Phillips and by a man from the Bowery or anuneducated ranchman, is not the same to the listener. In one case thesentiment comes to the mind's ear with certain completing and enhancingqualities of sound which give it accuracy and poignancy. The wordsthemselves retain all their possible suggestiveness in the speaker'sjust and clear enunciation, and have a borrowed beauty, besides, fromthe associations of fine habit betrayed in the voice and manner ofspeech. And, further, the immense personal equation shows itself inthe beauty and power of the vocal expressiveness, which carries shadesof meaning, unguessed delicacies of emotion, intimations of beauty, toevery ear. In the other case, the thought is clouded by unavoidablesuggestions of ignorance and ugliness, brought by the pronunciation andvoice, even to an unanalytical ear; the meaning is obscured byinaccurate inflection and uncertain or corrupt enunciation; but, worstof all, the personal atmosphere, the aroma, of the idea has been lostin transmission through a clumsy, ill-fitted medium. 

The thing said may look the same on a printed page, but it is not thesame when spoken. And it is the spoken sentence which is the originaland the usual mode of communication. 

The widespread poverty of expression in English, which is thus a matterof "how, " and to which we are awakening, must be corrected chiefly, atleast at first, by the common schools. The home is the ideal place forit, but the average home of the United States is no longer a possibleplace for it. The child of foreign parents, the child of parentslittle educated and bred in limited circumstances, the child ofpowerful provincial influences, must all depend on the school forstandards of English. 

And it is the elementary school which must meet the need, if it is tobe met at all. For the conception of English expression which I amtalking of can find no mode of instruction adequate to its meaning, save in constant appeal to the ear, at an age so early that unconscioushabit is formed. No rules, no analytical instruction in laterdevelopment, can accomplish what is needed. Hearing and speaking;imitating, unwittingly and wittingly, a good model; it is to thismethod we must look for redemption from present conditions. 

I believe we are on the eve of a real revolution in Englishteaching, --only it is a revolution which will not break the peace. Thenew way will leave an overwhelming preponderance of oral methods in useup to the fifth or sixth grade, and will introduce a larger proportionof oral work than has ever been contemplated in grammar and high schoolwork. It will recognize the fact that English is primarily somethingspoken with the mouth and heard with the ear. And this recognition willhave greatest weight in the systems of elementary teaching. 

It is as an aid in oral teaching of English that story-telling inschool finds its second value; ethics is the first ground of itsusefulness, English the second, --and after these, the others. It is, too, for the oral uses that the secondary forms of story-telling are soavailable. By secondary I mean those devices which I have tried toindicate, as used by many American teachers, in the chapter on"Specific Schoolroom Uses, " in my earlier book. They are re-telling, dramatization, and forms of seat-work. All of these are a great powerin the hands of a wise teacher. If combined with much attention tovoice and enunciation in the recital of poetry, and with much goodreading aloud BY THE TEACHER, they will go far toward setting astandard and developing good habit. 

But their provinces must not be confused or overestimated. I trust Imay be pardoned for offering a caution or two to the enthusiasticadvocate of these methods, --cautions the need of which has been forcedupon me, in experience with schools. 

A teacher who uses the oral story as an English feature with littlechildren must never lose sight of the fact that it is an aid inunconscious development; not a factor in studied, consciousimprovement. This truth cannot be too strongly realized. Otherexercises, in sufficiency, give the opportunity for regulated effortfor definite results, but the story is one of the play-forces. Its usein English teaching is most valuable when the teacher has a keenappreciation of the natural order of growth in the art of expression:that art requires, as the old rhetorics used often to put it, "anatural facility, succeeded by an acquired difficulty. " In otherwords, the power of expression depends, first, on something morefundamental than the art-element; the basis of it is something to say, ACCOMPANIED BY AN URGENT DESIRE TO SAY IT, and YIELDED TO WITH FREEDOM;only after this stage is reached can the art-phase be of any use. The"why" and "how, " the analytical and constructive phases, have nonatural place in this first vital epoch. 

Precisely here, however, does the dramatizing of stories and thepaper-cutting, etc. , become useful. A fine and thoughtful principal ofa great school asked me, recently, with real concern, about the growinguse of such devices. He said, "Paper-cutting is good, but what has itto do with English?" And then he added: "The children use abominablelanguage when they play the stories; can that directly aid them tospeak good English?" His observation was close and correct, and hisconservatism more valuable than the enthusiasm of some of hiscolleagues who have advocated sweeping use of the supplementary work. But his point of view ignored the basis of expression, which is to mymind so important. Paper-cutting is external to English, of course. Its only connection is in its power to correlate different forms ofexpression, and to react on speech-expression through sense-stimulus. But playing the story is a closer relative to English than this. Ithelps, amazingly, in giving the "something to say, the urgent desire tosay it, " and the freedom in trying. Never mind the crudities, --atleast, at the time; work only for joyous freedom, inventiveness, andnatural forms of reproduction of the ideas given. Look for verygradual changes in speech, through the permeating power of imitation, but do not forget that this is the stage of expression which inevitablyprecedes art. 

All this will mean that no corrections are made, except in flagrantcases of slang or grammar, though all bad slips are mentally noted, forintroduction at a more favorable time. It will mean that the teacherwill respect the continuity of thought and interest as completely asshe would wish an audience to respect her occasional prosy periods ifshe were reading a report. She will remember, of course that she isnot training actors for amateur theatricals, however tempting hershow-material may be; she is simply letting the children play withexpression, just as a gymnasium teacher introduces muscular play, --forpower through relaxation. 

When the time comes that the actors lose their unconsciousness it isthe end of the story-play. Drilled work, the beginning of the art, isthen the necessity. 

I have indicated that the children may be left undisturbed in theircrudities and occasional absurdities. The teacher, on the other hand, must avoid, with great judgment, certain absurdities which can easilybe initiated by her. The first direful possibility is in the choice ofmaterial. It is very desirable that children should not be allowed todramatize stories of a kind so poetic, so delicate, or so potentiallyvaluable that the material is in danger of losing future beauty to thepupils through its present crude handling. Mother Goose is a hardy oldlady, and will not suffer from the grasp of the seven-year-old; and thefamiliar fables and tales of the "Goldilocks" variety have a firmnessof surface which does not let the glamour rub off; but stories in whichthere is a hint of the beauty just beyond the palpable--or of a dignitysuggestive of developed literature--are sorely hurt in theirmetamorphosis, and should be protected from it. They are for tellingonly. 

Another point on which it is necessary to exercise reserve is in thedegree to which any story can be acted. In the justifiable desire tobring a large number of children into the action one must not losesight of the sanity and propriety of the presentation. For example, onemust not make a ridiculous caricature, where a picture, however crude, is the intention. Personally represent only such things as aredefinitely and dramatically personified in the story. If a naturalforce, the wind, for example, is represented as talking and acting likea human being in the story, it can be imaged by a person in the play;but if it remains a part of the picture in the story, performing onlyits natural motions, it is a caricature to enact it as a role. Themost powerful instance of a mistake of this kind which I have ever seenwill doubtless make my meaning clear. In playing a pretty story aboutanimals and children, some children in a primary school were made bythe teacher to take the part of the sea. In the story, the sea wassaid to "beat upon the shore, " as a sea would, without doubt. In theplay, the children were allowed to thump the floor lustily, as apresentation of their watery functions! It was unconscionably funny. Fancy presenting even the crudest image of the mighty sea, surging upon the shore, by a row of infants squatted on the floor and poundingwith their fists! Such pitfalls can be avoided by the simple rule ofpersonifying only characters that actually behave like human beings. 

A caution which directly concerns the art of story telling itself, mustbe added here. There is a definite distinction between the arts ofnarration and dramatization which must never be overlooked. Do not, yourself, half tell and half act the story; and do not let the childrendo it. It is done in very good schools, sometimes, because anenthusiasm for realistic and lively presentation momentarily obscuresthe faculty of discrimination. A much loved and respected teacher whomI recently listened to, and who will laugh if she recognizes herblunder here, offers a good "bad example" in this particular. She saidto an attentive audience of students that she had at last, with muchdifficulty, brought herself to the point where she could forget herselfin her story: where she could, for instance, hop, like the fox, whenshe told the story of the "sour grapes. " She said, "It was hard atfirst, but now it is a matter of course; AND THE CHILDREN DO IT TOO, WHEN THEY TELL THE STORY. " That was the pity! I saw the illustrationmyself a little later. The child who played fox began with a story: hesaid, "Once there was an old fox, and he saw some grapes;" then thechild walked to the other side of the room, and looked up at animaginary vine, and said, "He wanted some; he thought they would tastegood, so he jumped for them;" at this point the child did jump, likehis role; then he continued with his story, "but he couldn't get them. "And so he proceeded, with a constant alternation of narrative anddramatization which was enough to make one dizzy. 

The trouble in such work is, plainly, a lack of discriminatinganalysis. Telling a story necessarily implies non-identification ofthe teller with the event; he relates what occurs or occurred, outsideof his circle of consciousness. Acting a play necessarily impliesidentification of the actor with the event; he presents to you apicture of the thing, in himself. It is a difference wide and clear, and the least failure to recognize it confuses the audience and injuresboth arts. 

In the preceding instances of secondary uses of story-telling I havecome some distance from the great point, the fundamental point, of thepower of imitation in breeding good habit. This power is lessnoticeably active in the dramatizing than in simple re-telling; in thelistening and the re-telling, it is dominant for good. The childimitates what he hears you say and sees you do, and the way you say anddo it, far more closely in the story-hour than in any lesson-period. He is in a more absorbent state, as it were, because there is nopreoccupation of effort. Here is the great opportunity of the culturedteacher; here is the appalling opportunity of the careless or ignorantteacher. For the implications of the oral theory of teaching Englishare evident, concerning the immense importance of the teacher's habit. This is what it all comes to ultimately; the teacher of young childrenmust be a person who can speak English as it should be spoken, --purely, clearly, pleasantly, and with force. 

It is a hard ideal to live up to, but it is a valuable ideal to try tolive up to. And one of the best chances to work toward attainment isin telling stories, for there you have definite material, which you canwork into shape and practice on in private. That practice ought toinclude conscious thought as to one's general manner in the schoolroom, and intelligent effort to understand and improve one's own voice. Ihope I shall not seem to assume the dignity of an authority which nopersonal taste can claim, if I beg a hearing for the following elementsof manner and voice, which appeal to me as essential. They will, probably, appear self-evident to my readers, yet they are often foundwanting in the public school-teacher; it is so much easier to say "whatwere good to do" than to do it!

Three elements of manner seem to me an essential adjunct to thepersonality of a teacher of little children: courtesy, repose vitality. Repose and vitality explain themselves; by courtesy I specifically doNOT mean the habit of mind which contents itself with drilling childrenin "Good-mornings" and in hat-liftings. I mean the attitude of mindwhich recognizes in the youngest, commonest child, the potentialdignity, majesty, and mystery of the developed human soul. Genuinereverence for the humanity of the "other fellow" marks a definitedegree of courtesy in the intercourse of adults, does it not? And thesame quality of respect, tempered by the demands of a wise control, isexactly what is needed among children. Again and again, in dealingwith young minds, the teacher who respects personality as sacred, nomatter how embryonic it be, wins the victories which count for trueeducation. Yet, all too often, we forget the claims of this reverence, in the presence of the annoyances and the needed corrections. 

As for voice: work in schoolrooms brings two opposing mistakesconstantly before me: one is the repressed voice, and the other, theforced. The best way to avoid either extreme, is to keep in mind thatthe ideal is development of one's own natural voice, along its ownnatural lines. A "quiet, gentle voice" is conscientiously aimed at bymany young teachers, with so great zeal that the tone becomes painfullyrepressed, "breathy, " and timid. This is quite as unpleasant as a loudvoice, which is, in turn, a frequent result of early admonitions to"speak up. " Neither is natural. It is wise to determine the naturalvolume and pitch of one's speaking voice by a number of tests, madewhen one is thoroughly rested, at ease, and alone. Find out where yourvoice lies when it is left to itself, under favorable conditions, byreading something aloud or by listening to yourself as you talk to anintimate friend. Then practise keeping it in that general range, unless it prove to have a distinct fault, such as a nervous sharpness, or hoarseness. A quiet voice is good; a hushed voice is abnormal. Aclear tone is restful, but a loud one is wearying. 

Perhaps the common-sense way of setting a standard for one's own voiceis to remember that the purpose of a speaking voice is to communicatewith others; their ears and minds are the receivers of our tones. Forthis purpose, evidently, a voice should be, first of all, easy to hear;next, pleasant to hear; next, susceptible of sufficient variation toexpress a wide range of meaning; and finally, indicative of personality. 

Is it too quixotic to urge teachers who tell stories to little childrento bear these thoughts, and better ones of their own, in mind? Not, Ithink, if it be fully accepted that the story hour, as a play hour, isa time peculiarly open to influences affecting the imitative faculty;that this faculty is especially valuable in forming fine habits ofspeech; and that an increasingly high and general standard of Englishspeech is one of our greatest needs and our most instant opportunitiesin the American schools of to-day. 

And now we come to the stories!

STORIES TO TELL TO CHILDREN

TWO LITTLE RIDDLES IN RHYME[1]

[1] These riddles were taken from the Gaelic, and are charmingexamples of the naive beauty of the old Irish, and of Dr. Hyde'saccurate and sympathetic modern rendering. From "Beside the Fire"(David Nutt, London). 

 There's a garden that I ken, Full of little gentlemen; Little caps of blue they wear, And green ribbons, very fair. (Flax. )

 From house to house he goes, A messenger small and slight, And whether it rains or snows, He sleeps outside in the night. (The path. )

THE LITTLE PINK ROSE

Once there was a little pink Rosebud, and she lived down in a littledark house under the ground. One day she was sitting there, all byherself, and it was very still. Suddenly, she heard a little TAP, TAP, TAP, at the door. 

"Who is that?" she said. 

"It's the Rain, and I want to come in;" said a soft, sad, little voice. 

"No, you can't come in, " the little Rosebud said. 

By and by she heard another little TAP, TAP, TAP on the window pane. 

"Who is there?" she said. 

The same soft little voice answered, "It's the Rain, and I want to comein!"

"No, you can't come in, " said the little Rosebud. 

Then it was very still for a long time. At last, there came a littlerustling, whispering sound, all round the window: RUSTLE, WHISPER, WHISPER. 

"Who is there?" said the little Rosebud. 

"It's the Sunshine, " said a little, soft, cheery voice, "and I want tocome in!"

"N--no, " said the little pink rose, "you can't come in. " And she satstill again. 

Pretty soon she heard the sweet little rustling noise at the key-hole. 

"Who is there?" she said. 

"It's the Sunshine, " said the cheery little voice, "and I want to comein, I want to come in!"

"No, no, " said the little pink rose, "you cannot come in. "

By and by, as she sat so still, she heard TAP, TAP, TAP, and RUSTLE, WHISPER, RUSTLE, all up and down the window pane, and on the door, andat the key-hole. 

"WHO IS THERE?" she said. 

"It's the Rain and the Sun, the Rain and the Sun, " said two littlevoices, together, "and we want to come in! We want to come in! Wewant to come in!"

"Dear, dear!" said the little Rosebud, "if there are two of you, Is'pose I shall have to let you in. "

So she opened the door a little wee crack, and in they came. And onetook one of her little hands, and the other took her other little hand, and they ran, ran, ran with her, right up to the top of the ground. Then they said, --

"Poke your head through!"

So she poked her head through; and she was in the midst of a beautifulgarden. It was springtime, and all the other flowers had their headspoked through; and she was the prettiest little pink rose in the wholegarden!

THE COCK-A-DOO-DLE-DOO[1]

[1] From "The Ignominy of being Grown Up, " by Dr. Samuel M. Crothers, in the Atlantic Monthly for July, 1906. 

A very little boy made this story up "out of his head, " and told it tohis papa I think you littlest ones will like it; I do. 

Once upon a time there was a little boy, and he wanted to be acock-a-doo-dle-doo So he was a cock-a-doo-dle-doo. And he wanted tofly up into the sky. So he did fly up into the sky. And he wanted toget wings and a tail. So he did get some wings and a tail. 

THE CLOUD[2]

[2] Adapted from the German of Robert Reinick's Maarchen, Lieder-undGeschichtenbuch (Velhagen und Klasing, Bielefeld and Leipsic). 

One hot summer morning a little Cloud rose out of the sea and floatedlightly and happily across the blue sky. Far below lay the earth, brown, dry, and desolate, from drouth. The little Cloud could see thepoor people of the earth working and suffering in the hot fields, whileshe herself floated on the morning breeze, hither and thither, withouta care. 

"Oh, if I could only help the poor people down there!" she thought. "If I could but make their work easier, or give the hungry ones food, or the thirsty a drink!"

And as the day passed, and the Cloud became larger, this wish to dosomething for the people of earth was ever greater in her heart. 

On earth it grew hotter and hotter; the sun burned down so fiercelythat the people were fainting in its rays; it seemed as if they mustdie of heat, and yet they were obliged to go on with their work, forthey were very poor. Sometimes they stood and looked up at the Cloud, as if they were praying, and saying, "Ah, if you could help us!"

"I will help you; I will!" said the Cloud. And she began to sink softlydown toward the earth. 

But suddenly, as she floated down, she remembered something which hadbeen told her when she was a tiny Cloud-child, in the lap of MotherOcean: it had been whispered that if the Clouds go too near the earththey die. When she remembered this she held herself from sinking, andswayed here and there on the breeze, thinking, --thinking. But at lastshe stood quite still, and spoke boldly and proudly. She said, "Men ofearth, I will help you, come what may!"

The thought made her suddenly marvelously big and strong and powerful. Never had she dreamed that she could be so big. Like a mighty angel ofblessing she stood above the earth, and lifted her head and spread herwings far over the fields and woods. She was so great, so majestic, that men and animals were awe-struck at the sight; the trees and thegrasses bowed before her; yet all the earth-creatures felt that shemeant them well. 

"Yes, I will help you, " cried the Cloud once more. "Take me toyourselves; I will give my life for you!"

As she said the words a wonderful light glowed from her heart, thesound of thunder rolled through the sky, and a love greater than wordscan tell filled the Cloud; down, down, close to the earth she swept, and gave up her life in a blessed, healing shower of rain. 

That rain was the Cloud's great deed; it was her death, too; but it wasalso her glory. Over the whole country-side, as far as the rain fell, a lovely rainbow sprang its arch, and all the brightest rays of heavenmade its colors; it was the last greeting of a love so great that itsacrificed itself. 

Soon that, too, was gone, but long, long afterward the men and animalswho were saved by the Cloud kept her blessing in their hearts. 

THE LITTLE RED HEN

The little Red Hen was in the farmyard with her chickens, when shefound a grain of wheat. 

"Who will plant this wheat?" she said. 

"Not I, " said the Goose. 

"Not I, " said the Duck. 

"I will, then, " said the little Red Hen, and she planted the grain ofwheat. 

When the wheat was ripe she said, "Who will take this wheat to themill?"

"Not I, " said the Goose. 

"Not I, " said the Duck. 

"I will, then, " said the little Red Hen, and she took the wheat to themill. 

When she brought the flour home she said, "Who will make some breadwith this flour?"

"Not I, " said the Goose. 

"Not I, " said the Duck. 

"I will, then, " said the little Red Hen. 

When the bread was baked, she said, "Who will eat this bread?"

"I will, " said the Goose

"I will, " said the Duck

"No, you won't, " said the little Red Hen. "I shall eat it myself. Cluck! cluck!" And she called her chickens to help her. 

THE GINGERBREAD MAN[1]

[1] I have tried to give this story in the most familiar form; itvaries a good deal in the hands of different story-tellers, but this issubstantially the version I was "brought up on. " The form of theending was suggested to me by the story in Carolyn Bailey's For theChildren's Hour (Milton Bradley Co. ). 

Once upon a time there was a little old woman and a little old man, andthey lived all alone in a little old house. They hadn't any littlegirls or any little boys, at all. So one day, the little old womanmade a boy out of gingerbread; she made him a chocolate jacket, and putcinnamon seeds in it for buttons; his eyes were made of fine, fatcurrants; his mouth was made of rose-colored sugar; and he had a gaylittle cap of orange sugar-candy. When the little old woman had rolledhim out, and dressed him up, and pinched his gingerbread shoes intoshape, she put him in a pan; then she put the pan in the oven and shutthe door; and she thought, "Now I shall have a little boy of my own. "

When it was time for the Gingerbread Boy to be done she opened the ovendoor and pulled out the pan. Out jumped the little Gingerbread Boy onto the floor, and away he ran, out of the door and down the street!The little old woman and the little old man ran after him as fast asthey could, but he just laughed, and shouted, --

 "Run! run! as fast as you can! "You can't catch me, I'm the Gingerbread Man!"

And they couldn't catch him. 

The little Gingerbread Boy ran on and on, until he came to a cow, bythe roadside. "Stop, little Gingerbread Boy, " said the cow; "I want toeat you. " The little Gingerbread Boy laughed, and said, --

 "I have run away from a little old woman, "And a little old man, "And I can run away from you, I can!"

And, as the cow chased him, he looked over his shoulder and cried, --

 "Run! run! as fast as you can! "You can't catch me, I'm the Gingerbread Man!"

And the cow couldn't catch him. 

The little Gingerbread Boy ran on, and on, and on, till he came to ahorse, in the pasture. "Please stop, little Gingerbread Boy, " said thehorse, "you look very good to eat. " But the little Gingerbread Boylaughed out loud. "Oho! oho!" he said, --

 "I have run away from a little old woman, "A little old man, "A cow, "And I can run away from you, I can!"

And, as the horse chased him, he looked over his shoulder and cried, --

 "Run! run! as fast as you can! "You can't catch me, I'm the Gingerbread Man!"

And the horse couldn't catch him. 

By and by the little Gingerbread Boy came to a barn full of threshers. When the threshers smelled the Gingerbread Boy, they tried to pick himup, and said, "Don't run so fast, little Gingerbread Boy; you look verygood to eat. " But the little Gingerbread Boy ran harder than ever, andas he ran he cried out, --

 "I have run away from a little old woman, "A little old man, "A cow, "A horse, "And I can run away from you, I can!"

And when he found that he was ahead of the threshers, he turned andshouted back to them, --

 "Run! run! as fast as you can! "You can't catch me, I'm the Gingerbread Man!"

And the threshers couldn't catch him. 

Then the little Gingerbread Boy ran faster than ever. He ran and ranuntil he came to a field full of mowers. When the mowers saw how finehe looked, they ran after him, calling out, "Wait a bit! wait a bit, little Gingerbread Boy, we wish to eat you!" But the littleGingerbread Boy laughed harder than ever, and ran like the wind. "Oho!oho!" he said, --

 "I have run away from a little old woman, "A little old man, "A cow, "A horse, "A barn full of threshers, "And I can run away from you, I can!"

And when he found that he was ahead of the mowers, he turned andshouted back to them, --

 "Run! run! as fast as you can! "You can't catch me, I'm the Gingerbread Man!"

And the mowers couldn't catch him. 

By this time the little Gingerbread Boy was so proud that he didn'tthink anybody could catch him. Pretty soon he saw a fox coming acrossa field. The fox looked at him and began to run. But the littleGingerbread Boy shouted across to him, "You can't catch me!" The foxbegan to run faster, and the little Gingerbread Boy ran faster, and ashe ran he chuckled, --

 "I have run away from a little old woman, "A little old man, "A cow, "A horse, "A barn full of threshers, "A field full of mowers, "And I can run away from you, I can! "Run! run! as fast as you can! "You can't catch me, I'm the Gingerbread Man!"

"Why, " said the fox, "I would not catch you if I could. I would notthink of disturbing you. "

Just then, the little Gingerbread Boy came to a river. He could notswim across, and he wanted to keep running away from the cow and thehorse and the people. 

"Jump on my tail, and I will take you across, " said the fox. 

So the little Gingerbread Boy jumped on the fox's tail, and the foxswam into the river. When he was a little way from shore he turned hishead, and said, "You are too heavy on my tail, little Gingerbread Boy, I fear I shall let you get wet; jump on my back. "

The little Gingerbread Boy jumped on his back. 

A little farther out, the fox said, "I am afraid the water will coveryou, there; jump on my shoulder. "

The little Gingerbread Boy jumped on his shoulder. 

In the middle of the stream the fox said, "Oh, dear! little GingerbreadBoy, my shoulder is sinking; jump on my nose, and I can hold you out ofwater. "

So the little Gingerbread Boy jumped on his nose. 

The minute the fox got on shore he threw back his head, and gave a snap!

"Dear me!" said the little Gingerbread Boy, "I am a quarter gone!" Thenext minute he said, "Why, I am half gone!" The next minute he said, "My goodness gracious, I am three quarters gone!"

And after that, the little Gingerbread Boy never said anything more atall. 

THE LITTLE JACKALS AND THE LION[1]

[1] The four stories of the little Jackal, in this book, are adaptedfrom stories in Old Deccan Days, a collection of orally transmittedHindu folk tales, which every teacher would gain by knowing. In theHindu animal legends the Jackal seems to play the role assigned inGermanic lore to Reynard the Fox, and to "Bre'r Rabbit" in the storiesof our Southern negroes: he is the clever and humorous trickster whocomes out of every encounter with a whole skin, and turns the laugh onevery enemy, however mighty. 

Once there was a great big jungle; and in the jungle there was a greatbig Lion; and the Lion was king of the jungle. Whenever he wantedanything to eat, all he had to do was to come up out of his cave in thestones and earth and ROAR. When he had roared a few times all thelittle people of the jungle were so frightened that they came out oftheir holes and hiding-places and ran, this way and that, to get away. Then, of course, the Lion could see where they were. And he pounced onthem, killed them, and gobbled them up. 

He did this so often that at last there was not a single thing leftalive in the jungle besides the Lion, except two little Jackals, --alittle father Jackal and a little mother Jackal. 

They had run away so many times that they were quite thin and verytired, and they could not run so fast any more. And one day the Lionwas so near that the little mother Jackal grew frightened; she said, --

"Oh, Father Jackal, Father Jackal! I b'lieve our time has come! theLion will surely catch us this time!"

"Pooh! nonsense, mother!" said the little father Jackal. "Come, we'llrun on a bit!"

And they ran, ran, ran very fast, and the Lion did not catch them thattime. 

But at last a day came when the Lion was nearer still and the littlemother Jackal was frightened about to death. 

"Oh, Father Jackal, Father Jackal!" she cried; "I'm sure our time hascome! The Lion's going to eat us this time!"

"Now, mother, don't you fret, " said the little father Jackal; "you dojust as I tell you, and it will be all right. "

Then what did those cunning little Jackals do but take hold of handsand run up towards the Lion, as if they had meant to come all the time. When he saw them coming he stood up, and roared in a terrible voice, --

"You miserable little wretches, come here and be eaten, at once! Whydidn't you come before?"

The father Jackal bowed very low. 

"Indeed, Father Lion, " he said, "we meant to come before; we knew weought to come before; and we wanted to come before; but every time westarted to come, a dreadful great lion came out of the woods and roaredat us, and frightened us so that we ran away. "

"What do you mean?" roared the Lion. "There's no other lion in thisjungle, and you know it!"

"Indeed, indeed, Father Lion, " said the little Jackal, "I know that iswhat everybody thinks; but indeed and indeed there is another lion!And he is as much bigger than you as you are bigger than I! His faceis much more terrible, and his roar far, far more dreadful. Oh, he isfar more fearful than you!"

At that the Lion stood up and roared so that the jungle shook. 

"Take me to this lion, " he said; "I'll eat him up and then I'll eat youup. "

The little Jackals danced on ahead, and the Lion stalked behind. Theyled him to a place where there was a round, deep well of clear water. They went round on one side of it, and the Lion stalked up to the other. 

"He lives down there, Father Lion!" said the little Jackal. "He livesdown there!"

The Lion came close and looked down into the water, --and a lion's facelooked back at him out of the water!

When he saw that, the Lion roared and shook his mane and showed histeeth. And the lion in the water shook his mane and showed his teeth. The Lion above shook his mane again and growled again, and made aterrible face. But the lion in the water made just as terrible a one, back. The Lion above couldn't stand that. He leaped down into the wellafter the other lion. 

But, of course, as you know very well, there wasn't any other lion! Itwas only the reflection in the water!

So the poor old Lion floundered about and floundered about, and as hecouldn't get up the steep sides of the well, he was drowned dead. Andwhen he was drowned the little Jackals took hold of hands and dancedround the well, and sang, --

"The Lion is dead! The Lion is dead!

"We have killed the great Lion who would have killed us!

"The Lion is dead! The Lion is dead!

"Ao! Ao! Ao!"

THE COUNTRY MOUSE AND THE CITY MOUSE[1]

[1] The following story of the two mice, with the similar fables of TheBoy who cried Wolf, The Frog King, and The Sun and the Wind, are givenhere with the hope that they may be of use to the many teachers whofind the over-familiar material of the fables difficult to adapt, andwho are yet aware of the great usefulness of the stories to youngminds. A certain degree of vividness and amplitude must be added tothe compact statement of the famous collections, and yet it is not wiseto change the style-effect of a fable, wholly. I venture to give theseversions, not as perfect models, surely, but as renderings which havebeen acceptable to children, and which I believe retain the originalpoint simply and strongly. 

Once a little mouse who lived in the country invited a little Mousefrom the city to visit him. When the little City Mouse sat down todinner he was surprised to find that the Country Mouse had nothing toeat except barley and grain. 

"Really, " he said, "you do not live well at all; you should see how Ilive! I have all sorts of fine things to eat every day. You must cometo visit me and see how nice it is to live in the city. "

The little Country Mouse was glad to do this, and after a while he wentto the city to visit his friend. 

The very first place that the City Mouse took the Country Mouse to seewas the kitchen cupboard of the house where he lived. There, on thelowest shelf, behind some stone jars, stood a big paper bag of brownsugar. The little City Mouse gnawed a hole in the bag and invited hisfriend to nibble for himself. 

The two little mice nibbled and nibbled, and the Country Mouse thoughthe had never tasted anything so delicious in his life. He was justthinking how lucky the City Mouse was, when suddenly the door openedwith a bang, and in came the cook to get some flour. 

"Run!" whispered the City Mouse. And they ran as fast as they could tothe little hole where they had come in. The little Country Mouse wasshaking all over when they got safely away, but the little City Mousesaid, "That is nothing; she will soon go away and then we can go back. "

After the cook had gone away and shut the door they stole softly back, and this time the City Mouse had something new to show: he took thelittle Country Mouse into a corner on the top shelf, where a big jar ofdried prunes stood open. After much tugging and pulling they got alarge dried prune out of the jar on to the shelf and began to nibble atit. This was even better than the brown sugar. The little CountryMouse liked the taste so much that he could hardly nibble fast enough. But all at once, in the midst of their eating, there came a scratchingat the door and a sharp, loud MIAOUW!

"What is that?" said the Country Mouse. The City Mouse just whispered, "Sh!" and ran as fast as he could to the hole. The Country Mouse ranafter, you may be sure, as fast as HE could. As soon as they were outof danger the City Mouse said, "That was the old Cat; she is the bestmouser in town, --if she once gets you, you are lost. "

"This is very terrible, " said the little Country Mouse; "let us not goback to the cupboard again. "

"No, " said the City Mouse, "I will take you to the cellar; there issomething especial there. "

So the City Mouse took his little friend down the cellar stairs andinto a big cupboard where there were many shelves. On the shelves werejars of butter, and cheeses in bags and out of bags. Overhead hungbunches of sausages, and there were spicy apples in barrels standingabout. It smelled so good that it went to the little Country Mouse'shead. He ran along the shelf and nibbled at a cheese here, and a bitof butter there, until he saw an especially rich, verydelicious-smelling piece of cheese on a queer little stand in a corner. He was just on the point of putting his teeth into the cheese when theCity Mouse saw him. 

"Stop! stop!" cried the City Mouse. "That is a trap!"

The little Country Mouse stopped and said, "What is a trap?"

"That thing is a trap, " said the little City Mouse. "The minute youtouch the cheese with your teeth something comes down on your headhard, and you're dead. "

The little Country Mouse looked at the trap, and he looked at thecheese, and he looked at the little City Mouse. "If you'll excuse me, "he said, "I think I will go home. I'd rather have barley and grain toeat and eat it in peace and comfort, than have brown sugar and driedprunes and cheese, --and be frightened to death all the time!"

So the little Country Mouse went back to his home, and there he stayedall the rest of his life. 

LITTLE JACK ROLLAROUND[1]

[1] Based on Theodor Storm's story of Der Kleine Hawelmanu (GeorgeWestermann, Braunschweig). Very freely adapted from the German story. 

Once upon a time there was a wee little boy who slept in a tinytrundle-bed near his mother's great bed. The trundle-bed had castorson it so that it could be rolled about, and there was nothing in theworld the little boy liked so much as to have it rolled. When hismother came to bed he would cry, "Roll me around! roll me around!" Andhis mother would put out her hand from the big bed and push the littlebed back and forth till she was tired. The little boy could never getenough; so for this he was called "Little Jack Rollaround. "

One night he had made his mother roll him about, till she fell asleep, and even then he kept crying, "Roll me around! roll me around!" Hismother pushed him about in her sleep, until she fell too soundlyaslumbering; then she stopped. But Little Jack Rollaround kept oncrying, "Roll around! roll around!"

By and by the Moon peeped in at the window. He saw a funny sight:Little Jack Rollaround was lying in his trundle-bed, and he had put upone little fat leg for a mast, and fastened the corner of his wee shirtto it for a sail, and he was blowing at it with all his might, andsaying, "Roll around! roll around!" Slowly, slowly, the littletrundle-bed boat began to move; it sailed along the floor and up thewall and across the ceiling and down again!

"More! more!" cried Little Jack Rollaround; and the little boat sailedfaster up the wall, across the ceiling, down the wall, and over thefloor. The Moon laughed at the sight; but when Little Jack Rollaroundsaw the Moon, he called out, "Open the door, old Moon! I want to rollthrough the town, so that the people can see me!"

The Moon could not open the door, but he shone in through the keyhole, in a broad band. And Little Jack Rollaround sailed his trundle-bedboat up the beam, through the keyhole, and into the street. 

"Make a light, old Moon, " he said; "I want the people to see me!"

So the good Moon made a light and went along with him, and the littletrundle-bed boat went sailing down the streets into the main street ofthe village. They rolled past the town hall and the schoolhouse andthe church; but nobody saw little Jack Rollaround, because everybodywas in bed, asleep. 

"Why don't the people come to see me?" he shouted. 

High up on the church steeple, the Weather-vane answered, "It is notime for people to be in the streets; decent folk are in their beds. "

"Then I'll go to the woods, so that the animals may see me, " saidLittle Jack. "Come along, old Moon, and make a light!"

The good Moon went along and made a light, and they came to the forest. "Roll! roll!" cried the little boy; and the trundle-bed went trundlingamong the trees in the great wood, scaring up the chipmunks andstartling the little leaves on the trees. The poor old Moon began tohave a bad time of it, for the tree-trunks got in his way so that hecould not go so fast as the bed, and every time he got behind, thelittle boy called, "Hurry up, old Moon, I want the beasts to see me!"

But all the animals were asleep, and nobody at all looked at LittleJack Rollaround except an old White Owl; and all she said was, "Who areyou?"

The little boy did not like her, so he blew harder, and the trundle-bedboat went sailing through the forest till it came to the end of theworld. 

"I must go home now; it is late, " said the Moon. 

"I will go with you; make a path!" said Little Jack Rollaround. 

The kind Moon made a path up to the sky, and up sailed the little bedinto the midst of the sky. All the little bright Stars were there withtheir nice little lamps. And when he saw them, that naughty LittleJack Rollaround began to tease. "Out of the way, there! I am coming!"he shouted, and sailed the trundle-bed boat straight at them. Hebumped the little Stars right and left, all over the sky, until everyone of them put his little lamp out and left it dark. 

"Do not treat the little Stars so, " said the good Moon. 

But Jack Rollaround only behaved the worse: "Get out of the way, oldMoon!" he shouted, "I am coming!"

And he steered the little trundle-bed boat straight into the old Moon'sface, and bumped his nose!

This was too much for the good Moon; he put out his big light, all atonce, and left the sky pitch-black. 

"Make a light, old Moon! Make a light!" shouted the little boy. Butthe Moon answered never a word, and Jack Rollaround could not see whereto steer. He went rolling criss-cross, up and down, all over the sky, knocking into the planets and stumbling into the clouds, till he didnot know where he was. 

Suddenly he saw a big yellow light at the very edge of the sky. Hethought it was the Moon. "Look out, I am coming!" he cried, andsteered for the light. 

But it was not the kind old Moon at all; it was the great mother Sun, just coming up out of her home in the sea, to begin her day's work. 

"Aha, youngster, what are you doing in my sky?" she said. And shepicked Little Jack Rollaround up and threw him, trundle-bed boat andall, into the middle of the sea!

And I suppose he is there yet, unless somebody picked him out again. 

HOW BROTHER RABBIT FOOLED THE WHALE AND THE ELEPHANT[1]

[1] Adapted from two tales included in the records of the AmericanFolk-Lore Society. 

One day little Brother Rabbit was running along on the sand, lippety, lippety, when he saw the Whale and the Elephant talking together. Little Brother Rabbit crouched down and listened to what they weresaying. This was what they were saying:--

"You are the biggest thing on the land, Brother Elephant, " said theWhale, "and I am the biggest thing in the sea; if we join together wecan rule all the animals in the world, and have our way abouteverything. "

"Very good, very good, " trumpeted the Elephant; "that suits me; we willdo it. "

Little Brother Rabbit snickered to himself. "They won't rule me, " hesaid. He ran away and got a very long, very strong rope, and he gothis big drum, and hid the drum a long way off in the bushes. Then hewent along the beach till he came to the Whale. 

"Oh, please, dear, strong Mr. Whale, " he said, "will you have the greatkindness to do me a favor? My cow is stuck in the mud, a quarter of amile from here. And I can't pull her out. But you are so strong andso obliging, that I venture to trust you will help me out. "

The Whale was so pleased with the compliment that he said, "Yes, " atonce. 

"Then, " said the Rabbit, "I will tie this end of my long rope to you, and I will run away and tie the other end round my cow, and when I amready I will beat my big drum. When you hear that, pull very, veryhard, for the cow is stuck very deep in the mud. "

"Huh!" grunted the Whale, "I'll pull her out, if she is stuck to thehorns. "

Little Brother Rabbit tied the rope-end to the whale, and ran off, lippety, lippety, till he came to the place where the Elephant was. 

"Oh, please, mighty and kindly Elephant, " he said, making a very lowbow "will you do me a favor?"

"What is it?" asked the Elephant. 

"My cow is stuck in the mud, about a quarter of a mile from here, " saidlittle Brother Rabbit, "and I cannot pull her out. Of course youcould. If you will be so very obliging as to help me--"

"Certainly, " said the Elephant grandly, "certainly. "

"Then, " said little Brother Rabbit, "I will tie one end of this longrope to your trunk, and the other to my cow, and as soon as I have tiedher tightly I will beat my big drum. When you hear that, pull; pull ashard as you can, for my cow is very heavy. "

"Never fear, " said the Elephant, "I could pull twenty cows. "

"I am sure you could, " said the Rabbit, politely, "only be sure tobegin gently, and pull harder and harder till you get her. "

Then he tied the end of the rope tightly round the Elephant's trunk, and ran away into the bushes. There he sat down and beat the big drum. 

The Whale began to pull, and the Elephant began to pull, and in a jiffythe rope tightened till it was stretched as hard as could be. 

"This is a remarkably heavy cow, " said the Elephant; "but I'll fetchher!" And he braced his forefeet in the earth, and gave a tremendouspull. 

"Dear me!" said the Whale. "That cow must be stuck mighty tight;" andhe drove his tail deep in the water, and gave a marvelous pull. 

He pulled harder; the Elephant pulled harder. Pretty soon the Whalefound himself sliding toward the land. The reason was, of course, thatthe Elephant had something solid to brace against, and, too, as fast ashe pulled the rope in a little, he took a turn with it round his trunk!

But when the Whale found himself sliding toward the land he was soprovoked with the cow that he dove head first, down to the bottom ofthe sea. That was a pull! The Elephant was jerked off his feet, andcame slipping and sliding to the beach, and into the surf. He wasterribly angry. He braced himself with all his might, and pulled hisbest. At the jerk, up came the Whale out of the water. 

"Who is pulling me?" spouted the Whale. 

"Who is pulling me?" trumpeted the Elephant. 

And then each saw the rope in the other's hold. 

"I'll teach you to play cow!" roared the Elephant. 

"I'll show you how to fool me!" fumed the Whale. And they began topull again. But this time the rope broke, the Whale turned asomersault, and the Elephant fell over backwards. 

At that, they were both so ashamed that neither would speak to theother. So that broke up the bargain between them. 

And little Brother Rabbit sat in the bushes and laughed, and laughed, and laughed. 

THE LITTLE HALF-CHICK

There was once upon a time a Spanish Hen, who hatched out some nicelittle chickens. She was much pleased with their looks as they camefrom the shell. One, two, three, came out plump and fluffy; but whenthe fourth shell broke, out came a little half-chick! It had only oneleg and one wing and one eye! It was just half a chicken. 

The Hen-mother did not know what in the world to do with the queerlittle Half-Chick. She was afraid something would happen to it, andshe tried hard to protect it and keep it from harm. But as soon as itcould walk the little Half-Chick showed a most headstrong spirit, worsethan any of its brothers. It would not mind, and it would go whereverit wanted to; it walked with a funny little hoppity-kick, hoppity-kick, and got along pretty fast. 

One day the little Half-Chick said, "Mother, I am off to Madrid, to seethe King! Good-by. "

The poor Hen-mother did everything she could think of, to keep him fromdoing so foolish a thing, but the little Half-Chick laughed at hernaughtily. "I'm for seeing the King, " he said; "this life is too quietfor me. " And away he went, hoppity-kick, hoppity-kick, over the fields. 

When he had gone some distance the little Half-Chick came to a littlebrook that was caught in the weeds and in much trouble. 

"Little Half-Chick, " whispered the Water, "I am so choked with theseweeds that I cannot move; I am almost lost, for want of room; pleasepush the sticks and weeds away with your bill and help me. "

"The idea!" said the little Half-Chick. "I cannot be bothered with you;I am off for Madrid, to see the King!" And in spite of the brook'sbegging he went away, hoppity-kick, hoppity-kick. 

A bit farther on, the Half-Chick came to a Fire, which was smothered indamp sticks and in great distress. 

"Oh, little Half-Chick, " said the Fire, "you are just in time to saveme. I am almost dead for want of air. Fan me a little with your wing, I beg. "

"The idea!" said the little Half-Chick. "I cannot be bothered with you;I am off to Madrid, to see the King!" And he went laughing off, hoppity-kick, hoppity-kick. 

When he had hoppity-kicked a good way, and was near Madrid, he came toa clump of bushes, where the Wind was caught fast. The Wind waswhimpering, and begging to be set free. 

"Little Half-Chick, " said the Wind, "you are just in time to help me;if you will brush aside these twigs and leaves, I can get my breath;help me, quickly!"

"Ho! the idea!" said the little Half-Chick. "I have no time to botherwith you. I am going to Madrid, to see the King. " And he went off, hoppity-kick, hoppity-kick, leaving the Wind to smother. 

After a while he came to Madrid and to the palace of the King. Hoppity-kick, hoppity-kick, the little Half-Chick skipped past thesentry at the gate, and hoppity-kick, hoppity-kick, he crossed thecourt. But as he was passing the windows of the kitchen the Cook lookedout and saw him. 

"The very thing for the King's dinner!" she said. "I was needing achicken!" And she seized the little Half-Chick by his one wing andthrew him into a kettle of water on the fire. 

The Water came over the little Half-Chick's feathers, over his head, into his eye; It was terribly uncomfortable. The little Half-Chickcried out, --

"Water, don't drown me! Stay down, don't come so high!"

But the Water said, "Little Half-Chick, little Half-Chick, when I wasin trouble you would not help me, " and came higher than ever. 

Now the Water grew warm, hot, hotter, frightfully hot; the littleHalf-Chick cried out, "Do not burn so hot, Fire! You are burning me todeath! Stop!"

But the Fire said, "Little Half-Chick, little Half-Chick, when I was introuble you would not help me, " and burned hotter than ever. 

Just as the little Half-Chick thought he must suffocate, the Cook tookthe cover off, to look at the dinner. "Dear me, " she said, "thischicken is no good; it is burned to a cinder. " And she picked thelittle Half-Chick up by one leg and threw him out of the window. 

In the air he was caught by a breeze and taken up higher than thetrees. Round and round he was twirled till he was so dizzy he thoughthe must perish. "Don't blow me so? Wind, " he cried, "let me down!"

"Little Half-Chick, little Half-Chick, " said the Wind, "when I was introuble you would not help me!" And the Wind blew him straight up tothe top of the church steeple, and stuck him there, fast!

There he stands to this day, with his one eye, his one wing, and hisone leg. He cannot hoppity-kick any more, but he turns slowly roundwhen the wind blows, and keeps his head toward it, to hear what it says. 

THE LAMBIKIN[1]

[1] From Indian Fairy Tales. By Joseph Jacobs (David Nutt). 

Once upon a time there was a wee, wee Lambikin, who frolicked about onhis little tottery legs, and enjoyed himself amazingly. 

Now one day he set off to visit his Granny, and was jumping with joy tothink of all the good things he should get from her, when whom shouldhe meet but a Jackal, who looked at the tender young morsel and said, "Lambikin! Lambikin! I'll EAT YOU!"

But Lambikin only gave a little frisk and said, --

 "To Granny's house I go, Where I shall fatter grow; Then you can eat me so. "

The Jackal thought this reasonable, and let Lambikin pass. 

By and by he met a Vulture, and the Vulture, looking hungrily at thetender morsel before him, said, "Lambikin! Lambikin! I'll EAT YOU!"

But Lambikin only gave a little frisk, and said, --

 "To Granny's house I go, Where I shall fatter grow; Then you can eat me so. "

The Vulture thought this reasonable, and let Lambikin pass. 

And by and by he met a Tiger, and then a Wolf and a Dog and an Eagle, and all these, when they saw the tender little morsel, said, "Lambikin!Lambikin! I'll EAT YOU!"

But to all of them Lambikin replied, with a little frisk, --

 "To Granny's house I go, Where I shall fatter grow; Then you can eat me so. "

At last he reached his Granny's house, and said, all in a great hurry, "Granny, dear, I've promised to get very fat; so, as people ought tokeep their promises, please put me into the corn-bin AT ONCE. "

So his Granny said he was a good boy, and put him into the corn-bin, and there the greedy little Lambikin stayed for seven days, and ate, and ate, and ate, until he could scarcely waddle, and his Granny saidhe was fat enough for anything, and must go home. But cunning littleLambikin said that would never do, for some animal would be sure to eathim on the way back, he was so plump and tender. 

"I'll tell you what you must do, " said Master Lambikin; "you must makea little drumikin out of the skin of my little brother who died, andthen I can sit inside and trundle along nicely, for I'm as tight as adrum myself. "

So his Granny made a nice little drumikin out of his brother's skin, with the wool inside, and Lambikin curled himself up snug and warm inthe middle and trundled away gayly. Soon he met with the Eagle, whocalled out, --

 "Drumikin! Drumikin! Have you seen Lambikin?"

And Mr. Lambikin, curled up in his soft, warm nest, replied, --

 "Fallen into the fire, and so will you On little Drumikin! Tum-pa, tum-too!"

"How very annoying!" sighed the Eagle, thinking regretfully of thetender morsel he had let slip. 

Meanwhile Lambikin trundled along, laughing to himself, and singing, --

 "Tum-pa, tum-too; Tum-pa, tum-too!"

Every animal and bird he met asked him the same question, --

 "Drumikin! Drumikin! Have you seen Lambikin?"

And to each of them the little slyboots replied, --

 "Fallen into the fire, and so will you On little Drumikin! Tum-pa, tum-too!" Tum-pa, tum-too! tum-pa, tum-too!"

Then they all sighed to think of the tender little morsel they had letslip. 

At last the Jackal came limping along, for all his sorry looks as sharpas a needle, and he, too, called out, --

 "Drumikin! Drumikin! Have you seen Lambikin?"

And Lambikin, curled up in his snug little nest, replied gayly, --

 "Fallen into the fire, and so will you On little Drumikin! Tum-pa--"

But he never got any further, for the Jackal recognized his voice atonce, and cried, "Hullo! you've turned yourself inside out, have you?Just you come out of that!"

Whereupon he tore open Drumikin and gobbled up Lambikin. 

THE BLACKBERRY-BUSH[1]

[1] From Celia Thaxter's Stories and Poems for Children. 

A little boy sat at his mother's knees, by the long western window, looking out into the garden. It was autumn, and the wind was sad; andthe golden elm leaves lay scattered about among the grass, and on thegravel path. The mother was knitting a little stocking; her fingersmoved the bright needles; but her eyes were fixed on the clear eveningsky. 

As the darkness gathered, the wee boy laid his head on her lap and keptso still that, at last, she leaned forward to look into his dear roundface. He was not asleep, but was watching very earnestly ablackberry-bush, that waved its one tall, dark-red spray in the windoutside the fence. 

"What are you thinking about, my darling?" she said, smoothing hissoft, honey-colored hair. 

"The blackberry-bush, mamma; what does it say? It keeps nodding, nodding to me behind the fence; what does it say, mamma?"

"It says, " she answered, 'I see a happy little boy in the warm, fire-lighted room. The wind blows cold, and here it is dark and lonely;but that little boy is warm and happy and safe at his mother's knees. Inod to him, and he looks at me. I wonder if he knows how happy he is!

"'See, all my leaves are dark crimson. Every day they dry and withermore and more; by and by they will be so weak they can scarcely clingto my branches, and the north wind will tear them all away, and nobodywill remember them any more. Then the snow will sink down and wrap meclose. Then the snow will melt again and icy rain will clothe me, andthe bitter wind will rattle my bare twigs up and down. 

"'I nod my head to all who pass, and dreary nights and dreary days goby; but in the happy house, so warm and bright, the little boy playsall day with books and toys. His mother and his father cherish him; henestles on their knees in the red firelight at night, while they readto him lovely stories, or sing sweet old songs to him, --the happylittle boy! And outside I peep over the snow and see a stream of ruddylight from a crack in the window-shutter, and I nod out here alone inthe dark, thinking how beautiful it is. 

"'And here I wait patiently. I take the snow and the rain and thecold, and I am not sorry, but glad; for in my roots I feel warmth andlife, and I know that a store of greenness and beauty is shut up safein my small brown buds. Day and night go again and again; little bylittle the snow melts all away; the ground grows soft; the sky is blue;the little birds fly over crying, "It is spring! it is spring!" Ah!then through all my twigs I feel the slow sap stirring. 

"'Warmer grow the sunbeams, and softer the air. The small blades ofgrass creep thick about my feet; the sweet rain helps swell my shiningbuds. More and more I push forth my leaves, till out I burst in a gaygreen dress, and nod in joy and pride. The little boy comes running tolook at me, and cries, "Oh, mamma! the little blackberry-bush is aliveand beautiful and green. Oh, come and see!" And I hear; and I bow myhead in the summer wind; and every day they watch me grow morebeautiful, till at last I shake out blossoms, fair and fragrant. 

"'A few days more, and I drop the white petals down among the grass, and, lo! the green tiny berries! Carefully I hold them up to the sun;carefully I gather the dew in the summer nights; slowly they ripen;they grow larger and redder and darker, and at last they are black, shining, delicious. I hold them as high as I can for the little boy, who comes dancing out. He shouts with joy, and gathers them in hisdear hand; and he runs to share them with his mother, saying, "Here iswhat the patient blackberry-bush bore for us: see how nice, mamma!"

"'Ah! then indeed I am glad, and would say, if I could, "Yes, takethem, dear little boy; I kept them for you, held them long up to sunand rain to make them sweet and ripe for you;" and I nod and nod infull content, for my work is done. From the window he watches me andthinks, "There is the little blackberry-bush that was so kind to me. Isee it and I love it. I know it is safe out there nodding all alone, and next summer it will hold ripe berries up for me to gather again. "'"

Then the wee boy smiled, and liked the little story. His mother tookhim up in her arms, and they went out to supper and left theblackberry-bush nodding up and down in the wind; and there it isnodding yet. 

THE FAIRIES[1]

[1] By William Allingham. 

 Up the airy mountain, Down the rushy glen, We daren't go a-hunting For fear of little men. Wee folk, good folk, Trooping all together; Green jacket, red cap, And white owl's feather!

 Down along the rocky shore Some make their home-- They live on crispy pancakes Of yellow tide-foam; Some in the reeds Of the black mountain-lake, With frogs for their watch-dogs, All night awake. 

 High on the hilltop The old King sits; He is now so old and gray, He's nigh lost his wits. With a bridge of white mist Columbkill he crosses, On his stately journeys From Slieveleague to Rosses; Or going up with music On cold starry nights, To sup with the Queen Of the gay Northern Lights. 

 They stole little Bridget For seven years long; When she came down again Her friends were all gone. They took her lightly back, Between the night and morrow; They thought that she was fast asleep, But she was dead with sorrow. They have kept her ever since Deep within the lake, On a bed of flag-leaves, Watching till she wake. 

 By the craggy hillside, Through the mosses bare, They have planted thorn-trees, For pleasure here and there. Is any man so daring As dig them up in spite, He shall find their sharpest thorns In his bed at night. 

 Up the airy mountain, Down the rushy glen, We daren't go a-hunting For fear of little men. Wee folk, good folk, Trooping all together; Green jacket, red cap, And white owl's feather!

THE ADVENTURES OF THE LITTLE FIELD MOUSE

Once upon a time, there was a little brown Field Mouse; and one day hewas out in the fields to see what he could see. He was running alongin the grass, poking his nose into everything and looking with his twoeyes all about, when he saw a smooth, shiny acorn, lying in the grass. It was such a fine shiny little acorn that he thought he would take ithome with him; so he put out his paw to touch it, but the little acornrolled away from him. He ran after it, but it kept rolling on, justahead of him, till it came to a place where a big oak-tree had itsroots spread all over the ground. Then it rolled under a big roundroot. 

Little Mr. Field Mouse ran to the root and poked his nose under afterthe acorn, and there he saw a small round hole in the ground. Heslipped through and saw some stairs going down into the earth. Theacorn was rolling down, with a soft tapping sound, ahead of him, sodown he went too. Down, down, down, rolled the acorn, and down, down, down, went the Field Mouse, until suddenly he saw a tiny door at thefoot of the stairs. 

The shiny acorn rolled to the door and struck against it with a tap. Quickly the little door opened and the acorn rolled inside. The FieldMouse hurried as fast as he could down the last stairs, and pushedthrough just as the door was closing. It shut behind him, and he wasin a little room. And there, before him, stood a queer little Red Man!He had a little red cap, and a little red jacket, and odd little redshoes with points at the toes. 

"You are my prisoner, " he said to the Field Mouse. 

"What for?" said the Field Mouse. 

"Because you tried to steal my acorn, " said the little Red Man. 

"It is my acorn, " said the Field Mouse; "I found it. "

"No, it isn't, " said the little Red Man, "I have it; you will never seeit again. "

The little Field Mouse looked all about the room as fast as he could, but he could not see any acorn. Then he thought he would go back upthe tiny stairs to his own home. But the little door was locked, andthe little Red Man had the key. And he said to the poor mouse, --

"You shall be my servant; you shall make my bed and sweep my room andcook my broth. "

So the little brown Mouse was the little Red Man's servant, and everyday he made the little Red Man's bed and swept the little Red Man'sroom and cooked the little Red Man's broth. And every day the littleRed Man went away through the tiny door, and did not come back tillafternoon. But he always locked the door after him, and carried awaythe key. 

At last, one day he was in such a hurry that he turned the key beforethe door was quite latched, which, of course, didn't lock it at all. He went away without noticing, --he was in such a hurry. 

The little Field Mouse knew that his chance had come to run away home. But he didn't want to go without the pretty, shiny acorn. Where it washe didn't know, so he looked everywhere. He opened every little drawerand looked in, but it wasn't in any of the drawers; he peeped on everyshelf, but it wasn't on a shelf; he hunted in every closet, but itwasn't in there. Finally, he climbed up on a chair and opened a wee, wee door in the chimney-piece, --and there it was!

He took it quickly in his forepaws, and then he took it in his mouth, and then he ran away. He pushed open the little door; he climbed up, up, up the little stairs; he came out through the hole under the root;he ran and ran through the fields; and at last he came to his own house. 

When he was in his own house he set the shiny acorn on the table. Iguess he set it down hard, for all at once, with a little snap, itopened!--exactly like a little box. 

And what do you think! There was a tiny necklace inside! It was amost beautiful tiny necklace, all made of jewels, and it was just bigenough for a lady mouse. So the little Field Mouse gave the tinynecklace to his little Mouse-sister. She thought it was perfectlylovely. And when she wasn't wearing it she kept it in the shiny acornbox. 

And the little Red Man never knew what had become of it, because hedidn't know where the little Field Mouse lived. 

ANOTHER LITTLE RED HEN[1]

[1] Adapted from the verse version, which is given here as analternative. 

Once upon a time there was a little Red Hen, who lived on a farm all byherself. An old Fox, crafty and sly, had a den in the rocks, on a hillnear her house. Many and many a night this old Fox used to lie awakeand think to himself how good that little Red Hen would taste if hecould once get her in his big kettle and boil her for dinner. But hecouldn't catch the little Red Hen, because she was too wise for him. Every time she went out to market she locked the door of the housebehind her, and as soon as she came in again she locked the door behindher and put the key in her apron pocket, where she kept her scissorsand a sugar cooky. 

At last the old Fox thought up a way to catch the little Red Hen. Early in the morning he said to his old mother, "Have the kettleboiling when I come home to-night, for I'll be bringing the little RedHen for supper. " Then he took a big bag and slung it over hisshoulder, and walked till he came to the little Red Hen's house. Thelittle Red Hen was just coming out of her door to pick up a few sticksfor kindling wood. So the old Fox hid behind the wood-pile, and assoon as she bent down to get a stick, into the house he slipped, andscurried behind the door. 

In a minute the little Red Hen came quickly in, and shut the door andlocked it. "I'm glad I'm safely in, " she said. Just as she said it, she turned round, and there stood the ugly old Fox, with his big bagover his shoulder. Whiff! how scared the little Red Hen was! Shedropped her apronful of sticks, and flew up to the big beam across theceiling. There she perched, and she said to the old Fox, down below, "You may as well go home, for you can't get me. "

"Can't I, though!" said the Fox. And what do you think he did? Hestood on the floor underneath the little Red Hen and twirled round in acircle after his own tail. And as he spun, and spun, and spun, faster, and faster, and faster, the poor little Red Hen got so dizzy watchinghim that she couldn't hold on to the perch. She dropped off, and theold Fox picked her up and put her in his bag, slung the bag over hisshoulder, and started for home, where the kettle was boiling. 

He had a very long way to go, up hill, and the little Red Hen was stillso dizzy that she didn't know where she was. But when the dizzinessbegan to go off, she whisked her little scissors out of her apronpocket, and snip! she cut a little hole in the bag; then she poked herhead out and saw where she was, and as soon as they came to a good spotshe cut the hole bigger and jumped out herself. There was a great bigstone lying there, and the little Red Hen picked it up and put it inthe bag as quick as a wink. Then she ran as fast as she could till shecame to her own little farm-house, and she went in and locked the doorwith the big key. 

The old Fox went on carrying the stone and never knew the difference. My, but it bumped him well! He was pretty tired when he got home. Buthe was so pleased to think of the supper he was going to have that hedid not mind that at all. As soon as his mother opened the door hesaid, "Is the kettle boiling?"

"Yes, " said his mother; "have you got the little Red Hen?"

"I have, " said the old Fox. "When I open the bag you hold the coveroff the kettle and I'll shake the bag so that the Hen will fall in, andthen you pop the cover on, before she can jump out. "

"All right, " said his mean old mother; and she stood close by theboiling kettle, ready to put the cover on. 

The Fox lifted the big, heavy bag up till it was over the open kettle, and gave it a shake. Splash! thump! splash! In went the stone and outcame the boiling water, all over the old Fox and the old Fox's mother!

And they were scalded to death. 

But the little Red Hen lived happily ever after, in her own littlefarmhouse. 

THE STORY OF THE LITTLE RID HIN[1]

[1] From Horace E. Scudder's Doings of the Bodley Family in Town andCountry (Houghton, Mifflin & Co. ). 

 There was once't upon a time A little small Rid Hin, Off in the good ould country Where yees ha' nivir bin. 

 Nice and quiet shure she was, And nivir did any harrum; She lived alane all be herself, And worked upon her farrum. 

 There lived out o'er the hill, In a great din o' rocks, A crafty, shly, and wicked Ould folly iv a Fox. 

 This rashkill iv a Fox, He tuk it in his head He'd have the little Rid Hin: So, whin he wint to bed, He laid awake and thaught What a foine thing 'twad be To fetch her home and bile her up For his ould marm and he. 

 And so he thaught and thaught, Until he grew so thin That there was nothin' left of him But jist his bones and shkin. 

 But the small Rid Hin was wise, She always locked her door, And in her pocket pit the key, To keep the Fox out shure. 

 But at last there came a schame Intil his wicked head, And he tuk a great big bag And to his mither said, --

 "Now have the pot all bilin' Agin the time I come; We'll ate the small Rid Hin to-night, For shure I'll bring her home. "

 And so away he wint Wid the bag upon his back, An' up the hill and through the woods Saftly he made his track. 

 An' thin he came alang, Craping as shtill's a mouse, To where the little small Rid Hin Lived in her shnug ould house. 

 An' out she comes hersel', Jist as he got in sight, To pick up shticks to make her fire: "Aha!" says Fox, "all right. 

 "Begorra, now, I'll have yees Widout much throuble more;" An' in he shlips quite unbeknownst, An' hides be'ind the door. 

 An' thin, a minute afther, In comes the small Rid Hin, An' shuts the door, and locks it, too, An' thinks, "I'm safely in. "

 An' thin she tarns around An' looks be'ind the door; There shtands the Fox wid his big tail Shpread out upon the floor. 

 Dear me! she was so schared Wid such a wondrous sight, She dropped her apronful of shticks, An' flew up in a fright, An' lighted on the bame Across on top the room; "Aha!" says she, "ye don't have me; Ye may as well go home. "

 "Aha!" says Fox, "we'll see; I'll bring yees down from that. " So out he marched upon the floor Right under where she sat. 

 An' thin he whiruled around, An' round an' round an' round, Fashter an' fashter an' fashter, Afther his tail on the ground. 

 Until the small Rid Hin She got so dizzy, shure, Wid lookin' at the Fox's tail, She jist dropped on the floor. 

 An' Fox he whipped her up, An' pit her in his bag, An' off he started all alone, Him and his little dag. 

 All day he tracked the wood Up hill an' down again; An' wid him, shmotherin' in the bag, The little small Rid Hin. 

 Sorra a know she knowed Awhere she was that day; Says she, "I'm biled an' ate up, shure, An' what'll be to pay?"

 Thin she betho't hersel', An' tuk her schissors out, An' shnipped a big hole in the bag, So she could look about. 

 An' 'fore ould Fox could think She lept right out--she did, An' thin picked up a great big shtone, An' popped it in instid. 

 An' thin she rins off home, Her outside door she locks; Thinks she, "You see you don't have me, You crafty, shly ould Fox. "

 An' Fox, he tugged away Wid the great big hivy shtone, Thimpin' his shoulders very bad As he wint in alone. 

 An' whin he came in sight O' his great din o' rocks, Jist watchin' for him at the door He shpied ould mither Fox. 

 "Have ye the pot a-bilin'?" Says he to ould Fox thin; "Shure an' it is, me child, " says she; "Have ye the small Rid Hin?"

 "Yes, jist here in me bag, As shure as I shtand here; Open the lid till I pit her in: Open it--niver fear. "

 So the rashkill cut the sthring, An' hild the big bag over; "Now when I shake it in, " says he, "Do ye pit on the cover. "

 "Yis, that I will;" an' thin The shtone wint in wid a dash, An' the pot oy bilin' wather Came over them ker-splash. 

 An' schalted 'em both to death, So they couldn't brathe no more; An' the little small Rid Hin lived safe, Jist where she lived before. 

THE STORY OF EPAMINONDAS AND HIS AUNTIE[1]

[1] A Southern nonsense tale. 

Epaminondas used to go to see his Auntie 'most every day, and shenearly always gave him something to take home to his Mammy. 

One day she gave him a big piece of cake; nice, yellow, rich gold-cake. 

Epaminondas took it in his fist and held it all scrunched up tight, like this, and came along home. By the time he got home there wasn'tanything left but a fistful of crumbs. His Mammy said, --

"What you got there, Epaminondas?"

"Cake, Mammy, " said Epaminondas. 

"Cake!" said his Mammy. "Epaminondas, you ain't got the sense you wasborn with! That's no way to carry cake. The way to carry cake is towrap it all up nice in some leaves and put it in your hat, and put yourhat on your head, and come along home. You hear me, Epaminondas?"

"Yes, Mammy, " said Epaminondas. 

Next day Epaminondas went to see his Auntie, and she gave him a poundof butter for his Mammy; fine, fresh, sweet butter. 

Epaminondas wrapped it up in leaves and put it in his hat, and put hishat on his head, and came along home. It was a very hot day. Prettysoon the butter began to melt. It melted, and melted, and as it meltedit ran down Epaminondas' forehead; then it ran over his face, and inhis ears, and down his neck. When he got home, all the butterEpaminondas had was ON HIM. His Mammy looked at him, and then shesaid, --

"Law's sake! Epaminondas, what you got in your hat?"

"Butter, Mammy, " said Epaminondas; "Auntie gave it to me. "

"Butter!" said his Mammy. "Epaminondas, you ain't got the sense youwas born with! Don't you know that's no way to carry butter? The wayto carry butter is to wrap it up in some leaves and take it down to thebrook, and cool it in the water, and cool it in the water, and cool itin the water, and then take it on your hands, careful, and bring italong home. "

"Yes, Mammy, " said Epaminondas. 

By and by, another day, Epaminondas went to see his Auntie again, andthis time she gave him a little new puppy-dog to take home. 

Epaminondas put it in some leaves and took it down to the brook; andthere he cooled it in the water, and cooled it in the water, and cooledit in the water; then he took it in his hands and came along home. Whenhe got home, the puppy-dog was dead. His Mammy looked at it, and shesaid, --

"Law's sake! Epaminondas, what you got there?"

"A puppy-dog, Mammy, " said Epaminondas. 

"A PUPPY-DOG!" said his Mammy. "My gracious sakes alive, Epaminondas, you ain't got the sense you was born with! That ain't the way to carrya puppy-dog! The way to carry a puppy-dog is to take a long piece ofstring and tie one end of it round the puppy-dog's neck and put thepuppy-dog on the ground, and take hold of the other end of the stringand come along home, like this. "

"All right, Mammy, " said Epaminondas. 

Next day, Epaminondas went to see his Auntie again, and when he came togo home she gave him a loaf of bread to carry to his Mammy; a brown, fresh, crusty loaf of bread. 

So Epaminondas tied a string around the end of the loaf and took holdof the end of the string and came along home, like this. (Imitatedragging something along the ground. ) When he got home his Mammylooked at the thing on the end of the string, and she said, --

"My laws a-massy! Epaminondas, what you got on the end of that string?"

"Bread, Mammy, " said Epaminondas; "Auntie gave it to me. "

"Bread!!!" said his Mammy. "O Epaminondas, Epaminondas, you ain't gotthe sense you was born with; you never did have the sense you was bornwith; you never will have the sense you was born with! Now I ain'tgwine tell you any more ways to bring truck home. And don't you go seeyour Auntie, neither. I'll go see her my own self. But I'll just tellyou one thing, Epaminondas! You see these here six mince pies I donemake? You see how I done set 'em on the doorstep to cool? Well, now, you hear me, Epaminondas, YOU BE CAREFUL HOW YOU STEP ON THOSE PIES!"

"Yes, Mammy, " said Epaminondas. 

Then Epaminondas' Mammy put on her bonnet and her shawl and took abasket in her hand and went away to see Auntie. The six mince pies satcooling in a row on the doorstep. 

And then, --and then, --Epaminondas WAS careful how he stepped on thosepies!

He stepped (imitate)--right--in--the--middle--of--every--one. . . . . . . . . And, do you know, children, nobody knows what happened next! Theperson who told me the story didn't know; nobody knows. But you canguess. 

THE BOY WHO CRIED "WOLF!"

There was once a shepherd-boy who kept his flock at a little distancefrom the village. Once he thought he would play a trick on thevillagers and have some fun at their expense. So he ran toward thevillage crying out, with all his might, --

"Wolf! Wolf! Come and help! The wolves are at my lambs!"

The kind villagers left their work and ran to the field to help him. But when they got there the boy laughed at them for their pains; therewas no wolf there. 

Still another day the boy tried the same trick, and the villagers camerunning to help and got laughed at again. Then one day a wolf did breakinto the fold and began killing the lambs. In great fright, the boyran for help. "Wolf! Wolf!" he screamed. "There is a wolf in theflock! Help!"

The villagers heard him, but they thought it was another mean trick; noone paid the least attention, or went near him. And the shepherd-boylost all his sheep. 

That is the kind of thing that happens to people who lie: even whenthey tell the truth no one believes them. 

THE FROG KING

Did you ever hear the old story about the foolish Frogs? The Frogs ina certain swamp decided that they needed a king; they had always gotalong perfectly well without one, but they suddenly made up their mindsthat a king they must have. They sent a messenger to Jove and beggedhim to send a king to rule over them. 

Jove saw how stupid they were, and sent a king who could not harm them:he tossed a big log into the middle of the pond. 

At the splash the Frogs were terribly frightened, and dove into theirholes to hide from King Log. But after a while, when they saw that theking never moved, they got over their fright and went and sat on him. And as soon as they found he really could not hurt them they began todespise him; and finally they sent another messenger to Jove to ask fora new king. 

Jove sent an eel. 

The Frogs were much pleased and a good deal frightened when King Eelcame wriggling and swimming among them. But as the days went on, andthe eel was perfectly harmless, they stopped being afraid; and as soonas they stopped fearing King Eel they stopped respecting him. 

Soon they sent a third messenger to Jove, and begged that they mighthave a better king, --a king who was worth while. 

It was too much; Jove was angry at their stupidity at last. "I willgive you a king such as you deserve!" he said; and he sent them a Stork. 

As soon as the Frogs came to the surface to greet the new king, KingStork caught them in his long bill and gobbled them up. One afteranother they came bobbing up, and one after another the stork ate them. He was indeed a king worthy of them!

THE SUN AND THE WIND

The Sun and the Wind once had a quarrel as to which was the stronger. Each believed himself to be the more powerful. While they were arguingthey saw a traveler walking along the country highway, wearing a greatcloak. 

"Here is a chance to test our strength, " said the Wind; "let us seewhich of us is strong enough to make that traveler take off his cloak;the one who can do that shall be acknowledged the more powerful. "

"Agreed, " said the Sun. 

Instantly the Wind began to blow; he puffed and tugged at the man'scloak, and raised a storm of hail and rain, to beat at it. But thecolder it grew and the more it stormed, the tighter the traveler heldhis cloak around him. The Wind could not get it off. 

Now it was the Sun's turn. He shone with all his beams on the man'sshoulders. As it grew hotter and hotter, the man unfastened his cloak;then he threw it back; at last he took it off! The Sun had won. 

THE LITTLE JACKAL AND THE ALLIGATOR

The little Jackal was very fond of shell-fish. He used to go down bythe river and hunt along the edges for crabs and such things. Andonce, when he was hunting for crabs, he was so hungry that he put hispaw into the water after a crab without looking first, --which you nevershould do! The minute he put in his paw, SNAP!--the big Alligator wholives in the mud down there had it in his jaws. 

"Oh, dear!" thought the little Jackal; "the big Alligator has my paw inhis mouth! In another minute he will pull me down and gobble me up!What shall I do? what shall I do?" Then he thought, suddenly, "I'lldeceive him!"

So he put on a very cheerful voice, as if nothing at all were thematter, and he said, --

"Ho! ho! Clever Mr. Alligator! Smart Mr. Alligator, to take that oldbulrush root for my paw! I'll hope you'll find it very tender!"

The old Alligator was hidden away beneath the mud and bulrush leaves, and he couldn't see anything. He thought, "Pshaw! I've made amistake. " So he opened his mouth and let the little Jackal go. 

The little Jackal ran away as fast as he could, and as he ran he calledout, --

"Thank you, Mr. Alligator! Kind Mr. Alligator! SO kind of you to letme go!"

The old Alligator lashed with his tail and snapped with his jaws, butit was too late; the little Jackal was out of reach. 

After this the little Jackal kept away from the river, out of danger. But after about a week he got such an appetite for crabs that nothingelse would do at all; he felt that he must have a crab. So he wentdown by the river and looked all around, very carefully. He didn't seethe old Alligator, but he thought to himself, "I think I'll not takeany chances. " So he stood still and began to talk out loud to himself. He said, --

"When I don't see any little crabs on the land I most generally seethem sticking out of the water, and then I put my paw in and catchthem. I wonder if there are any fat little crabs in the water today?"

The old Alligator was hidden down in the mud at the bottom of theriver, and when he heard what the little Jackal said, he thought, "Aha!I'll pretend to be a little crab, and when he puts his paw in, I'llmake my dinner of him. " So he stuck the black end of his snout abovethe water and waited. 

The little Jackal took one look, and then he said, --

"Thank you, Mr. Alligator! Kind Mr. Alligator! You are EXCEEDINGLYkind to show me where you are! I will have dinner elsewhere. " And heran away like the wind. 

The old Alligator foamed at the mouth, he was so angry, but the littleJackal was gone. 

For two whole weeks the little Jackal kept away from the river. Then, one day he got a feeling inside him that nothing but crabs couldsatisfy; he felt that he must have at least one crab. Very cautiously, he went down to the river and looked all around. He saw no sign of theold Alligator. Still, he did not mean to take any chances. So hestood quite still and began to talk to himself, --it was a little way hehad. He said, --

"When I don't see any little crabs on the shore, or sticking up out ofthe water, I usually see them blowing bubbles from under the water; thelittle bubbles go PUFF, PUFF, PUFF, and then they go POP, POP, POP, andthey show me where the little juicy crabs are, so I can put my paw inand catch them. I wonder if I shall see any little bubbles to-day?"

The old Alligator, lying low in the mud and weeds, heard this, and hethought, "Pooh! THAT'S easy enough; I'll just blow some littlecrab-bubbles, and then he will put his paw in where I can get it. "

So he blew, and he blew, a mighty blast, and the bubbles rose in aperfect whirlpool, fizzing and swirling. 

The little Jackal didn't have to be told who was underneath thosebubbles: he took one quick look, and off he ran. But as he went, hesang, --

"Thank you, Mr. Alligator! Kind Mr. Alligator! You are the kindestAlligator in the world, to show me where you are, so nicely! I'llbreakfast at another part of the river. "

The old Alligator was so furious that he crawled up on the bank andwent after the little Jackal; but, dear, dear, he couldn't catch thelittle Jackal; he ran far too fast. 

After this, the little Jackal did not like to risk going near thewater, so he ate no more crabs. But he found a garden of wild figs, which were so good that he went there every day, and ate them insteadof shell-fish. 

Now the old Alligator found this out, and he made up his mind to havethe little Jackal for supper, or to die trying. So he crept, andcrawled, and dragged himself over the ground to the garden of wildfigs. There he made a huge pile of figs under the biggest of the wildfig trees, and hid himself in the pile. 

After a while the little Jackal came dancing into the garden, veryhappy and care-free, --BUT looking all around. He saw the huge pile offigs under the big fig tree. 

"H-m, " he thought, "that looks singularly like my friend, theAlligator. I'll investigate a bit. "

He stood quite still and began to talk to himself, --it was a little wayhe had. He said, --

"The little figs I like best are the fat, ripe, juicy ones that dropoff when the breeze blows; and then the wind blows them about on theground, this way and that; the great heap of figs over there is sostill that I think they must be all bad figs. "

The old Alligator, underneath his fig pile, thought, --

"Bother the suspicious little Jackal, I shall have to make these figsroll about, so that he will think the wind moves them. " Andstraightway he humped himself up and moved, and sent the little figsflying, --and his back showed through. 

The little Jackal did not wait for a second look. He ran out of thegarden like the wind. But as he ran he called back, --

"Thank you, again, Mr. Alligator; very sweet of you to show me whereyou are; I can't stay to thank you as I should like: good-by!"

At this the old Alligator was beside himself with rage. He vowed thathe would have the little Jackal for supper this time, come what might. So he crept and crawled over the ground till he came to the littleJackal's house. Then he crept and crawled inside, and hid himselfthere in the house, to wait till the little Jackal should come home. 

By and by the little Jackal came dancing home, happy andcare-free, --BUT looking all around. Presently, as he came along, hesaw that the ground was all scratched up as if something very heavy hadbeen dragged over it. The little Jackal stopped and looked. 

"What's this? what's this?" he said. 

Then he saw that the door of his house was crushed at the sides andbroken, as if something very big had gone through it. 

"What's this? What's this?" the little Jackal said. "I think I'llinvestigate a little!"

So he stood quite still and began to talk to himself (you remember, itwas a little way he had), but loudly. He said, --

"How strange that my little House doesn't speak to me! Why don't youspeak to me, little House? You always speak to me, if everything isall right, when I come home. I wonder if anything is wrong with mylittle House?"

The old Alligator thought to himself that he must certainly pretend tobe the little House, or the little Jackal would never come in. So heput on as pleasant a voice as he could (which is not saying much) andsaid, --

"Hullo, little Jackal!"

Oh! when the little Jackal heard that, he was frightened enough, foronce. 

"It's the old Alligator, " he said, "and if I don't make an end of himthis time he will certainly make an end of me. What shall I do?"

He thought very fast. Then he spoke out pleasantly. 

"Thank you, little House, " he said, "it's good to hear your prettyvoice, dear little House, and I will be in with you in a minute; onlyfirst I must gather some firewood for dinner. "

Then he went and gathered firewood, and more firewood, and morefirewood; and he piled it all up solid against the door and round thehouse; and then he set fire to it!

And it smoked and burned till it smoked that old Alligator to smokedherring!

THE LARKS IN THE CORNFIELD

There was once a family of little Larks who lived with their mother ina nest in a cornfield. When the corn was ripe the mother Lark watchedvery carefully to see if there were any sign of the reapers' coming, for she knew that when they came their sharp knives would cut down thenest and hurt the baby Larks. So every day, when she went out forfood, she told the little Larks to look and listen very closely toeverything that went on, and to tell her all they saw and heard whenshe came home. 

One day when she came home the little Larks were much frightened. 

"Oh, Mother, dear Mother, " they said, "you must move us away to-night!The farmer was in the field to-day, and he said, 'The corn is ready tocut; we must call in the neighbors to help. ' And then he told his sonto go out to-night and ask all the neighbors to come and reap the cornto-morrow. "

The mother Lark laughed. "Don't be frightened, " she said; "if he waitsfor his neighbors to reap the corn we shall have plenty of time tomove; tell me what he says to-morrow. "

The next night the little Larks were quite trembling with fear; themoment their mother got home they cried out, "Mother, you must surelymove us to-night! The farmer came to-day and said, 'The corn isgetting too ripe; we cannot wait for our neighbors; we must ask ourrelatives to help us. ' And then he called his son and told him to askall the uncles and cousins to come to-morrow and cut the corn. Shallwe not move to-night?"

"Don't worry, " said the mother Lark; "the uncles and cousins haveplenty of reaping to do for themselves; we'll not move yet. "

The third night, when the mother Lark came home, the baby Larks said, "Mother, dear, the farmer came to the field to-day, and when he lookedat the corn he was quite angry; he said, 'This will never do! The cornis getting too ripe; it's no use to wait for our relatives, we shallhave to cut this corn ourselves. ' And then he called his son and said, 'Go out to-night and hire reapers, and to-morrow we will begin to cut. '"

"Well, " said the mother, "that is another story; when a man begins todo his own business, instead of asking somebody else to do it, thingsget done. I will move you out to-night. "

A TRUE STORY ABOUT A GIRL

Once there were four little girls who lived in a big, bare house, inthe country. They were very poor, but they had the happiest times youever heard of, because they were very rich in everything except justmoney. They had a wonderful, wise father, who knew stories to tell, and who taught them their lessons in such a beautiful way that it wasbetter than play; they had a lovely, merry, kind mother, who was nevertoo tired to help them work or watch them play; and they had all thegreat green country to play in. There were dark, shadowy woods, andfields of flowers, and a river. And there was a big barn. 

One of the little girls was named Louisa. She was very pretty, and everso strong; she could run for miles through the woods and not get tired. And she had a splendid brain in her little head; it liked study, and itthought interesting thoughts all day long. 

Louisa liked to sit in a corner by herself, sometimes, and writethoughts in her diary; all the little girls kept diaries. She liked tomake up stories out of her own head, and sometimes she made verses. 

When the four little sisters had finished their lessons, and had helpedtheir mother sew and clean, they used to go to the big barn to play;and the best play of all was theatricals. Louisa liked theatricalsbetter than anything. 

They made the barn into a theatre, and the grown people came to see theplays they acted. They used to climb up on the hay-mow for a stage, and the grown people sat in chairs on the floor. It was great fun. Oneof the plays they acted was Jack and the Bean-Stalk. They had a ladderfrom the floor to the loft, and on the ladder they tied a squash vineall the way up to the loft, to look like the wonderful bean-stalk. Oneof the little girls was dressed up to look like Jack, and she actedthat part. When it came to the place in the story where the giant triedto follow Jack, the little girl cut down the bean-stalk, and down camethe giant tumbling from the loft. The giant was made out of pillows, with a great, fierce head of paper, and funny clothes. 

Another story that they acted was Cinderella. They made a wonderfulbig pumpkin out of the wheelbarrow, trimmed with yellow paper, andCinderella rolled away in it, when the fairy godmother waved her wand. 

One other beautiful story they used to play. It was the story ofPilgrim's Progress; if you have never heard it, you must be sure toread it as soon as you can read well enough to understand theold-fashioned words. The little girls used to put shells in their hatsfor a sign they were on a pilgrimage, as the old pilgrims used to do;then they made journeys over the hill behind the house, and through thewoods, and down the lanes; and when the pilgrimage was over they hadapples and nuts to eat, in the happy land of home. 

Louisa loved all these plays, and she made some of her own and wrotethem down so that the children could act them. 

But better than fun or writing Louisa loved her mother, and by and by, as the little girl began to grow into a big girl, she felt very sad tosee her dear mother work so hard. She helped all she could with thehousework, but nothing could really help the tired mother except money;she needed money for food and clothes, and some one grown up, to helpin the house. But there never was enough money for these things, andLouisa's mother grew more and more weary, and sometimes ill. I cannottell you how much Louisa suffered over this. 

At last, as Louisa thought about it, she came to care more abouthelping her mother and her father and her sisters than about anythingelse in all the world. And she began to work very hard to earn money. She sewed for people, and when she was a little older she taught somelittle girls their lessons, and then she wrote stories for the papers. Every bit of money she earned, except what she had to use, she gave toher dear family. It helped very much, but it was so little that Louisanever felt as if she were doing anything. 

Every year she grew more unselfish, and every year she worked harder. She liked writing stories best of all her work, but she did not getmuch money for them, and some people told her she was wasting her time. 

At last, one day, a publisher asked Louisa, who was now a woman, towrite a book for girls. Louisa was not very well, and she was verytired, but she always said, "I'll try, " when she had a chance to work;so she said, "I'll try, " to the publisher. When she thought about thebook she remembered the good times she used to have with her sisters inthe big, bare house in the country. And so she wrote a story and putall that in it; she put her dear mother and her wise father in it, andall the little sisters, and besides the jolly times and the plays, sheput the sad, hard times in, --the work and worry and going withoutthings. 

When the book was written, she called it "Little Women, " and sent it tothe publisher. 

And, children, the little book made Louisa famous. It was so sweet andfunny and sad and real, --like our own lives, --that everybody wanted toread it. Everybody bought it, and much money came from it. After somany years, little Louisa's wish came true: she bought a nice house forher family; she sent one of her sisters to Europe, to study; she gaveher father books; but best of all, she was able to see to it that thebeloved mother, so tired and so ill, could have rest and happiness. Never again did the dear mother have to do any hard work, and she hadpretty things about her all the rest of her life. 

Louisa Alcott, for that was Louisa's name, wrote many beautiful booksafter this, and she became one of the most famous women of America. But I think the most beautiful thing about her is what I have beentelling you: that she loved her mother so well that she gave her wholelife to make her happy. 

MY KINGDOM

The little Louisa I told you about, who wrote verses and stories in herdiary, used to like to play that she was a princess, and that herkingdom was her own mind. When she had unkind or dissatisfied thoughts, she tried to get rid of them by playing they were enemies of thekingdom; and she drove them out with soldiers; the soldiers werepatience, duty, and love. It used to help Louisa to be good to playthis, and I think it may have helped make her the splendid woman shewas afterward. Maybe you would like to hear a poem she wrote about it, when she was only fourteen years old. [1] It will help you, too, tothink the same thoughts. 

[1] From Louisa M. Alcott's Life, Letters, and Journals (Little, Brown& Co. ). Copyright, 1878, by Louisa M. Alcott. Copyright, 1906, by J. S. P. Alcott. 

 A little kingdom I possess, Where thoughts and feelings dwell, And very hard I find the task Of governing it well; For passion tempts and troubles me, A wayward will misleads, And selfishness its shadow casts On all my words and deeds. 

 How can I learn to rule myself, To be the child I should, Honest and brave, nor ever tire Of trying to be good? How can I keep a sunny soul To shine along life's way? How can I tune my little heart To sweetly sing all day?

 Dear Father, help me with the love That casteth out my fear, Teach me to lean on thee, and feel That thou art very near, That no temptation is unseen, No childish grief too small, Since thou, with patience infinite, Doth soothe and comfort all. 

 I do not ask for any crown But that which all may win, Nor seek to conquer any world, Except the one within. Be thou my guide until I find, Led by a tender hand, Thy happy kingdom in MYSELF, And dare to take command. 

PICCOLA[1]

[1] From Celia Thaxter's Stories and Poems for Children (Houghton, Mifflin & Co. ). 

 Poor, sweet Piccola! Did you hear What happened to Piccola, children dear? 'T is seldom Fortune such favor grants As fell to this little maid of France. 

 'Twas Christmas-time, and her parents poor Could hardly drive the wolf from the door, Striving with poverty's patient pain Only to live till summer again. 

 No gifts for Piccola! Sad were they When dawned the morning of Christmas-day; Their little darling no joy might stir, St. Nicholas nothing would bring to her!

 But Piccola never doubted at all That something beautiful must befall Every child upon Christmas-day, And so she slept till the dawn was gray. 

 And full of faith, when at last she woke, She stole to her shoe as the morning broke; Such sounds of gladness filled all the air, 'T was plain St. Nicholas had been there!

 In rushed Piccola sweet, half wild: Never was seen such a joyful child. "See what the good saint brought!" she cried, And mother and father must peep inside. 

 Now such a story who ever heard? There was a little shivering bird! A sparrow, that in at the window flew, Had crept into Piccola's tiny shoe!

 "How good poor Piccola must have been!" She cried, as happy as any queen, While the starving sparrow she fed and warmed, And danced with rapture, she was so charmed. 

 Children, this story I tell to you, Of Piccola sweet and her bird, is true. In the far-off land of France, they say, Still do they live to this very day. 

THE LITTLE FIR TREE

[When I was a very little girl some one, probably my mother, read to meHans Christian Andersen's story of the Little Fir Tree. It happenedthat I did not read it for myself or hear it again during my childhood. One Christmas day, when I was grown up, I found myself at a loss forthe "one more" story called for by some little children with whom I wasspending the holiday. In the mental search for buried treasure whichensued, I came upon one or two word-impressions of the experiences ofthe Little Fir Tree, and forthwith wove them into what I supposed to besomething of a reproduction of the original. The latter part of thestory had wholly faded from my memory, so that I "made up" to suit thetastes of my audience. Afterward I told the story to a good manychildren, at one time or another, and it gradually took the shape ithas here. It was not until several years later that, in re-readingAndersen for other purposes, I came upon the real story of the LittleFir Tree, and read it for myself. Then indeed I was amused, andsomewhat distressed, to find how far I had wandered from the text. 

I give this explanation that the reader may know I do not presume tooffer the little tale which follows as an "adaptation" of Andersen'sfamous story. I offer it plainly as a story which children have liked, and which grew out of my early memories of Andersen's "The Little FirTree"]. 

Once there was a Little Fir Tree, slim and pointed, and shiny, whichstood in the great forest in the midst of some big fir trees, broad, and tall, and shadowy green. The Little Fir Tree was very unhappybecause he was not big like the others. When the birds came flyinginto the woods and lit on the branches of the big trees and built theirnests there, he used to call up to them, --

"Come down, come down, rest in my branches!" But they always said, --"Oh, no, no; you are too little!"

And when the splendid wind came blowing and singing through the forest, it bent and rocked and swung the tops of the big trees, and murmured tothem. Then the Little Fir Tree looked up, and called, --

"Oh, please, dear wind, come down and play with me!" But he alwayssaid, --

"Oh, no; you are too little, you are too little!"

And in the winter the white snow fell softly, softly, and covered thegreat trees all over with wonderful caps and coats of white. TheLittle Fir Tree, close down in the cover of the others, would call up, --

"Oh, please, dear snow, give me a cap, too! I want to play, too!" Butthe snow always said, --

"Oh no, no, no; you are too little, you are too little!"

The worst of all was when men came into the wood, with sledges andteams of horses. They came to cut the big trees down and carry themaway. And when one had been cut down and carried away the otherstalked about it, and nodded their heads. And the Little Fir Treelistened, and heard them say that when you were carried away so, youmight become the mast of a mighty ship, and go far away over the ocean, and see many wonderful things; or you might be part of a fine house ina great city, and see much of life. The Little Fir Tree wanted greatlyto see life, but he was always too little; the men passed him by. 

But by and by, one cold winter's morning, men came with a sledge andhorses, and after they had cut here and there they came to the circleof trees round the Little Fir Tree, and looked all about. 

"There are none little enough, " they said. 

Oh! how the Little Fir Tree pricked up his needles!

"Here is one, " said one of the men, "it is just little enough. " And hetouched the Little Fir Tree. 

The Little Fir Tree was happy as a bird, because he knew they wereabout to cut him down. And when he was being carried away on thesledge he lay wondering, SO contentedly, whether he should be the mastof a ship or part of a fine city house. But when they came to the townhe was taken out and set upright in a tub and placed on the edge of asidewalk in a row of other fir trees, all small, but none so little ashe. And then the Little Fir Tree began to see life. 

People kept coming to look at the trees and to take them away. Butalways when they saw the Little Fir Tree they shook their heads andsaid, --

"It is too little, too little. "

Until, finally, two children came along, hand in hand, lookingcarefully at all the small trees. When they saw the Little Fir Treethey cried out, --

"We'll take this one; it is just little enough!"

They took him out of his tub and carried him away, between them. Andthe happy Little Fir Tree spent all his time wondering what it could bethat he was just little enough for; he knew it could hardly be a mastor a house, since he was going away with children. 

He kept wondering, while they took him in through some big doors, andset him up in another tub, on the table, in a bare little room. Prettysoon they went away, and came back again with a big basket, carriedbetween them. Then some pretty ladies, with white caps on their headsand white aprons over their blue dresses, came bringing little parcels. The children took things out of the basket and began to play with theLittle Fir Tree, just as he had often begged the wind and the snow andthe birds to do. He felt their soft little touches on his head and histwigs and his branches. And when he looked down at himself, as far ashe could look, he saw that he was all hung with gold and silver chains!There were strings of white fluffy stuff drooping around him; his twigsheld little gold nuts and pink, rosy balls and silver stars; he hadpretty little pink and white candles in his arms; but last, and mostwonderful of all, the children hung a beautiful white, floatingdoll-angel over his head! The Little Fir Tree could not breathe, forjoy and wonder. What was it that he was, now? Why was this glory forhim?

After a time every one went away and left him. It grew dusk, and theLittle Fir Tree began to hear strange sounds through the closed doors. Sometimes he heard a child crying. He was beginning to be lonely. Itgrew more and more shadowy. 

All at once, the doors opened and the two children came in. Two of thepretty ladies were with them. They came up to the Little Fir Tree andquickly lighted all the little pink and white candles. Then the twopretty ladies took hold of the table with the Little Fir Tree on it andpushed it, very smoothly and quickly, out of the doors, across a hall, and in at another door. 

The Little Fir Tree had a sudden sight of a long room with many littlewhite beds in it, of children propped up on pillows in the beds, and ofother children in great wheeled chairs, and others hobbling about orsitting in little chairs. He wondered why all the little childrenlooked so white and tired; he did not know that he was in a hospital. But before he could wonder any more his breath was quite taken away bythe shout those little white children gave. 

"Oh! oh! m-m! m-m!" they cried. 

"How pretty! How beautiful! Oh, isn't it lovely!"

He knew they must mean him, for all their shining eyes were lookingstraight at him. He stood as straight as a mast, and quivered in everyneedle, for joy. Presently one little weak child-voice called out, --

"It's the nicest Christmas tree I ever saw!"

And then, at last, the Little Fir Tree knew what he was; he was aChristmas tree! And from his shiny head to his feet he was glad, through and through, because he was just little enough to be the nicestkind of tree in the world!

HOW MOSES WAS SAVED

Thousands of years ago, many years before David lived, there was a verywise and good man of his people who was a friend and adviser of theking of Egypt. And for love of this friend, the king of Egypt had letnumbers of the Israelites settle in his land. But after the king andhis Israelitish friend were dead, there was a new king, who hated theIsraelites. When he saw how strong they were, and how many there wereof them, he began to be afraid that some day they might number morethan the Egyptians, and might take his land from him. 

Then he and his rulers did a wicked thing. They made the Israelitesslaves. And they gave them terrible tasks to do, without proper rest, or food, or clothes. For they hoped that the hardship would kill offthe Israelites. They thought the old men would die and the young menbe so ill and weary that they could not bring up families, and so therace would vanish away. 

But in spite of the work and suffering, the Israelites remained strong, and more and more boys grew up, to make the king afraid. 

Then he did the wickedest thing of all. He ordered his soldiers to killevery boy baby that should be born in an Israelitish family; he did notcare about the girls, because they could not grow up to fight. 

Very soon after this evil order, a boy baby was born in a certainIsraelitish family. When his mother first looked at him her heart wasnearly broken, for he was even more beautiful than most babies are, --sostrong and fair and sweet. But he was a boy! How could she save himfrom death?

Somehow, she contrived to keep him hidden for three whole months. Butat the end of that time, she saw that it was not going to be possibleto keep him safe any longer. She had been thinking all this time aboutwhat she should do, and now she carried out her plan. 

First, she took a basket made of bulrushes and daubed it all over withpitch so that it was water-tight, and then she laid the baby in it;then she carried it to the edge of the river and laid it in the flagsby the river's brink. It did not show at all, unless one were quitenear it. Then she kissed her little son and left him there. But hissister stood far off, not seeming to watch, but really watchingcarefully to see what would happen to the baby. 

Soon there was the sound of talk and laughter, and a train of beautifulwomen came down to the water's edge. It was the king's daughter, comedown to bathe in the river, with her maidens. The maidens walked alongby the river's side. 

As the king's daughter came near to the water, she saw the strangelittle basket lying in the flags, and she sent her maid to bring it toher. And when she had opened it, she saw the child; the poor baby wascrying. When she saw him, so helpless and so beautiful, crying for hismother, the king's daughter pitied him and loved him. She knew thecruel order of her father, and she said at once, "This is one of theHebrews' children. "

At that moment the baby's sister came to the princess and said, "ShallI go and find thee a nurse from the Hebrew women, so that she may nursethe child for thee?" Not a word did she say about whose child it was, but perhaps the princess guessed; I don't know. At all events, shetold the little girl to go. 

So the maiden went, and brought her mother!

Then the king's daughter said to the baby's mother, "Take this childaway and nurse it for me, and I will give thee wages. "

Was not that a strange thing? And can you think how happy the baby'smother was? For now the baby would be known only as the princess'sadopted child, and would be safe. 

And it was so. The mother kept him until he was old enough to be takento the princess's palace. Then he was brought and given to the king'sdaughter, and he became her son. And she named him Moses. 

But the strangest part of the whole story is, that when Moses grew tobe a man he became so strong and wise that it was he who at last savedhis people from the king and conquered the Egyptians. The one childsaved by the king's own daughter was the very one the king would mosthave wanted to kill, if he had known. 

THE TEN FAIRIES[1]

[1] Adapted from the facts given in the German of Die Zehn {Feeen?}, byH. A. Guerber. 

Once upon a time there was a dear little girl, whose name was Elsa. Elsa's father and mother worked very hard and became rich. But theyloved Elsa so much that they did not like to have her do any work; veryfoolishly, they let her play all the time. So when Elsa grew up, shedid not know how to do anything; she could not make bread, she couldnot sweep a room, she could not sew a seam; she could only laugh andsing. But she was so sweet and merry that everybody loved her. And byand by, she married one of the people who loved her, and had a house ofher own to take care of. 

Then, then, my dears, came hard times for Elsa! There were so manythings to be done in the house, and she did not know how to do any ofthem! And because she had never worked at all it made her very tiredeven to try; she was tired before the morning was over, every day. Themaid would come and say, "How shall I do this?" or "How shall I dothat?" And Elsa would have to say, "I don't know. " Then the maid wouldpretend that she did not know, either; and when she saw her mistresssitting about doing nothing, she, too, sat about, idle. 

Elsa's husband had a hard time of it; he did not have good things toeat, and they were not ready at the right time, and the house lookedall in a clutter. It made him sad, and that made Elsa sad, for shewanted to do everything just right. 

At last, one day, Elsa's husband went away quite cross; he said to her, as he went out the door, "It is no wonder that the house looks so, whenyou sit all day with your hands in your lap!"

Little Elsa cried bitterly when he was gone, for she did not want tomake her husband unhappy and cross, and she wanted the house to looknice. "Oh, dear, " she sobbed, "I wish I could do things right! I wishI could work! I wish--I wish I had ten good fairies to work for me!Then I could keep the house!"

As she said the words, a great gray man stood before her; he waswrapped in a strange gray cloak that covered him from head to foot; andhe smiled at Elsa. "What is the matter, dear?" he said. "Why do youcry?"

"Oh, I am crying because I do not know how to keep the house, " saidElsa. "I cannot make bread, I cannot sweep, I cannot sew a seam; whenI was a little girl I never learned to work, and now I cannot doanything right. I wish I had ten good fairies to help me!"

"You shall have them, dear, " said the gray man, and he shook hisstrange gray cloak. Pouf! Out hopped ten tiny fairies, no bigger thanthat!

"These shall be your servants, Elsa, " said the gray man; "they arefaithful and clever, and they will do everything you want them to, justright. But the neighbors might stare and ask questions if they sawthese little chaps running about your house, so I will hide them awayfor you. Give me your little useless hands. "

Wondering, Elsa stretched out her pretty, little, white hands. 

"Now stretch out your little useless fingers, dear!"

Elsa stretched out her pretty pink fingers. 

The gray man touched each one of the ten little fingers, and as hetouched them he said their names: "Little Thumb; Fore-finger;Thimble-finger; Ring-finger; Little Finger; Little Thumb; Forefinger;Thimble-finger; Ring-finger; Little Finger!" And as he named thefingers, one after another, the tiny fairies bowed their tiny heads;there was a fairy for every name. 

"Hop! hide yourselves away!" said the gray man. 

Hop, hop! The fairies sprang to Elsa's knee, then to the palms of herhands, and then-whisk! they were all hidden away in her little pinkfingers, a fairy in every finger! And the gray man was gone. 

Elsa sat and looked with wonder at her little white hands and the tenuseless fingers. But suddenly the little fingers began to stir. Thetiny fairies who were hidden away there weren't used to staying still, and they were getting restless. They stirred so that Elsa jumped up andran to the cooking table, and took hold of the bread board. No soonerhad she touched the bread board than the little fairies began to work:they measured the flour, mixed the bread, kneaded the loaves, and setthem to rise, quicker than you could wink; and when the bread was done, it was the nicest you could wish. Then the little fairy-fingers seizedthe broom, and in a twinkling they were making the house clean. And soit went, all day. Elsa flew about from one thing to another, and theten fairies did it all, just right. 

When the maid saw her mistress working, she began to work, too; andwhen she saw how beautifully everything was done, she was ashamed to doanything badly herself. In a little while the housework was goingsmoothly, and Elsa could laugh and sing again. 

There was no more crossness in that house. Elsa's husband grew soproud of her that he went about saying to everybody, "My grandmotherwas a fine housekeeper, and my mother was a fine housekeeper, butneither of them could hold a candle to my wife. She has only one maid, but, to see the work done, you would think she had as many servants asshe has fingers on her hands!"

When Elsa heard that, she used to laugh, but she never, never told. 

THE ELVES AND THE SHOEMAKER

Once upon a time there was an honest shoemaker, who was very poor. Heworked as hard as he could, and still he could not earn enough to keephimself and his wife. At last there came a day when he had nothing leftbut one piece of leather, big enough to make one pair of shoes. He cutout the shoes, ready to stitch, and left them on the bench; then hesaid his prayers and went to bed, trusting that he could finish theshoes on the next day and sell them. 

Bright and early the next morning, he rose and went to his work-bench. There lay a pair of shoes, beautifully made, and the leather was gone!There was no sign of any one's having been there. The shoemaker andhis wife did not know what to make of it. But the first customer whocame was so pleased with the beautiful shoes that he bought them, andpaid so much that the shoemaker was able to buy leather enough for twopairs. 

Happily, he cut them out, and then, as it was late, he left the pieceson the bench, ready to sew in the morning. But when morning came, twopairs of shoes lay on the bench, most beautifully made, and no sign ofany one who had been there. The shoemaker and his wife were quite at aloss. 

That day a customer came and bought both pairs, and paid so much forthem that the shoemaker bought leather for four pairs, with the money. 

Once more he cut out the shoes and left them on the bench. And in themorning all four pairs were made. 

It went on like this until the shoemaker and his wife were prosperouspeople. But they could not be satisfied to have so much done for themand not know to whom they should be grateful. So one night, after theshoemaker had left the pieces of leather on the bench, he and his wifehid themselves behind a curtain, and left a light in the room. 

Just as the clock struck twelve the door opened softly, and two tinyelves came dancing into the room, hopped on to the bench, and began toput the pieces together. They were quite naked, but they had weelittle scissors and hammers and thread. Tap! tap! went the littlehammers; stitch, stitch, went the thread, and the little elves werehard at work. No one ever worked so fast as they. In almost no timeall the shoes were stitched and finished. Then the tiny elves tookhold of each other's hands and danced round the shoes on the bench, till the shoemaker and his wife had hard work not to laugh aloud. Butas the clock struck two, the little creatures whisked away out of thewindow, and left the room all as it was before. 

The shoemaker and his wife looked at each other, and said, "How can wethank the little elves who have made us happy and prosperous?"

"I should like to make them some pretty clothes, " said the wife, "theyare quite naked. "

"I will make the shoes if you will make the coats, " said her husband. 

That very day they set about it. The wife cut out two tiny, tiny coatsof green, two weeny, weeny waistcoats of yellow, two little pairs oftrousers, of white, two bits of caps, bright red (for every one knowsthe elves love bright colors), and her husband made two little pairs ofshoes with long, pointed toes. They made the wee clothes as dainty ascould be, with nice little stitches and pretty buttons; and byChristmas time, they were finished. 

On Christmas eve, the shoemaker cleaned his bench, and on it, insteadof leather, he laid the two sets of gay little fairy-clothes. Then heand his wife hid away as before, to watch. 

Promptly at midnight, the little naked elves came in. They hopped uponthe bench; but when they saw the little clothes there, they laughed anddanced for joy. Each one caught up his little coat and things and beganto put them on. Then they looked at each other and made all kinds offunny motions in their delight. At last they began to dance, and whenthe clock struck two, they danced quite away, out of the window. 

They never came back any more, but from that day they gave theshoemaker and his wife good luck, so that they never needed any morehelp. 

WHO KILLED THE OTTER'S BABIES[1]?

[1] Adapted from the story as told in Fables and Folk Tales From anEastern Forest, by Walter Skeat. 

Once the Otter came to the Mouse-deer and said, "Friend Mouse-deer, will you please take care of my babies while I go to the river, tocatch fish?"

"Certainly, " said the Mouse-deer, "go along. "

But when the Otter came back from the river, with a string of fish, hefound his babies crushed flat. 

"What does this mean, Friend Mouse-deer?" he said. "Who killed mychildren while you were taking care of them?"

"I am very sorry, " said the Mouse-deer, "but you know I am Chief Dancerof the War-dance, and the Woodpecker came and sounded the war-gong, soI danced. I forgot your children, and trod on them. "

"I shall go to King Solomon, " said the Otter, "and you shall bepunished. "

Soon the Mouse-deer was called before King Solomon. 

"Did you kill the Otter's babies?" said the king. 

"Yes, your Majesty, " said the Mouse-deer, "but I did not mean to. "

"How did it happen?" said the king. 

"Your Majesty knows, " said the Mouse-deer, "that I am Chief Dancer ofthe War-dance. The Woodpecker came and sounded the war-gong, and I hadto dance; and as I danced I trod on the Otter's children. "

"Send for the Woodpecker, " said King Solomon. And when the Woodpeckercame, he said to him, "Was it you who sounded the war-gong?"

"Yes, your Majesty, " said the Woodpecker, "but I had to. "

"Why?" said the king. 

"Your Majesty knows, " said the Woodpecker, "that I am Chief Beater ofthe War-gong, and I sounded the gong because I saw the Great Lizardwearing his sword. "

"Send for the Great Lizard, " said King Solomon. When the Great Lizardcame, he asked him, "Was it you who were wearing your sword?"

"Yes, your Majesty, " said the Great Lizard; "but I had to. "

"Why?" said the king. 

"Your Majesty knows, " said the Great Lizard, "that I am Chief Protectorof the Sword. I wore my sword because the Tortoise came wearing hiscoat of mail. "

So the Tortoise was sent for. 

"Why did you wear your coat of mail?" said the king. 

"I put it on, your Majesty, " said the Tortoise, "because I saw theKing-crab trailing his three-edged pike. "

Then the King-crab was sent for. 

"Why were you trailing your three-edged pike?" said King Solomon. 

"Because, your Majesty, " said the Kingerab, "I saw that the Crayfishhad shouldered his lance. "

Immediately the Crayfish was sent for. 

"Why did you shoulder your lance?" said the king. 

"Because, your Majesty, " said the Crayfish, "I saw the Otter comingdown to the river to kill my children. "

"Oh, " said King Solomon, "if that is the case, the Otter killed theOtter's children. And the Mouse-deer cannot be held, by the law of theland!"

EARLY[1]

[1] From The singing Leaves, by Josephine Preston Peabody (Houghton, Mifflin and Co. ). 

 I like to lie and wait to see My mother braid her hair. It is as long as it can be, And yet she doesn't care. I love my mother's hair. 

 And then the way her fingers go; They look so quick and white, -- In and out, and to and fro, And braiding in the light, And it is always right. 

 So then she winds it, shiny brown, Around her head into a crown, Just like the day before. And then she looks and pats it down, And looks a minute more; While I stay here all still and cool. Oh, isn't morning beautiful?

THE BRAHMIN, THE TIGER, AND THE JACKAL

Do you know what a Brahmin is? A Brahmin is a very good and gentlekind of man who lives in India, and who treats all the beasts as ifthey were his brothers. There is a great deal more to know aboutBrahmins, but that is enough for the story. 

One day a Brahmin was walking along a country road when he came upon aTiger, shut up in a strong iron cage. The villagers had caught him andshut him up there for his wickedness. 

"Oh, Brother Brahmin, Brother Brahmin, " said the Tiger, "please let meout, to get a little drink! I am so thirsty, and there is no waterhere. "

"But Brother Tiger, " said the Brahmin, "you know if I should let youout, you would spring on me and eat me up. "

"Never, Brother Brahmin!" said the Tiger. "Never in the world would Ido such an ungrateful thing! Just let me out a little minute, to get alittle, little drink of water, Brother Brahmin!"

So the Brahmin unlocked the door and let the Tiger out. The moment hewas out he sprang on the Brahmin, and was about to eat him up. 

"But, Brother Tiger, " said the Brahmin, "you promised you would not. It is not fair or just that you should eat me, when I set you free. "

"It is perfectly right and just, " said the Tiger, "and I shall eat youup. "

However, the Brahmin argued so hard that at last the Tiger agreed towait and ask the first five whom they should meet, whether it was fairfor him to eat the Brahmin, and to abide by their decision. 

The first thing they came to, to ask, was an old Banyan Tree, by thewayside. (A banyan tree is a kind of fruit tree. )

"Brother Banyan, " said the Brahmin, eagerly, "does it seem to you rightor just that this Tiger should eat me, when I set him free from hiscage?"

The Banyan Tree looked down at them and spoke in a tired voice. 

"In the summer, " he said, "when the sun is hot, men come and sit in thecool of my shade and refresh themselves with the fruit of my branches. But when evening falls, and they are rested, they break my twigs andscatter my leaves, and stone my boughs for more fruit. Men are anungrateful race. Let the Tiger eat the Brahmin. "

The Tiger sprang to eat the Brahmin, but the Brahmin said, --

"Wait, wait; we have asked only one. We have still four to ask. "

Presently they came to a place where an old Bullock was lying by theroad. The Brahmin went up to him and said, --

"Brother Bullock, oh, Brother Bullock, does it seem to you a fair thingthat this Tiger should eat me up, after I have just freed him from acage?"

The Bullock looked up, and answered in a deep, grumbling voice, --

"When I was young and strong my master used me hard, and I served himwell. I carried heavy loads and carried them far. Now that I am oldand weak and cannot work, he leaves me without food or water, to die bythe wayside. Men are a thankless lot. Let the Tiger eat the Brahmin. "

The Tiger sprang, but the Brahmin spoke very quickly:--

"Oh, but this is only the second, Brother Tiger; you promised to askfive. "

The Tiger grumbled a good deal, but at last he went on again with theBrahmin. And after a time they saw an Eagle, high overhead. TheBrahmin called up to him imploringly, --

"Oh, Brother Eagle, Brother Eagle! Tell us if it seems to you fair thatthis Tiger should eat me up, when I have just saved him from afrightful cage?"

The Eagle soared slowly overhead a moment, then he came lower, andspoke in a thin, clear voice. 

"I live high in the air, " he said, "and I do no man any harm. Yet asoften as they find my eyrie, men stone my young and rob my nest andshoot at me with arrows. Men are a cruel breed. Let the Tiger eat theBrahmin!"

The Tiger sprang upon the Brahmin, to eat him up; and this time theBrahmin had very hard work to persuade him to wait. At last he didpersuade him, however, and they walked on together. And in a littlewhile they saw an old Alligator, lying half buried in mud and slime, atthe river's edge. 

"Brother Alligator, oh, Brother Alligator!" said the Brahmin, "does itseem at all right or fair to you that this Tiger should eat me up, whenI have just now let him out of a cage?"

The old Alligator turned in the mud, and grunted, and snorted; then hesaid, "I lie here in the mud all day, as harmless as a pigeon; I hunt no man, yet every time a man sees me, he throws stones at me, and pokes me withsharp sticks, and jeers at me. Men are a worthless lot. Let the Tigereat the Brahmin!"

At this the Tiger was bound to eat the Brahmin at once. The poorBrahmin had to remind him, again and again, that they had asked onlyfour. 

"Wait till we've asked one more! Wait until we see a fifth!" he begged. 

Finally, the Tiger walked on with him. 

After a time, they met the little Jackal, coming gayly down the roadtoward them. 

"Oh, Brother Jackal, dear Brother Jackal, " said the Brahmin, "give usyour opinion! Do you think it right or fair that this Tiger should eatme, when I set him free from a terrible cage?"

"Beg pardon?" said the little Jackal. 

"I said, " said the Brahmin, raising his voice, "do you think it is fairthat the Tiger should eat me, when I set him free from his cage?"

"Cage?" said the little Jackal, vacantly. 

"Yes, yes, his cage, " said the Brahmin. "We want your opinion. Do youthink--"

"Oh, " said the little Jackal, "you want my opinion? Then may I beg youto speak a little more loudly, and make the matter quite clear? I am alittle slow of understanding. Now what was it?"

"Do you think, " said the Brahmin, "it is right for this Tiger to eatme, when I set him free from his cage?"

"What cage?" said the little Jackal. 

"Why, the cage he was in, " said the Brahmin. "You see--"

"But I don't altogether understand, " said the little Jackal, "You 'sethim free, ' you say?"

"Yes, yes, yes!" said the Brahmin. 

"It was this way: I was walking along, and I saw the Tiger--"

"Oh, dear, dear!" interrupted the little Jackal; "I never can seethrough it, if you go on like that, with a long story. If you reallywant my opinion you must make the matter clear. What sort of cage wasit?"

"Why, a big, ordinary cage, an iron cage, " said the Brahmin. 

"That gives me no idea at all, " said the little Jackal. "See here, myfriends, if we are to get on with this matter you'd best show me thespot. Then I can understand in a jiffy. Show me the cage. "

So the Brahmin, the Tiger, and the little Jackal walked back togetherto the spot where the cage was. 

"Now, let us understand the situation, " said the little Jackal. "Brahmin, where were you?"

"I stood here by the roadside, " said the Brahmin. 

"Tiger, where were you?" said the little Jackal. 

"Why, in the cage, of course, " roared the Tiger. 

"Oh, I beg your pardon, Father Tiger, " said the little Jackal, "Ireally am SO stupid; I cannot QUITE understand what happened. If youwill have a little patience, --HOW were you in the cage? What positionwere you in?"

"I stood here, " said the Tiger, leaping into the cage, "with my headover my shoulder, so. "

"Oh, thank you, thank you, " said the little Jackal, "that makes it MUCHclearer; but I still don't QUITE understand--forgive my slow mind--whydid you not come out, by yourself?"

"Can't you see that the door shut me in?" said the Tiger. 

"Oh, I do beg your pardon, " said the little Jackal. "I know I am veryslow; I can never understand things well unless I see just how theywere if you could show me now exactly how that door works I am sure Icould understand. How does it shut?"

"It shuts like this, " said the Brahmin, pushing it to. 

"Yes; but I don't see any lock, " said the little Jackal, "does it lockon the outside?"

"It locks like this, " said the Brahmin. And he shut and bolted the door!

"Oh, does it, indeed?" said the little Jackal. "Does it, INDEED!Well, Brother Brahmin, now that it is locked, I should advise you tolet it stay locked! As for you, my friend, " he said to the Tiger, "Ithink you will wait a good while before you'll find any one to let youout again!"

Then he made a very low bow to the Brahmin. 

"Good-by, Brother, " he said. "Your way lies that way, and mine liesthis; good-by!"

THE LITTLE JACKAL AND THE CAMEL

All these stories about the little Jackal that I have told you, showhow clever the little Jackal was. But you know--if you don't, you willwhen you are grown up-- that no matter how clever you are, sooner orlater you surely meet some one who is cleverer. It is always so inlife. And it was so with the little Jackal. This is what happened. 

The little Jackal was, as you know, exceedingly fond of shell-fish, especially of river crabs. Now there came a time when he had eaten allthe crabs to be found on his own side of the river. He knew there mustbe plenty on the other side, if he could only get to them, but he couldnot swim. 

One day he thought of a plan. He went to his friend the Camel, andsaid, --

"Friend Camel, I know a spot where the sugar-cane grows thick; I'llshow you the way, if you will take me there. "

"Indeed I will, " said the Camel, who was very fond of sugar-cane. "Where is it?"

"It is on the other side of the river, " said the little Jackal; "but wecan manage it nicely, if you will take me on your back and swim over. "

The Camel was perfectly willing, so the little Jackal jumped on hisback, and the Camel swam across the river, carrying him. When they weresafely over, the little Jackal jumped down and showed the Camel thesugar-cane field; then he ran swiftly along the river bank, to hunt forcrabs; the Camel began to eat sugar-cane. He ate happily, and noticednothing around him. 

Now, you know, a Camel is very big, and a Jackal is very little. Consequently, the little Jackal had eaten his fill by the time theCamel had barely taken a mouthful. The little Jackal had no mind towait for his slow friend; he wanted to be off home again, about hisbusiness. So he ran round and round the sugar-cane field, and as heran he sang and shouted, and made a great hullabaloo. 

Of course, the villagers heard him at once. 

"There is a Jackal in the sugar-cane, " they said; "he will dig holesand destroy the roots; we must go down and drive him out. " So theycame down, with sticks and stones. When they got there, there was noJackal to be seen; but they saw the great Camel, eating away at thejuicy sugar-cane. They ran at him and beat him, and stoned him, anddrove him away half dead. 

When they had gone, leaving the poor Camel half killed, the littleJackal came dancing back from somewhere or other. 

"I think it's time to go home, now, " he said; "don't you?"

"Well, you ARE a pretty friend!" said the Camel. "The idea of yourmaking such a noise, with your shouting and singing! You brought thisupon me. What in the world made you do it? Why did you shout andsing?"

"Oh, I don't know WHY, " said the little Jackal, --"I always sing afterdinner!"

"So?" said the Camel, "Ah, very well, let us go home now. "

He took the little Jackal kindly on his back and started into thewater. When he began to swim he swam out to where the river was thevery deepest. There he stopped, and said, --

"Oh, Jackal!"

"Yes, " said the little Jackal. 

"I have the strangest feeling, " said the Camel, --"I feel as if I mustroll over. "

"'Roll over'!" cried the Jackal. "My goodness, don't do that! If youdo that, you'll drown me! What in the world makes you want to do sucha crazy thing? Why should you want to roll over?"

"Oh, I don't know WHY, " said the Camel slowly, "but I always roll overafter dinner!"

So he rolled over. 

And the little Jackal was drowned, for his sins, but the Camel camesafely home. 

THE GULLS OF SALT LAKE

The story I am going to tell you is about something that reallyhappened, many years ago, when most of the mothers and fathers of thechildren here were not born, themselves. At that time, nearly all thepeople in the United States lived between the Atlantic Ocean and theMississippi River. Beyond were plains, reaching to the foot of themighty Rocky Mountains, where Indians and wild beasts roamed. The onlywhite men there were a few hunters and trappers. 

One year a brave little company of people traveled across the plains inbig covered wagons with many horses, and finally succeeded in climbingto the top of the great Rockies and down again into a valley in thevery midst of the mountains. It was a valley of brown, bare, desertsoil, in a climate where almost no rain falls; but the snows on themountain-tops sent down little streams of pure water, the winds weregentle, and lying like a blue jewel at the foot of the western hillswas a marvelous lake of salt water, --an inland sea. So the pioneerssettled there and built them huts and cabins for the first winter. 

It had taken them many months to make the terrible journey; many haddied of weariness and illness on the way; many died of hardship duringthe winter; and the provisions they had brought in their wagons were sonearly gone that, by spring, they were living partly on roots, dug fromthe ground. All their lives now depended on the crops of grain andvegetables which they could raise in the valley. They made the barrenland good by spreading water from the little streams over it, --what wecall "irrigating;" and they planted enough corn and grain andvegetables for all the people. Every one helped, and every one watchedfor the sprouting, with hopes, and prayers, and careful eyes. 

In good time the seeds sprouted, and the dry, brown earth was coveredwith a carpet of tender, green, growing things. No farmer's garden athome in the East could have looked better than the great garden of thedesert valley. And from day to day the little shoots grew andflourished till they were all well above the ground. 

Then a terrible thing happened. One day the men who were watering thecrops saw a great number of crickets swarming over the ground at theedge of the gardens nearest the mountains. They were hopping from thebarren places into the young, green crops, and as they settled downthey ate the tiny shoots and leaves to the ground. More came, and more, and ever more, and as they came they spread out till they covered a bigcorner of the grain field. And still more and more, till it was likean army of black, hopping, crawling crickets, streaming down the sideof the mountain to kill the crops. 

The men tried to kill the crickets by beating the ground, but thenumbers were so great that it was like beating at the sea. Then theyran and told the terrible news, and all the village came to help. Theystarted fires; they dug trenches and filled them with water; they ranwildly about in the fields, killing what they could. But while theyfought in one place new armies of crickets marched down themountain-sides and attacked the fields in other places. And at last thepeople fell on their knees and wept and cried in despair, for they sawstarvation and death in the fields. 

A few knelt to pray. Others gathered round and joined them, weeping. More left their useless struggles and knelt beside their neighbors. Atlast nearly all the people were kneeling on the desolate fields prayingfor deliverance from the plague of crickets. 

Suddenly, from far off in the air toward the great salt lake, there wasthe sound of flapping wings. It grew louder. Some of the peoplelooked up, startled. They saw, like a white cloud rising from thelake, a flock of sea gulls flying toward them. Snow-white in the sun, with great wings beating and soaring, in hundreds and hundreds, theyrose and circled and came on. 

"The gulls! the gulls!" was the cry. "What does it mean?"

The gulls flew overhead, with a shrill chorus of whimpering cries, andthen, in a marvelous white cloud of spread wings and hovering breasts, they settled down over the seeded ground. 

"Oh! woe! woe!" cried the people. "The gulls are eating what thecrickets have left! they will strip root and branch!"

But all at once, some one called out, --

"No, no! See! they are eating the crickets! They are eating only thecrickets!"

It was true. The gulls devoured the crickets in dozens, in hundreds, in swarms. They ate until they were gorged, and then they flew heavilyback to the lake, only to come again with new appetite. And when atlast they finished, they had stripped the fields of the cricket army;and the people were saved. 

To this day, in the beautiful city of Salt Lake, which grew out of thatpioneer village, the little children are taught to love the sea gulls. And when they learn drawing and weaving in the schools, their firstdesign is often a picture of a cricket and a gull. 

THE NIGHTINGALE[1]

[1] Adapted from Hans Christian Andersen. 

A long, long time ago, as long ago as when there were fairies, therelived an emperor in China, who had a most beautiful palace, all made ofcrystal. Outside the palace was the loveliest garden in the wholeworld, and farther away was a forest where the trees were taller thanany other trees in the world, and farther away, still, was a deep wood. And in this wood lived a little Nightingale. The Nightingale sang sobeautifully that everybody who heard her remembered her song betterthan anything else that he heard or saw. People came from all over theworld to see the crystal palace and the wonderful garden and the greatforest; but when they went home and wrote books about these things theyalways wrote, "But the Nightingale is the best of all. "

At last it happened that the Emperor came upon a book which said this, and he at once sent for his Chamberlain. 

"Who is this Nightingale?" said the Emperor. "Why have I never heardhim sing?"

The Chamberlain, who was a very important person, said, "There cannotbe any such person; I have never heard his name. "

"The book says there is a Nightingale, " said the Emperor. "I commandthat the Nightingale be brought here to sing for me this evening. "

The Chamberlain went out and asked all the great lords and ladies andpages where the Nightingale could be found, but not one of them hadever heard of him. So the Chamberlain went back to the Emperor andsaid, "There is no such person. "

"The book says there is a Nightingale, " said the Emperor; "if theNightingale is not here to sing for me this evening I will have thecourt trampled upon, immediately after supper. "

The Chamberlain did not want to be trampled upon, so he ran out andasked everybody in the palace about the Nightingale. At last, a littlegirl who worked in the kitchen to help the cook's helper, said, "Oh, yes, I know the Nightingale very well. Every night, when I go to carryscraps from the kitchen to my mother, who lives in the wood beyond theforest, I hear the Nightingale sing. "

The Chamberlain asked the little cook-maid to take him to theNightingale's home, and many of the lords and ladies followed after. When they had gone a little way, they heard a cow moo. 

"Ah!" said the lords and ladies, "that must be the Nightingale; what alarge voice for so small a creature!"

"Oh, no, " said the little girl, "that is just a cow, mooing. "

A little farther on they heard some bull-frogs, in a swamp. "Surelythat is the Nightingale, " said the courtiers; "it really sounds likechurch-bells!"

"Oh, no, " said the little girl, "those are bullfrogs, croaking. "

At last they came to the wood where the Nightingale was. "Hush!" saidthe little girl, "she is going to sing. " And, sure enough, the littleNightingale began to sing. She sang so beautifully that you have neverin all your life heard anything like it. 

"Dear, dear, " said the courtiers, "that is very pleasant; does thatlittle gray bird really make all that noise? She is so pale that Ithink she has lost her color for fear of us. "

The Chamberlain asked the little Nightingale to come and sing for theEmperor. The little Nightingale said she could sing better in her owngreenwood, but she was so sweet and kind that she came with them. 

That evening the palace was all trimmed with the most beautiful flowersyou can imagine, and rows and rows of little silver bells, that tinkledwhen the wind blew in, and hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of waxcandles, that shone like tiny stars. In the great hall there was agold perch for the Nightingale, beside the Emperor's throne. 

When all the people were there, the Emperor asked the Nightingale tosing. Then the little gray Nightingale filled her throat full, andsang. And, my dears, she sang so beautifully that the Emperor's eyesfilled up with tears! And, you know, emperors do not cry at alleasily. So he asked her to sing again, and this time she sang somarvelously that the tears came out of his eyes and ran down hischeeks. That was a great success. They asked the little Nightingaleto sing, over and over again, and when they had listened enough theEmperor said that she should be made "Singer in Chief to the Court. "She was to have a golden perch near the Emperor's bed, and a littlegold cage, and was to be allowed to go out twice every day. But therewere twelve servants appointed to wait on her, and those twelveservants went with her every time she went out, and each of the twelvehad hold of the end of a silken string which was tied to the littleNightingale's leg! It was not so very much fun to go out that way!

For a long, long time the Nightingale sang every evening to the Emperorand his court, and they liked her so much that the ladies all tried tosound like her; they used to put water in their mouths and then makelittle sounds like this: glu-glu-glug. And when the courtiers met eachother in the halls, one would say "Night, " and the other would say"ingale, " and that was conversation. 

At last, one day, there came a little package to the Emperor, on theoutside of which was written, "The Nightingale. " Inside was anartificial bird, something like a Nightingale, only it was made ofgold, and silver, and rubies, and emeralds, and diamonds. When it waswound up it played a waltz tune, and as it played it moved its littletail up and down. Everybody in the court was filled with delight atthe music of the new nightingale. They made it sing that same tunethirty-three times, and still they had not had enough. They would havemade it sing the tune thirty-four times, but the Emperor said, "Ishould like to hear the real Nightingale sing, now. "

But when they looked about for the real little Nightingale, they couldnot find her anywhere! She had taken the chance, while everybody waslistening to the waltz tunes, to fly away through the window to her owngreenwood. 

"What a very ungrateful bird!" said the lords and ladies. "But it doesnot matter; the new nightingale is just as good. "

So the artificial nightingale was given the real Nightingale's littlegold perch, and every night the Emperor wound her up, and she sangwaltz tunes to him. The people in the court liked her even better thanthe old Nightingale, because they could all whistle her tunes, --whichyou can't do with real nightingales. 

About a year after the artificial nightingale came, the Emperor waslistening to her waltz-tune, when there was a SNAP and WHIR-R-R insidethe bird, and the music stopped. The Emperor ran to his doctor but hecould not do anything. Then he ran to his clock-maker, but he couldnot do much. Nobody could do much. The best they could do was topatch the gold nightingale up so that it could sing once a year; eventhat was almost too much, and the tune was pretty shaky. Still, theEmperor kept the gold nightingale on the perch in his own room. 

A long time went by, and then, at last, the Emperor grew very ill, andwas about to die. When it was sure that he could not live much longer, the people chose a new emperor and waited for the old one to die. Thepoor Emperor lay, quite cold and pale, in his great big bed, withvelvet curtains, and tall candlesticks all about. He was quite alone, for all the courtiers had gone to congratulate the new emperor, and allthe servants had gone to talk it over. 

When the Emperor woke up, he felt a terrible weight on his chest. Heopened his eyes, and there was Death, sitting on his heart. Death hadput on the Emperor's gold crown, and he had the gold sceptre in onehand, and the silken banner in the other; and he looked at the Emperorwith his great hollow eyes. The room was full of shadows, and theshadows were full of faces. Everywhere the Emperor looked, there werefaces. Some were very, very ugly, and some were sweet and lovely; theywere all the things the Emperor had done in his life, good and bad. And as he looked at them they began to whisper. They whispered, "DO YOUREMEMBER THIS?" "DO YOU REMEMBER THAT?" The Emperor remembered so muchthat he cried out loud, "Oh, bring the great drum! Make music, so thatI may not hear these dreadful whispers!" But there was nobody there tobring the drum. 

Then the Emperor cried, "You little gold nightingale, can you not singsomething for me? I have given you gifts of gold and jewels, and keptyou always by my side; will you not help me now?" But there was nobodyto wind the little gold nightingale up, and of course it could not sing. 

The Emperor's heart grew colder and colder where Death crouched uponit, and the dreadful whispers grew louder and louder, and the Emperor'slife was almost gone. Suddenly, through the open window, there came amost lovely song. It was so sweet and so loud that the whispers diedquite away. Presently the Emperor felt his heart grow warm, then hefelt the blood flow through his limbs again; he listened to the songuntil the tears ran down his cheeks; he knew that it was the littlereal Nightingale who had flown away from him when the gold nightingalecame. 

Death was listening to the song, too; and when it was done and theEmperor begged for more, Death, too, said, "Please sing again, littleNightingale!"

"Will you give me the Emperor's gold crown for a song?" said the littleNightingale. 

"Yes, " said Death; and the little Nightingale bought the Emperor'scrown for a song. 

"Oh, sing again, little Nightingale, " begged Death. 

"Will you give me the Emperor's sceptre for another song?" said thelittle gray Nightingale. 

"Yes, " said Death; and the little Nightingale bought the Emperor'ssceptre for another song. 

Once more Death begged for a song, and this time the little Nightingalegot the banner for her singing. Then she sang one more song, so sweetand so sad that it made Death think of his garden in the churchyard, where he always liked best to be. And he rose from the Emperor's heartand floated away through the window. 

When Death was gone, the Emperor said to the little Nightingale, "Oh, dear little Nightingale, you have saved me from Death! Do not leave meagain. Stay with me on this little gold perch, and sing to me always!"

"No, dear Emperor, " said the little Nightingale, "I sing best when I amfree; I cannot live in a palace. But every night when you are quitealone, I will come and sit in the window and sing to you, and tell youeverything that goes on in your kingdom: I will tell you where the poorpeople are who ought to be helped, and where the wicked people are whoought to be punished. Only, dear Emperor, be sure that you never letanybody know that you have a little bird who tells you everything. "

After the little Nightingale had flown away, the Emperor felt so welland strong that he dressed himself in his royal robes and took his goldsceptre in his hand. And when the courtiers came in to see if he weredead, there stood the Emperor with his sword in one hand and hissceptre in the other, and said, "Good-morning!"

MARGERY'S GARDEN[1]

[1] I have always been inclined to avoid, in my work among children, the "how to make" and "how to do" kind of story; it is too likely totrespass on the ground belonging by right to its more artistic and lessintentional kinsfolk. Nevertheless, there is a legitimate place forthe instruction-story. Within its own limits, and especially in aschool use, it has a real purpose to serve, and a real desire to meet. Children have a genuine taste for such morsels of practicalinformation, if the bites aren't made too big and too solid. And tothe teacher of the first grades, from whom so much is demanded in theway of practical instruction, I know that these stories are a boon. They must be chosen with care, and used with discretion, but they neednever be ignored. 

I venture to give some little stories of this type, which I hope may beof use in the schools where country life and country work is an unknownexperience to the children. 

There was once a little girl named Margery, who had always lived in thecity. The flat where her mother and father lived was at the top of abig apartment-house, and you couldn't see a great deal from thewindows, except clothes-lines on other people's roofs. Margery did notknow much about trees and flowers, but she loved them dearly; wheneverit was a pleasant Sunday she used to go with her mother and father tothe park and look at the lovely flower-beds. They seemed always to befinished, though, and Margery was always wishing she could see themgrow. 

One spring, when Margery was nine, her father's work changed so that hecould move into the country, and he took a little house a shortdistance outside the town where his new position was. Margery wasdelighted. And the very first thing she said, when her father told herabout it, was, "Oh, may I have a garden? MAY I have a garden?"

Margery's mother was almost as eager for a garden as she was, andMargery's father said he expected to live on their vegetables all therest of his life! So it was soon agreed that the garden should be thefirst thing attended to. 

Behind the little house were apple trees, a plum tree, and two or threepear trees; then came a stretch of rough grass, and then a stone wall, with a gate leading into the pasture. It was in the grassy land thatthe garden was to be. A big piece was to be used for corn and peas andbeans, and a little piece at the end was to be saved for Margery. 

"What shall we have in it?" asked her mother. 

"Flowers, " said Margery, with shining eyes, --"blue, and white, andyellow, and pink, --every kind of flower!"

"Surely, flowers, " said her mother, "and shall we not have a littlesalad garden in the midst, as they do in England?"

"What is a salad garden?" Margery asked. 

"It is a garden where you have all the things that make nice salad, "said her mother, laughing, for Margery was fond of salads; "you havelettuce, and endive, and romaine, and parsley, and radishes, andcucumbers, and perhaps little beets and young onions. "

"Oh! how good it sounds!" said Margery. "I vote for the salad garden. "

That very evening, Margery's father took pencil and paper, and drew outa plan for her garden; first, they talked it all over, then he drewwhat they decided on; it looked like the diagram on the next page. 

"The outside strip is for flowers, " said Margery's father, "and thenext marks mean a footpath, all the way round the beds; that is so youcan get at the flowers to weed and to pick; there is a wider paththrough the middle, and the rest is all for rows of salad vegetables. "

"Papa, it is glorious!" said Margery. 

Papa laughed. "I hope you will still think it glorious when theweeding time comes, " he said, "for you know, you and mother havepromised to take care of this garden, while I take care of the big one. "

"I wouldn't NOT take care of it for anything!" said Margery. "I wantto feel that it is my very own. "

Her father kissed her, and said it was certainly her "very own. "

Two evenings after that, when Margery was called in from her firstramble in a "really, truly pasture, " she found the expressman at thedoor of the little house. 

"Something for you, Margery, " said her mother, with the look she hadwhen something nice was happening. 

It was a box, quite a big box, with a label on it that said:--

 MISS MARGERY BROWN, WOODVILLE, MASS. 

From Seeds and Plants Company, Boston. 

Margery could hardly wait to open it. It was filled with littlepackages, all with printed labels; and in the packages, of course, wereseeds. It made Margery dance, just to read the names, --nasturtium, giant helianthus, coreopsis, calendula, Canterbury bells: more namesthan I can tell you, and other packages, bigger, that said, "Peas:Dwarf Telephone, " and "Sweet Corn, " and such things! Margery couldalmost smell the posies, she was so excited. Only, she had seen solittle of flowers that she did not always know what the names meant. She did not know that a helianthus was a sunflower till her mother toldher, and she had never seen the dear, blue, bell-shaped flowers thatalways grow in old-fashioned gardens, and are called Canterbury bells. She thought the calendula must be a strange, grand flower, by its name;but her mother told her it was the gay, sturdy, every-dayish littleposy called a marigold. There was a great deal for a little city girlto be surprised about, and it did seem as if morning was a long way off!

"Did you think you could plant them in the morning?" asked her mother. "You know, dear, the ground has to be made ready first; it takes alittle time, --it may be several days before you can plant. "

That was another surprise. Margery had thought she could begin to sowthe seed right off. 

But this was what was done. Early the next morning, a man came drivinginto the yard, with two strong white horses; in his wagon was a plough. I suppose you have seen ploughs, but Margery never had, and she watchedwith great interest, while the man and her father took the plough fromthe cart and harnessed the horses to it. It was a great, three-corneredpiece of sharp steel, with long handles coming up from it, so that aman could hold it in place. It looked like this:--

"I brought a two-horse plough because it's green land, " the man said. Margery wondered what in the world he meant; it was green grass, ofcourse, but what had that to do with the kind of plough? "What does hemean, father?" she whispered, when she got a chance. "He means thatthis land has not been ploughed before, or not for many years; it willbe hard to turn the soil, and one horse could not pull the plough, "said her father. So Margery had learned what "green land" was. 

The man was for two hours ploughing the little strip of land. He drovethe sharp end of the plough into the soil, and held it firmly so, whilethe horses dragged it along in a straight line. Margery found itfascinating to see the long line of dark earth and green grass comerolling up and turn over, as the knife passed it. She could see thatit took real skill and strength to keep the line even, and to avoid thestones. Sometimes the plough struck a hidden stone, and then the manwas jerked almost off his feet. But he only laughed, and said, "Toughpiece of land; be a lot better the second year. "

When he had ploughed, the man went back to his cart and unloadedanother farm implement. This one was like a three-cornered platform ofwood, with a long, curved, strong rake under it. It was called aharrow, and it looked like this:--

The man harnessed the horses to it, and then he stood on the platformand drove all over the strip of land. It was fun to watch, but perhapsit was a little hard to do. The man's weight kept the harrow steady, and let the teeth of the rake scratch and cut the ground up, so that itdid not stay in ridges. 

"He scrambles the ground, father!" said Margery. 

"It needs scrambling, " laughed her father. "We are going to get moreweeds than we want on this green land, and the more the ground isbroken, the fewer there will be. "

After the ploughing and harrowing, the man drove off, and Margery'sfather said he would do the rest of the work in the late afternoons, when he came home from business; they could not afford too much help, he said, and he had learned to take care of a garden when he was a boy. So Margery did not see any more done until the next day. 

But the next day there was hard work for Margery's father! Every bitof that "scrambled" turf had to be broken up still more with a mattockand a spade, and then the pieces which were full of grass-roots had tobe taken on a fork and shaken, till the earth fell out; then the grasswas thrown to one side. That would not have had to be done if the landhad been ploughed in the fall; the grass would have rotted in theground, and would have made fertilizer for the plants. Now, Margery'sfather put the fertilizer on the top, and then raked it into the earth. 

At last, it was time to make the place for the seeds. Margery and hermother helped. Father tied one end of a cord to a little stake, anddrove the stake in the ground at one end of the garden. Then he tookthe cord to the other end of the garden and pulled it tight, tied it toanother stake, and drove that down. That made a straight line for himto see. Then he hoed a trench, a few inches deep, the whole length ofthe cord, and scattered fertilizer in it. Pretty soon the whole gardenwas in lines of little trenches. 

"Now for the corn, " said father. 

Margery ran and brought the seed box, and found the package of corn. It looked like kernels of gold, when it was opened. 

"May I help?" Margery asked, when she saw how pretty it was. 

"If you watch me sow one row, I think you can do the next, " said herfather. 

So Margery watched. Her father took a handful of kernels, and, stooping, walked slowly along the line, letting the kernels fall, fiveor six at a time, in spots about a foot apart; he swung his arm with agentle, throwing motion, and the golden seeds trickled out like littleshowers, very exactly. It was pretty to watch; it made Margery thinkof a photograph her teacher had, a photograph of a famous picturecalled "The Sower. " Perhaps you have seen it. 

Putting in the seed was not so easy to do as to watch; sometimesMargery got in too much, and sometimes not enough; but her fatherhelped fix it, and soon she did better. 

They planted peas, beans, spinach, carrots, and parsnips. AndMargery's father made a row of holes, after that, for the tomatoplants. He said those had to be transplanted; they could not be sownfrom seed. 

When the seeds were in the trenches they had to be covered up, andMargery really helped at that. It is fun to do it. You stand besidethe little trench and walk backward, and as you walk you hoe the looseearth back over the seeds; the same dirt that was hoed up you pull backagain. Then you rake very gently over the surface, with the back of arake, to even it all off. Margery liked it, because now the gardenbegan to look LIKE a garden. 

But best of all was the work next day, when her own little particulargarden was begun. Father Brown loved Margery and Margery's mother somuch that he wanted their garden to be perfect, and that meant a greatdeal more work. He knew very well that the old grass would begin tocome through again on such "green" soil, and that it would maketerribly hard weeding. He was not going to have any such thing for histwo "little girls, " as he called them. So he fixed that little gardenvery fine! This is what he did. 

After he had thrown out all the turf, he shoveled clean earth on to thegarden, -- as much as three solid inches of it; not a bit of grass wasin that. Then it was ready for raking and fertilizing, and for thelines. The little footpaths were marked out by Father Brown's feet;Margery and her mother laughed well when they saw it, for it lookedlike some kind of dance. Mr. Brown had seen gardeners do it when hewas a little boy, and he did it very nicely: he walked along the sidesof the square, with one foot turned a little out, and the otherstraight, taking such tiny steps that his feet touched each other allthe time. This tramped out a path just wide enough for a person to walk. 

The wider path was marked with lines and raked. 

Margery thought, of course, all the flowers would be put in as thevegetables were; but she found that it was not so. For some, her fatherpoked little holes with his finger; for some, he made very shallowditches; and some very small seeds were just scattered lightly over thetop of the ground. 

Margery and her mother had taken so much pains in thinking out how theflowers would look prettiest, that maybe you will like to hear just howthey designed that garden. At the back were the sweet peas, whichwould grow tall, like a screen; on the two sides, for a kind of hedge, were yellow sunflowers; and along the front edge were the gaynasturtiums. Margery planned that, so that she could look into thegarden from the front, but have it shut away from the vegetable patchby the tall flowers on the sides. The two front corners had coreopsisin them. Coreopsis is a tall, pretty, daisy-like flower, very daintyand bright. And then, in little square patches all round the garden, were planted white sweet alyssum, blue bachelor's buttons, yellowmarigolds, tall larkspur, many-colored asters and zinnias. All theselovely flowers used to grow in our grandmothers' gardens, and if youdon't know what they look like, I hope you can find out next summer. 

Between the flowers and the middle path went the seeds for thatwonderful salad garden; all the things Mrs. Brown had named to Margerywere there. Margery had never seen anything so cunning as the littleround lettuce-seeds. They looked like tiny beads; it did not seempossible that green lettuce leaves could come from those. But theysurely would. 

Mother and father and Margery were all late to supper that evening. But they were all so happy that it did not matter. The last thingMargery thought of, as she went to sleep at night, was the dear, smoothlittle garden, with its funny foot-path, and with the little sticksstanding at the end of the rows, labeled "lettuce, " "beets, ""helianthus, " and so on. 

"I have a garden! I have a garden!" thought Margery, and then she wentoff to dreamland. 

THE LITTLE COTYLEDONS

This is another story about Margery's garden. 

The next morning after the garden was planted, Margery was up and outat six o'clock. She could not wait to look at her garden. To be sure, she knew that the seeds could not sprout in a single night, but she hada feeling that SOMETHING might happen while she was not looking. Thegarden was just as smooth and brown as the night before, and no littleseeds were in sight. 

But a very few mornings after that, when Margery went out, there was afunny little crack opening up through the earth, the whole length ofthe patch. Quickly she knelt down in the footpath, to see. Yes! Tinygreen leaves, a whole row of them, were pushing their way through thecrust! Margery knew what she had put there: it was the radish-row;these must be radish leaves. She examined them very closely, so thatshe might know a radish next time. The little leaves, no bigger thanhalf your little-finger nail, grew in twos, --two on each tiny stem;they were almost round. 

Margery flew back to her mother, to say that the first seeds were up. And her mother, nearly as excited as Margery, came to look at thelittle crack. 

Each day, after that, the row of radishes grew, till, in a week, itstood as high as your finger, green and sturdy. But about the thirdday, while Margery was stooping over the radishes, she saw somethingvery, very small and green, peeping above ground, where the lettuce wasplanted. Could it be weeds? No, for on looking very closely she sawthat the wee leaves faintly marked a regular row. They did not make acrack, like the radishes; they seemed too small and too far apart topush the earth up like that. Margery leaned down and looked with allher eyes at the baby plants. The tiny leaves grew two on a stem, andwere almost round. The more she looked at them the more it seemed toMargery that they looked exactly as the radish looked when it firstcame up. "Do you suppose, " Margery said to herself, "that lettuce andradish look alike? They don't look alike in the market!"

Day by day the lettuce grew, and soon the little round leaves wereeasier to examine; they certainly were very much like radish leaves. 

Then, one morning, while she was searching the ground for signs ofseeds, Margery discovered the beets. In irregular patches on the row, hints of green were coming. The next day and the next they grew, untilthe beet leaves were big enough to see. 

Margery looked. Then she looked again. Then she wrinkled her forehead. "Can we have made a mistake?" she thought. "Do you suppose we can haveplanted all radishes?"

For those little beet leaves were almost round, and they grew two on astem, precisely like the lettuce and the radish; except for the size, all three rows looked alike. 

It was too much for Margery. She ran to the house and found herfather. Her little face was so anxious that he thought somethingunpleasant had happened. "Papa, " she said, all out of breath, "do youthink we could have made a mistake about my garden? Do you think wecould have put radishes in all the rows?"

Father laughed. "What makes you think such a thing?" he asked. 

"Papa, " said Margery, "the little leaves all look exactly alike! everyplant has just two tiny leaves on it, and shaped the same; they areroundish, and grow out of the stem at the same place. "

Papa's eyes began to twinkle. "Many of the dicotyledonous plants lookalike at the beginning, " he said, with a little drawl on the big word. That was to tease Margery, because she always wanted to know the bigwords she heard. 

"What's 'dicotyledonous'?" said Margery, carefully. 

"Wait till I come home to-night, dear, " said her father, "and I'll tellyou. "

That evening Margery was waiting eagerly for him, when her fatherfinished his supper. Together they went to the garden, and fatherexamined the seedlings carefully. Then he pulled up a little radishplant and a tiny beet. 

"These little leaves, " he said, "are not the real leaves of the plant;they are only little food-supply leaves, little pockets to hold foodfor the plant to live on till it gets strong enough to push up into theair. As soon as the real leaves come out and begin to draw food fromthe air, these little substitutes wither up and fall off. These twolie folded up in the little seed from the beginning, and are full ofplant food. They don't have to be very special in shape, you see, because they don't stay on the plant after it is grown up. "

"Then every plant looks like this at first?" said Margery. 

"No, dear, not every one; plants are divided into two kinds: thosewhich have two food leaves, like these plants, and those which haveonly one; these are called dicotyledonous, and the ones which have butone food leaf are monocotyledonous. Many of the dicotyledons lookalike. "

"I think that is interesting, " said Margery. "I always supposed theplants were different from the minute they began to grow. "

"Indeed, no, " said father. "Even some of the trees look like this whenthey first come through; you would not think a birch tree could looklike a vegetable or a flower, would you? But it does, at first; itlooks so much like these things that in the great nurseries, wheretrees are raised for forests and parks, the workmen have to be verycarefully trained, or else they would pull up the trees when they areweeding. They have to be taught the difference between a birch treeand a weed. "

"How funny!" said Margery dimpling. 

"Yes, it sounds funny, " said father; "but you see, the birch tree isdicotyledonous, and so are many weeds, and the dicotyledons look muchalike at first. "

"I am glad to know that, father, " said Margery, soberly. "I believemaybe I shall learn a good deal from living in the country; don't youthink so?"

Margery's father took her in his arms. "I hope so, dear, " he said; "thecountry is a good place for little girls. "

And that was all that happened, that day. 

THE TALKATIVE TORTOISE[1]

[1] Very freely adapted from one of the Fables of Bidpai. 

Once upon a time, a Tortoise lived in a pond with two Ducks, who wereher very good friends. She enjoyed the company of the Ducks, becauseshe could talk with them to her heart's content; the Tortoise liked totalk. She always had something to say, and she liked to hear herselfsay it. 

After many years of this pleasant living, the pond became very low, ina dry season; and finally it dried up. The two Ducks saw that theycould no longer live there, so they decided to fly to another region, where there was more water. They went to the Tortoise to bid hergood-by. 

"Oh, don't leave me behind!" begged the Tortoise. "Take me with you; Imust die if I am left here. "

"But you cannot fly!" said the Ducks. "How can we take you with us?"

"Take me with you! take me with you!" said the Tortoise. 

The Ducks felt so sorry for her that at last they thought of a way totake her. "We have thought of a way which will be possible, " they said, "if only you can manage to keep still long enough. We will each takehold of one end of a stout stick, and do you take the middle in yourmouth; then we will fly up in the air with you and carry you with us. But remember not to talk! If you open your mouth, you are lost. "

The Tortoise said she would not say a word; she would not so much asmove her mouth; and she was very grateful. So the Ducks brought astrong little stick and took hold of the ends, while the Tortoise bitfirmly on the middle. Then the two Ducks rose slowly in the air andflew away with their burden. 

When they were above the treetops, the Tortoise wanted to say, "Howhigh we are!" But she remembered, and kept still. When they passedthe church steeple she wanted to say, "What is that which shines?" Butshe remembered, and held her peace. Then they came over the villagesquare, and the people looked up and saw them. "Look at the Duckscarrying a Tortoise!" they shouted; and every one ran to look. TheTortoise wanted to say, "What business is it of yours?" But shedidn't. Then she heard the people shout, "Isn't it strange! Look atit! Look!"

The Tortoise forgot everything except that she wanted to say, "Hush, you foolish people!" She opened her mouth, -- and fell to the ground. And that was the end of the Tortoise. 

It is a very good thing to be able to hold one's tongue!

ROBERT OF SICILY[1]

[1] Adapted from Longfellow's poem. 

An old legend says that there was once a king named Robert of Sicily, who was brother to the great Pope of Rome and to the Emperor ofAllemaine. He was a very selfish king, and very proud; he cared morefor his pleasures than for the needs of his people, and his heart wasso filled with his own greatness that he had no thought for God. 

One day, this proud king was sitting in his place at church, at vesperservice; his courtiers were about him, in their bright garments, and hehimself was dressed in his royal robes. The choir was chanting theLatin service, and as the beautiful voices swelled louder, the kingnoticed one particular verse which seemed to be repeated again andagain. He turned to a learned clerk at his side and asked what thosewords meant, for he knew no Latin. 

"They mean, 'He hath put down the mighty from their seats, and hathexalted them of low degree, '" answered the clerk. 

"It is well the words are in Latin, then, " said the king angrily, "forthey are a lie. There is no power on earth or in heaven which can putme down from my seat!" And he sneered at the beautiful singing, as heleaned back in his place. 

Presently the king fell asleep, while the service went on. He sleptdeeply and long. When he awoke the church was dark and still, and hewas all alone. He, the king, had been left alone in the church, toawake in the dark! He was furious with rage and surprise, and, stumbling through the dim aisles, he reached the great doors and beatat them, madly, shouting for his servants. 

The old sexton heard some one shouting and pounding in the church, andthought it was some drunken vagabond who had stolen in during theservice. He came to the door with his keys and called out, "Who isthere?"

"Open! open! It is I, the king!" came a hoarse, angry voice fromwithin. 

"It is a crazy man, " thought the sexton; and he was frightened. Heopened the doors carefully and stood back, peering into the darkness. Out past him rushed the figure of a man in tattered, scanty clothes, with unkempt hair and white, wild face. The sexton did not know thathe had ever seen him before, but he looked long after him, wondering athis wildness and his haste. 

In his fluttering rags, without hat or cloak, not knowing what strangething had happened to him, King Robert rushed to his palace gates, pushed aside the startled servants, and hurried, blind with rage, upthe wide stair and through the great corridors, toward the room wherehe could hear the sound of his courtiers' voices. Men and womenservants tried to stop the ragged man, who had somehow got into thepalace, but Robert did not even see them as he fled along. Straight tothe open doors of the big banquet hall he made his way, and into themidst of the grand feast there. 

The great hall was filled with lights and flowers; the tables were setwith everything that is delicate and rich to eat; the courtiers, intheir gay clothes, were laughing and talking; and at the head of thefeast, on the king's own throne, sat a king. His face, his figure, hisvoice were exactly like Robert of Sicily; no human being could havetold the difference; no one dreamed that he was not the king. He wasdressed in the king's royal robes, he wore the royal crown, and on hishand was the king's own ring. Robert of Sicily, half naked, ragged, without a sign of his kingship on him, stood before the throne andstared with fury at this figure of himself. 

The king on the throne looked at him. "Who art thou, and what dost thouhere?" he asked. And though his voice was just like Robert's own, ithad something in it sweet and deep, like the sound of bells. 

"I am the king!" cried Robert of Sicily. "I am the king, and you are animpostor!"

The courtiers started from their seats, and drew their swords. Theywould have killed the crazy man who insulted their king; but he raisedhis hand and stopped them, and with his eyes looking into Robert's eyeshe said, "Not the king; you shall be the king's jester! You shall wearthe cap and bells, and make laughter for my court. You shall be theservant of the servants, and your companion shall be the jester's ape. "

With shouts of laughter, the courtiers drove Robert of Sicily from thebanquet hall; the waiting-men, with laughter, too, pushed him into thesoldiers' hall; and there the pages brought the jester's wretched ape, and put a fool's cap and bells on Robert's head. It was like aterrible dream; he could not believe it true, he could not understandwhat had happened to him. And when he woke next morning, he believed itwas a dream, and that he was king again. But as he turned his head, hefelt the coarse straw under his cheek instead of the soft pillow, andhe saw that he was in the stable, with the shivering ape by his side. Robert of Sicily was a jester, and no one knew him for the king. 

Three long years passed. Sicily was happy and all things went wellunder the king, who was not Robert. Robert was still the jester, andhis heart was harder and bitterer with every year. Many times, duringthe three years, the king, who had his face and voice, had called himto himself, when none else could hear, and had asked him the onequestion, "Who art thou?" And each time that he asked it his eyeslooked into Robert's eyes, to find his heart. But each time Robertthrew back his head and answered, proudly, "I am the king!" And theking's eyes grew sad and stern. 

At the end of three years, the Pope bade the Emperor of Allemaine andthe King of Sicily, his brothers, to a great meeting in his city ofRome. The King of Sicily went, with all his soldiers and courtiers andservants, --a great procession of horsemen and footmen. Never had beena gayer sight than the grand train, men in bright armor, riders inwonderful cloaks of velvet and silk, servants, carrying marvelouspresents to the Pope. And at the very end rode Robert, the jester. His horse was a poor old thing, many-colored, and the ape rode withhim. Every one in the villages through which they passed ran after thejester, and pointed and laughed. 

The Pope received his brothers and their trains in the square beforeSaint Peter's. With music and flags and flowers he made the King ofSicily welcome, and greeted him as his brother. In the midst of it, the jester broke through the crowd and threw himself before the Pope. "Look at me!" he cried; "I am your brother, Robert of Sicily! This manis an impostor, who has stolen my throne. I am Robert, the king!"

The Pope looked at the poor jester with pity, but the Emperor ofAllemaine turned to the King of Sicily, and said, "Is it not ratherdangerous, brother, to keep a madman as jester?" And again Robert waspushed back among the serving-men. 

It was Holy Week, and the king and the emperor, with all their trains, went every day to the great services in the cathedral. Somethingwonderful and holy seemed to make all these services more beautifulthan ever before. All the people of Rome felt it: it was as if thepresence of an angel were there. Men thought of God, and felt hisblessing on them. But no one knew who it was that brought thebeautiful feeling. And when Easter Day came, never had there been solovely, so holy a day: in the great churches, filled with flowers, andsweet with incense, the kneeling people listened to the choirs singing, and it was like the voices of angels; their prayers were more earnestthan ever before, their praise more glad; there was something heavenlyin Rome. 

Robert of Sicily went to the services with the rest, and sat in thehumblest place with the servants. Over and over again he heard thesweet voices of the choirs chant the Latin words he had heard long ago:"He hath put down the mighty from their seat, and hath exalted them oflow degree. " And at last, as he listened, his heart was softened. He, too, felt the strange blessed presence of a heavenly power. He thoughtof God, and of his own wickedness; he remembered how happy he had been, and how little good he had done; he realized, that his power had notbeen from himself, at all. On Easter night, as he crept to his bed ofstraw, he wept, not because he was so wretched, but because he had notbeen a better king when power was his. 

At last all the festivities were over, and the King of Sicily went hometo his own land again, with his people. Robert the jester came hometoo. 

On the day of their home-coming, there was a special service in theroyal church, and even after the service was over for the people, themonks held prayers of thanksgiving and praise. The sound of theirsinging came softly in at the palace windows. In the great banquetroom, the king sat, wearing his royal robes and his crown, while manysubjects came to greet him. At last, he sent them all away, saying hewanted to be alone; but he commanded the jester to stay. And when theywere alone together the king looked into Robert's eyes, as he had donebefore, and said, softly, "Who art thou?"

Robert of Sicily bowed his head. "Thou knowest best, " he said, "I onlyknow that I have sinned. "

As he spoke, he heard the voices of the monks singing, "He hath putdown the mighty from their seat, "--and his head sank lower. Butsuddenly the music seemed to change; a wonderful light shone all about. As Robert raised his eyes, he saw the face of the king smiling at himwith a radiance like nothing on earth, and as he sank to his kneesbefore the glory of that smile, a voice sounded with the music, like amelody throbbing on a single string:--

"I am an angel, and thou art the king!"

Then Robert of Sicily was alone. His royal robes were upon him oncemore; he wore his crown and his royal ring. He was king. And when thecourtiers came back they found their king kneeling by his throne, absorbed in silent prayer. 

THE JEALOUS COURTIERS[1]

[1] Adapted from the facts given in the German of H. A. Guerber'sMarchen und Erzahlungen (D. C. Heath & Co. ). 

I wonder if you have ever heard the anecdote about the artist ofDusseldorf and the jealous courtiers. This is it. It seems there wasonce a very famous artist who lived in the little town of Dusseldorf. He did such fine work that the Elector, Prince Johann Wilhelm, ordereda portrait statue of himself, on horseback, to be done in bronze. Theartist was overjoyed at the commission, and worked early and late atthe statue. 

At last the work was done, and the artist had the great statue set upin the public square of Dusseldorf, ready for the opening view. TheElector came on the appointed day, and with him came his favoritecourtiers from the castle. Then the statue was unveiled. It was verybeautiful, -- so beautiful that the prince exclaimed in surprise. Hecould not look enough, and presently he turned to the artist and shookhands with him, like an old friend. "Herr Grupello, " he said, "you area great artist, and this statue will make your fame even greater thanit is; the portrait of me is perfect!"

When the courtiers heard this, and saw the friendly hand-grasp, theirjealousy of the artist was beyond bounds. Their one thought was, howcould they safely do something to humiliate him. They dared not pickflaws in the portrait statue, for the prince had declared it perfect. But at last one of them said, with an air of great frankness, "Indeed, Herr Grupello, the portrait of his Royal Highness is perfect; butpermit me to say that the statue of the horse is not quite sosuccessful: the head is too large; it is out of proportion. "

"No, " said another, "the horse is really not so successful; the turn ofthe neck, there, is awkward. "

"If you would change the right hind-foot, Herr Grupello, " said a third, "it would be an improvement. "

Still another found fault with the horse's tail. 

The artist listened, quietly. When they had all finished, he turned tothe prince and said, "Your courtiers, Prince, find a good many flaws inthe statue of the horse; will you permit me to keep it a few days more, to do what I can with it?"

The Elector assented, and the artist ordered a temporary screen builtaround the statue, so that his assistants could work undisturbed. Forseveral days the sound of hammering came steadily from behind theenclosure. The courtiers, who took care to pass that way, often, weredelighted. Each one said to himself, "I must have been right, really;the artist himself sees that something was wrong; now I shall havecredit for saving the prince's portrait by my artistic taste!"

Once more the artist summoned the prince and his courtiers, and oncemore the statue was unveiled. Again the Elector exclaimed at itsbeauty, and then he turned to his courtiers, one after another, to seewhat they had to say. 

"Perfect!" said the first. "Now that the horse's head is inproportion, there is not a flaw. "

"The change in the neck was just what was needed, " said the second; "itis very graceful now. "

"The rear right foot is as it should be, now, " said a third, "and itadds so much to the beauty of the whole!"

The fourth said that he considered the tail greatly improved. 

"My courtiers are much pleased now, " said the prince to Herr Grupello;"they think the statue much improved by the changes you have made. "

Herr Grupello smiled a little. "I am glad they are pleased, " he said, "but the fact is, I have changed nothing!"

"What do you mean?" said the prince in surprise. "Have we not heardthe sound of hammering every day? What were you hammering at then?"

"I was hammering at the reputation of your courtiers, who found faultsimply because they were jealous, " said the artist. "And I rather thinkthat their reputation is pretty well hammered to pieces!"

It was, indeed. The Elector laughed heartily, but the courtiers slunkaway, one after another, without a word. 

PRINCE CHERRY[1]

[1] A shortened version of the familiar tale. 

There was once an old king, so wise and kind and true that the mostpowerful good fairy of his land visited him and asked him to name thedearest wish of his heart, that she might grant it. 

"Surely you know it, " said the good king; "it is for my only son, Prince Cherry; do for him whatever you would have done for me. "

"Gladly, " said the great fairy; "choose what I shall give him. I canmake him the richest, the most beautiful, or the most powerful princein the world; choose. "

"None of those things are what I want, " said the king. "I want onlythat he shall be good. Of what use will it be to him to be beautiful, rich, or powerful, if he grows into a bad man? Make him the bestprince in the world, I beg you!"

"Alas, I cannot make him good, " said the fairy; "he must do that forhimself. I can give him good advice, reprove him when he does wrong, and punish him if he will not punish himself; I can and will be hisbest friend, but I cannot make him good unless he wills it. "

The king was sad to hear this, but he rejoiced in the friendship of thefairy for his son. And when he died, soon after, he was happy to knowthat he left Prince Cherry in her hands. 

Prince Cherry grieved for his father and often lay awake at night, thinking of him. One night, when he was all alone in his room, a softand lovely light suddenly shone before him, and a beautiful visionstood at his side. It was the good fairy. She was clad in robes ofdazzling white, and on her shining hair she wore a wreath of whiteroses. 

"I am the Fairy Candide, " she said to the prince. "I promised yourfather that I would be your best friend, and as long as you live Ishall watch over your happiness. I have brought you a gift; it is notwonderful to look at, but it has a wonderful power for your welfare;wear it, and let it help you. "

As she spoke, she placed a small gold ring on the prince's littlefinger. "This ring, " she said, "will help you to be good; when you doevil, it will prick you, to remind you. If you do not heed itswarnings a worse thing will happen to you, for I shall become yourenemy. " Then she vanished. 

Prince Cherry wore his ring, and said nothing to any one of the fairy'sgift. It did not prick him for a long time, because he was good andmerry and happy. But Prince Cherry had been rather spoiled by hisnurse when he was a child; she had always said to him that when heshould become king he could do exactly as he pleased. Now, after awhile, he began to find out that this was not true, and it made himangry. 

The first time that he noticed that even a king could not always havehis own way was on a day when he went hunting. It happened that he gotno game. This put him in such a bad temper that he grumbled andscolded all the way home. The little gold ring began to feel tight anduncomfortable. When he reached the palace his pet dog ran to meet him. 

"Go away!" said the prince, crossly. 

But the little dog was so used to being petted that he only jumped upon his master, and tried to kiss his hand. The prince turned andkicked the little creature. At the instant, he felt a sharp prick inhis little finger, like a pin prick. 

"What nonsense!" said the prince to himself. "Am I not king of thewhole land? May I not kick my own dog, if I choose? What evil isthere in that?"

A silver voice spoke in his ear: "The king of the land has a right todo good, but not evil; you have been guilty of bad temper and ofcruelty to-day; see that you do better to-morrow. "

The prince turned sharply, but no one was to be seen; yet he recognizedthe voice as that of Fairy Candide. 

He followed her advice for a little, but presently he forgot, and thering pricked him so sharply that his finger had a drop of blood on it. This happened again and again, for the prince grew more self-willed andheadstrong every day; he had some bad friends, too, who urged him on, in the hope that he would ruin himself and give them a chance to seizethe throne. He treated his people carelessly and his servants cruelly, and everything he wanted he felt that he must have. 

The ring annoyed him terribly; it was embarrassing for a king to have adrop of blood on his finger all the time! At last he took the ring offand put it out of sight. Then he thought he should be perfectly happy, having his own way; but instead, he grew more unhappy as he grew lessgood. Whenever he was crossed, or could not have his own wayinstantly, he flew into a passion. 

Finally, he wanted something that he really could not have. This timeit was a most beautiful young girl, named Zelia; the prince saw her, and loved her so much that he wanted at once to make her his queen. Tohis great astonishment, she refused. 

"Am I not pleasing to you?" asked the prince in surprise. 

"You are very handsome, very charming, Prince, " said Zelia; "but youare not like the good king, your father; I fear you would make me verymiserable if I were your queen. "

In a great rage, Prince Cherry ordered the young girl put in prison;and the key of her dungeon he kept. He told one of his friends, awicked man who flattered him for his own purposes, about the thing, andasked his advice. 

"Are you not king?" said the bad friend, "May you not do as you will?Keep the girl in a dungeon till she does as you command, and if shewill not, sell her as a slave. "

"But would it not be a disgrace for me to harm an innocent creature?"said the prince. 

"It would be a disgrace to you to have it said that one of yoursubjects dared disobey you!" said the courtier. 

He had cleverly touched the Prince's worst trait, his pride. PrinceCherry went at once to Zelia's dungeon, prepared to do this cruel thing. 

Zelia was gone. No one had the key save the prince himself; yet shewas gone. The only person who could have dared to help her, thought theprince, was his old tutor, Suliman, the only man left who ever rebukedhim for anything. In fury, he ordered Suliman to be put in fetters andbrought before him. 

As his servants left him, to carry out the wicked order, there was aclash, as of thunder, in the room, and then a blinding light. FairyCandide stood before him. Her beautiful face was stern, and her silvervoice rang like a trumpet, as she said, "Wicked and selfish prince, youhave become baser than the beasts you hunt; you are furious as a lion, revengeful as a serpent, greedy as a wolf, and brutal as a bull; take, therefore, the shape of those beasts whom you resemble!"

With horror, the prince felt himself being transformed into a monster. He tried to rush upon the fairy and kill her, but she had vanished withher words. As he stood, her voice came from the air, saying, sadly, "Learn to conquer your pride by being in submission to your ownsubjects. " At the same moment, Prince Cherry felt himself beingtransported to a distant forest, where he was set down by a clearstream. In the water he saw his own terrible image; he had the head ofa lion, with bull's horns, the feet of a wolf, and a tail like aserpent. And as he gazed in horror, the fairy's voice whispered, "Yoursoul has become more ugly than your shape is; you yourself havedeformed it. "

The poor beast rushed away from the sound of her words, but in a momenthe stumbled into a trap, set by bear-catchers. When the trappers foundhim they were delighted to have caught a curiosity, and theyimmediately dragged him to the palace courtyard. There he heard thewhole court buzzing with gossip. Prince Cherry had been struck bylightning and killed, was the news, and the five favorite courtiers hadstruggled to make themselves rulers, but the people had refused them, and offered the crown to Suliman, the good old tutor. 

Even as he heard this, the prince saw Suliman on the steps of thepalace, speaking to the people. "I will take the crown to keep intrust, " he said. "Perhaps the prince is not dead. "

"He was a bad king; we do not want him back, " said the people. 

"I know his heart, " said Suliman, "it is not all bad; it is tainted, but not corrupt; perhaps he will repent and come back to us a goodking. "

When the beast heard this, it touched him so much that he stoppedtearing at his chains, and became gentle. He let his keepers lead himaway to the royal menagerie without hurting them. 

Life was very terrible to the prince, now, but he began to see that hehad brought all his sorrow on himself, and he tried to bear itpatiently. The worst to bear was the cruelty of the keeper. At last, one night, this keeper was in great danger; a tiger got loose, andattacked him. "Good enough! Let him die!" thought Prince Cherry. Butwhen he saw how helpless the keeper was, he repented, and sprang tohelp. He killed the tiger and saved the keeper's life. 

As he crouched at the keeper's feet, a voice said, "Good actions nevergo unrewarded!" And the terrible monster was changed into a prettylittle white dog. 

The keeper carried the beautiful little dog to the court and told thestory, and from then on, Cherry was carefully treated, and had the bestof everything. But in order to keep the little dog from growing, thequeen ordered that he should be fed very little, and that was prettyhard for the poor prince. He was often half starved, although so muchpetted. 

One day he had carried his crust of bread to a retired spot in thepalace woods, where he loved to be, when he saw a poor old womanhunting for roots, and seeming almost starved. 

"Poor thing, " he thought, "she is even hungrier than I;" and he ran upand dropped the crust at her feet. 

The woman ate it, and seemed greatly refreshed. 

Cherry was glad of that, and he was running happily back to his kennelwhen he heard cries of distress, and suddenly he saw some rough mendragging along a young girl, who was weeping and crying for help. Whatwas his horror to see that the young girl was Zelia! Oh, how he wishedhe were the monster once more, so that he could kill the men and rescueher! But he could do nothing except bark, and bite at the heels of thewicked men. That could not stop them; they drove him off, with blows, and carried Zelia into a palace in the wood. 

Poor Cherry crouched by the steps, and watched. His heart was full ofpity and rage. But suddenly he thought, "I was as bad as these men; Imyself put Zelia in prison, and would have treated her worse still, ifI had not been prevented. " The thought made him so sorry and ashamedthat he repented bitterly the evil he had done. 

Presently a window opened, and Cherry saw Zelia lean out and throw downa piece of meat. He seized it and was just going to devour it, whenthe old woman to whom he had given his crust snatched it away and tookhim in her arms. "No, you shall not eat it, you poor little thing, "she said, "for every bit of food in that house is poisoned. "

At the same moment, a voice said, "Good actions never go unrewarded!"And instantly Prince Cherry was transformed into a little white dove. 

With great joy, he flew to the open palace window to seek out hisZelia, to try to help her. But though he hunted in every room, noZelia was to be found. He had to fly away, without seeing her. Hewanted more than anything else to find her, and stay near her, so heflew out into the world, to seek her. 

He sought her in many lands, until one day, in a far eastern country, he found her sitting in a tent, by the side of an old, white-hairedhermit. Cherry was wild with delight. He flew to her shoulder, caressed her hair with his beak, and cooed in her ear. 

"You dear, lovely little thing!" said Zelia. "Will you stay with me?If you will, I will love you always. "

"Ah, Zelia, see what you have done!" laughed the hermit. At thatinstant, the white dove vanished, and Prince Cherry stood there, ashandsome and charming as ever, and with a look of kindness and modestyin his eyes which had never been there before. At the same time, thehermit stood up, his flowing hair changed to shining gold, and his facebecame a lovely woman's face; it was the Fairy Candide. "Zelia hasbroken your spell, " she said to the Prince, "as I meant she should, when you were worthy of her love. "

Zelia and Prince Cherry fell at the fairy's feet. But with a beautifulsmile she bade them come to their kingdom. In a trice, they weretransported to the Prince's palace, where King Suliman greeted themwith tears of joy. He gave back the throne, with all his heart, andKing Cherry ruled again, with Zelia for his queen. 

He wore the little gold ring all the rest of his life, but never oncedid it have to prick him hard enough to make his finger bleed. 

THE GOLD IN THE ORCHARD[1]

[1] An Italian folk tale. 

There was once a farmer who had a fine olive orchard. He was veryindustrious, and the farm always prospered under his care. But he knewthat his three sons despised the farm work, and were eager to makewealth fast, through adventure. 

When the farmer was old, and felt that his time had come to die, hecalled the three sons to him and said, "My sons, there is a pot of goldhidden in the olive orchard. Dig for it, if you wish it. "

The sons tried to get him to tell them in what part of the orchard thegold was hidden; but he would tell them nothing more. 

After the farmer was dead, the sons went to work to find the pot ofgold; since they did not know where the hiding-place was, they agreedto begin in a line, at one end of the orchard, and to dig until one ofthem should find the money. 

They dug until they had turned up the soil from one end of the orchardto the other, round the tree-roots and between them. But no pot ofgold was to be found. It seemed as if some one must have stolen it, oras if the farmer had been wandering in his wits. The three sons werebitterly disappointed to have all their work for nothing. 

The next olive season, the olive trees in the orchard bore more fruitthan they had ever given; the fine cultivating they had had from thedigging brought so much fruit, and of so fine a quality, that when itwas sold it gave the sons a whole pot of gold!

And when they saw how much money had come from the orchard, theysuddenly understood what the wise father had meant when he said, "Thereis gold hidden in the orchard; dig for it. "

MARGARET OF NEW ORLEANS

If you ever go to the beautiful city of New Orleans, somebody will besure to take you down into the old business part of the city, wherethere are banks and shops and hotels, and show you a statue whichstands in a little square there. It is the statue of a woman, sittingin a low chair, with her arms around a child, who leans against her. The woman is not at all pretty: she wears thick, common shoes, a plaindress, with a little shawl, and a sun-bonnet; she is stout and short, and her face is a square-chinned Irish face; but her eyes look at youlike your mother's. 

Now there is something very surprising about this statue: it was thefirst one that was ever made in this country in honor of a woman. Evenin old Europe there are not many monuments to women, and most of thefew are to great queens or princesses, very beautiful and very richlydressed. You see, this statue in New Orleans is not quite like anythingelse. 

It is the statue of a woman named Margaret. Her whole name wasMargaret Haughery, but no one in New Orleans remembers her by it, anymore than you think of your dearest sister by her full name; she isjust Margaret. This is her story, and it tells why people made amonument for her. 

When Margaret was a tiny baby, her father and mother died, and she wasadopted by two young people as poor and as kind as her own parents. She lived with them until she grew up. Then she married, and had alittle baby of her own. But very soon her husband died, and then thebaby died, too, and Margaret was all alone in the world. She was poor, but she was strong, and knew how to work. 

All day, from morning until evening, she ironed clothes in a laundry. And every day, as she worked by the window, she saw the littlemotherless children from the orphan asylum, near by, working andplaying about. After a while, there came a great sickness upon thecity, and so many mothers and fathers died that there were more orphansthan the asylum could possibly take care of. They needed a goodfriend, now. You would hardly think, would you, that a poor woman whoworked in a laundry could be much of a friend to them? But Margaretwas. She went straight to the kind Sisters who had the asylum and toldthem she was going to give them part of her wages and was going to workfor them, besides. Pretty soon she had worked so hard that she hadsome money saved from her wages. With this, she bought two cows and alittle delivery cart. Then she carried her milk to her customers inthe little cart every morning; and as she went, she begged theleft-over food from the hotels and rich houses, and brought it back inthe cart to the hungry children in the asylum. In the very hardesttimes that was often all the food the children had. 

A part of the money Margaret earned went every week to the asylum, andafter a few years that was made very much larger and better. AndMargaret was so careful and so good at business that, in spite of hergiving, she bought more cows and earned more money. With this, shebuilt a home for orphan babies; she called it her baby house. 

After a time, Margaret had a chance to get a bakery, and then shebecame a bread-woman instead of a milk-woman. She carried the breadjust as she had carried the milk, in her cart. And still she keptgiving money to the asylum. Then the great war came, our Civil War. In all the trouble and sickness and fear of that time, Margaret droveher cart of bread; and somehow she had always enough to give thestarving soldiers, and for her babies, besides what she sold. Anddespite all this, she earned enough so that when the war was over shebuilt a big steam factory for her bread. By this time everybody in thecity knew her. The children all over the city loved her; the businessmen were proud of her; the poor people all came to her for advice. Sheused to sit at the open door of her office, in a calico gown and alittle shawl, and give a good word to everybody, rich or poor. 

Then, by and by, one day, Margaret died. And when it was time to readher will, the people found that, with all her giving, she had stillsaved a great deal of money, and that she had left every cent of it tothe different orphan asylums of the city, --each one of them was givensomething. Whether they were for white children or black, for Jews, Catholics, or Protestants, made no difference; for Margaret alwayssaid, "They are all orphans alike. " And just think, dears, thatsplendid, wise will was signed with a cross instead of a name, forMargaret had never learned to read or write!

When the people of New Orleans knew that Margaret was dead, they said, "She was a mother to the motherless; she was a friend to those who hadno friends; she had wisdom greater than schools can teach; we will notlet her memory go from us. " So they made a statue of her, just as sheused to look, sitting in her own office door, or driving in her ownlittle cart. And there it stands to-day, in memory of the great loveand the great power of plain Margaret Haughery, of New Orleans. 

THE DAGDA'S HARP[1]

[1] The facts from which this story was constructed are found in thelegend as given in Ireland's Story, Johnston and Spencer (Houghton, Mifflin, & Co. ). 

You know, dears, in the old countries there are many fine stories aboutthings which happened so very long ago that nobody knows exactly howmuch of them is true. Ireland is like that. It is so old that even aslong ago as four thousand years it had people who dug in the mines, andknew how to weave cloth and to make beautiful ornaments out of gold, and who could fight and make laws; but we do not know just where theycame from, nor exactly how they lived. These people left us somesplendid stories about their kings, their fights, and their beautifulwomen; but it all happened such a long time ago that the stories aremixtures of things that really happened and what people said aboutthem, and we don't know just which is which. The stories are calledLEGENDS. One of the prettiest legends is the story I am going to tellyou about the Dagda's harp. 

It is said that there were two quite different kinds of people inIreland: one set of people with long dark hair and dark eyes, calledFomorians--they carried long slender spears made of golden bronze whenthey fought--and another race of people who were golden-haired andblue-eyed, and who carried short, blunt, heavy spears of dull metal. 

The golden-haired people had a great chieftain who was also a kind ofhigh priest, who was called the Dagda. And this Dagda had a wonderfulmagic harp. The harp was beautiful to look upon, mighty in size, madeof rare wood, and ornamented with gold and jewels; and it had wonderfulmusic in its strings, which only the Dagda could call out. When themen were going out to battle, the Dagda would set up his magic harp andsweep his hand across the strings, and a war song would ring out whichwould make every warrior buckle on his armor, brace his knees, andshout, "Forth to the fight!" Then, when the men came back from thebattle, weary and wounded, the Dagda would take his harp and strike afew chords, and as the magic music stole out upon the air, every manforgot his weariness and the smart of his wounds, and thought of thehonor he had won, and of the comrade who had died beside him, and ofthe safety of his wife and children. Then the song would swell outlouder, and every warrior would remember only the glory he had helpedwin for the king; and each man would rise at the great tables his cupin his hand, and shout "Long live the King!"

There came a time when the Fomorians and the golden-haired men were atwar; and in the midst of a great battle, while the Dagda's hall was notso well guarded as usual, some of the chieftains of the Fomorians stolethe great harp from the wall, where it hung, and fled away with it. Their wives and children and some few of their soldiers went with them, and they fled fast and far through the night, until they were a longway from the battlefield. Then they thought they were safe, and theyturned aside into a vacant castle, by the road, and sat down to abanquet, hanging the stolen harp on the wall. 

The Dagda, with two or three of his warriors, had followed hard ontheir track. And while they were in the midst of their banqueting, thedoor was suddenly burst open, and the Dagda stood there, with his men. Some of the Fomorians sprang to their feet, but before any of themcould grasp a weapon, the Dagda called out to his harp on the wall, "Come to me, O my harp!"

The great harp recognized its master's voice, and leaped from the wall. Whirling through the hall, sweeping aside and killing the men who gotin its way, it sprang to its master's hand. And the Dagda took hisharp and swept his hand across the strings in three great, solemnchords. The harp answered with the magic Music of Tears. As thewailing harmony smote upon the air, the women of the Fomorians bowedtheir heads and wept bitterly, the strong men turned their faces aside, and the little children sobbed. 

Again the Dagda touched the strings, and this time the magic Music ofMirth leaped from the harp. And when they heard that Music of Mirth, the young warriors of the Fomorians began to laugh; they laughed tillthe cups fell from their grasp, and the spears dropped from theirhands, while the wine flowed from the broken bowls; they laughed untiltheir limbs were helpless with excess of glee. 

Once more the Dagda touched his harp, but very, very softly. And now amusic stole forth as soft as dreams, and as sweet as joy: it was themagic Music of Sleep. When they heard that, gently, gently, theFomorian women bowed their heads in slumber; the little children creptto their mothers' laps; the old men nodded; and the young warriorsdrooped in their seats and closed their eyes: one after another all theFomorians sank into sleep. 

When they were all deep in slumber, the Dagda took his magic harp, andhe and his golden-haired warriors stole softly away, and came in safetyto their own homes again. 

THE TAILOR AND THE THREE BEASTS[1]

[1] From Beside the Fire, Douglas Hyde (David Nutt, London). 

There was once a tailor in Galway, and he started out on a journey togo to the king's court at Dublin. 

He had not gone far till he met a white horse, and he saluted him. 

"God save you, " said the tailor. 

"God save you, " said the horse. "Where are you going?"

"I am going to Dublin, " said the tailor, "to build a court for the kingand to get a lady for a wife, if I am able to do it. " For, it seemsthe king had promised his daughter and a great lot of money to any onewho should be able to build up his court. The trouble was, that threegiants lived in the wood near the court, and every night they came outof the wood and threw down all that was built by day. So nobody couldget the court built. 

"Would you make me a hole, " said the old white garraun, "where I couldgo a-hiding whenever the people are for bringing me to the mill or thekiln, so that they won't see me; for they have me perished doing workfor them. "

"I'll do that, indeed, " said the tailor, "and welcome. "

He brought his spade and shovel, and he made a hole, and he said to theold white horse to go down into it till he would see if it would fithim. The white horse went down into the hole, but when he tried tocome up again, he was not able. 

"Make a place for me now, " said the white horse, "by which I'll come upout of the hole here, whenever I'll be hungry. "

"I will not, " said the tailor; "remain where you are until I come back, and I'll lift you up. "

The tailor went forward next day, and the fox met him. 

"God save you, " said the fox. 

"God save you, " said the tailor. 

"Where are you going, " said the fox. 

"I'm going to Dublin, to try will I be able to make a court for theking. "

"Would you make a place for me where I'd go hiding?" said the fox. "The rest of the foxes do be beating me, and they don't allow me to eatanything with them. "

"I'll do that for you, " said the tailor. 

He took his axe and his saw, and he made a thing like a crate, and hetold the fox to get into it till he would see whether it would fit him. The fox went into it, and when the tailor got him down, he shut him in. When the fox was satisfied at last that he had a nice place of itwithin, he asked the tailor to let him out, and the tailor answeredthat he would not. 

"Wait there until I come back again, " says he. 

The tailor went forward the next day, and he had not walked very faruntil he met a modder-alla; and the lion greeted him. 

"God save you, " said the lion. 

"God save you, " said the tailor. 

"Where are you going?" said the lion. 

"I'm going to Dublin till I make a court for the king if I'm able tomake it, " said the tailor. 

"If you were to make a plough for me, " said the lion, "I and the otherlions could be ploughing and harrowing until we'd have a bit to eat inthe harvest. "

"I'll do that for you, " said the tailor. 

He brought his axe and his saw, and he made a plough. When the ploughwas made he put a hole in the beam of it, and he said to the lion to goin under the plough till he'd see was he any good of a ploughman. Heplaced the lion's tail in the hole he had made for it, and then clappedin a peg, and the lion was not able to draw out his tail again. 

"Loose me out now, " said the lion, "and we'll fix ourselves and goploughing. "

The tailor said he would not loose him out until he came back himself. He left him there then, and he came to Dublin. 

When he came to Dublin, he got workmen and began to build the court. At the end of the day he had the workmen put a great stone on top ofthe work. When the great stone was raised up, the tailor put some sortof contrivance under it, that he might be able to throw it down as soonas the giant would come as far as it. The workpeople went home then, and the tailor went in hiding behind the big stone. 

When the darkness of the night was come, he saw the three giantsarriving, and they began throwing down the court until they came as faras the place where the tailor was in hiding up above, and a man of themstruck a blow of his sledge on the place where he was. The tailorthrew down the stone, and it fell on him and killed him. They went homethen and left all of the court that was remaining without throwing itdown, since a man of themselves was dead. 

The tradespeople came again the next day, and they were working untilnight, and as they were going home the tailor told them to put up thebig stone on the top of the work, as it had been the night before. They did that for him, went home, and the tailor went in hiding thesame as he did the evening before. 

When the people had all gone to rest, the two giants came, and theywere throwing down all that was before them, and as soon as they began, they put two shouts out of them. The tailor was going on manoeuvringuntil he threw down the great stone, and it fell upon the skull of thegiant that was under him, and it killed him. There was only the onegiant left in it then, and he never came again until the court wasfinished. 

Then when the work was over, the tailor went to the king and told himto give him his wife and his money, as he had the court finished; andthe king said he would not give him any wife until he would kill theother giant, for he said that it was not by his strength he killed thetwo giants before that, and that he would give him nothing now until hekilled the other one for him. Then the tailor said that he would killthe other giant for him, and welcome; that there was no delay at allabout that. 

The tailor went then till he came to the place where the other giantwas, and asked did he want a servant-boy. The giant said he did wantone, if he could get one who would do everything that he would dohimself. 

"Anything that you will do, I will do it, " said the tailor. 

They went to their dinner then, and when they had it eaten, the giantasked the tailor "would it come with him to swallow as much broth ashimself, up out of its boiling. " The tailor said, "It will come withme to do that, but that you must give me an hour before we begin onit. " The tailor went out then, and he got a sheep-skin, and he sewedit up till he made a bag of it, and he slipped it down under his coat. He came in then and said to the giant to drink a gallon of the brothhimself first. The giant drank that up out of its boiling. "I'll dothat, " said the tailor. He was going on until he had it all pouredinto the skin, and the giant thought he had it drunk. The giant drankanother gallon then, and the tailor let another gallon down into theskin, but the giant thought he was drinking it. 

"I'll do a thing now that it won't come with you to do, " said thetailor. 

"You will not, " said the giant. "What is it you would do?"

"Make a hole and let out the broth again, " said the tailor. 

"Do it yourself first, " said the giant. 

The tailor gave a prod of the knife, and he let the broth out of theskin. 

"Do that you, " said he. 

"I will, " said the giant, giving such a prod of the knife into his ownstomach that he killed himself. That is the way the tailor killed thethird giant. 

He went to the king then, and desired him to send him out his wife andhis money, for that he would throw down the court again unless heshould get the wife. They were afraid then that he would throw downthe court, and they sent the wife to him. 

When the tailor was a day gone, himself and his wife, they repented andfollowed him to take his wife off him again. The people who were afterhim were following him till they came to the place where the lion was, and the lion said to them: "The tailor and his wife were hereyesterday. I saw them going by, and if ye loose me now, I am swifterthan ye, and I will follow them till I overtake them. " When they heardthat, they loosed out the lion. 

The lion and the people of Dublin went on, and they were pursuing him, until they came to the place where the fox was, and the fox greetedthem, and said: "The tailor and his wife were here this morning, andif ye will loose me out, I am swifter than ye, and I will follow them, and overtake them. " They loosed out the fox then. 

The lion and the fox and the army of Dublin went on then, trying wouldthey catch the tailor, and they were going till they came to the placewhere the old white garraun was, and the old white garraun said to themthat the tailor and his wife were there in the morning, and "Loose meout, " said he; "I am swifter than ye, and I'll overtake them. " Theyloosed out the old white garraun then, and the old white garraun, thefox, the lion, and the army of Dublin pursued the tailor and his wifetogether, and it was not long till they came up with him, and sawhimself and the wife out before them. 

When the tailor saw them coming, he got out of the coach with his wife, and he sat down on the ground. 

When the old white garraun saw the tailor sitting down on the ground, he said, "That's the position he had when he made the hole for me, thatI couldn't come up out of, when I went down into it. I'll go no nearerto him. "

"No!" said the fox, "but that's the way he was when he was making thething for me, and I'll go no nearer to him. "

"No!" says the lion, "but that's the very way he had, when he wasmaking the plough that I was caught in. I'll go no nearer to him. "

They all went from him then and returned. The tailor and his wife camehome to Galway. 

THE CASTLE OF FORTUNE[1]

[1] Adapted from the German of Der Faule und der Fleissige by RobertReinick. 

One lovely summer morning, just as the sun rose, two travelers startedon a journey. They were both strong young men, but one was a lazyfellow and the other was a worker. 

As the first sunbeams came over the hills, they shone on a great castlestanding on the heights, as far away as the eye could see. It was awonderful and beautiful castle, all glistening towers that gleamed likemarble, and glancing windows that shone like crystal. The two youngmen looked at it eagerly, and longed to go nearer. 

Suddenly, out of the distance, something like a great butterfly, ofwhite and gold, swept toward them. And when it came nearer, they sawthat it was a most beautiful lady, robed in floating garments as fineas cobwebs and wearing on her head a crown so bright that no one couldtell whether it was of diamonds or of dew. She stood, light as air, ona great, shining, golden ball, which rolled along with her, swifterthan the wind. As she passed the travelers, she turned her face tothem and smiled. 

"Follow me!" she said. 

The lazy man sat down in the grass with a discontented sigh. "She hasan easy time of it!" he said. 

But the industrious man ran after the lovely lady and caught the hem ofher floating robe in his grasp. "Who are you, and whither are yougoing?" he asked. 

"I am the Fairy of Fortune, " the beautiful lady said, "and that is mycastle. You may reach it to-day, if you will; there is time, if youwaste none. If you reach it before the last stroke of midnight, I willreceive you there, and will be your friend. But if you come one secondafter midnight, it will be too late. "

When she had said this, her robe slipped from the traveler's hand andshe was gone. 

The industrious man hurried back to his friend, and told him what thefairy had said. 

"The idea!" said the lazy man, and he laughed; "of course, if a bodyhad a horse there would be some chance, but WALK all that way? No, thank you!"

"Then good-by, " said his friend, "I am off. " And he set out, down theroad toward the shining castle, with a good steady stride, his eyesstraight ahead. 

The lazy man lay down in the soft grass, and looked rather wistfully atthe faraway towers. "If I only had a good horse!" he sighed. 

Just at that moment he felt something warm nosing about at hisshoulder, and heard a little whinny. He turned round, and there stooda little horse! It was a dainty creature, gentle-looking, and finelybuilt, and it was saddled and bridled. 

"Hola!" said the lazy man. "Luck often comes when one isn't lookingfor it!" And in an instant he had leaped on the horse, and headed himfor the castle of fortune. The little horse started at a fine pace, and in a very few minutes they overtook the other traveler, ploddingalong on foot. 

"How do you like shank's mare?" laughed the lazy man, as he passed hisfriend. 

The industrious man only nodded, and kept on with his steady stride, eyes straight ahead. 

The horse kept his good pace, and by noon the towers of the castlestood out against the sky, much nearer and more beautiful. Exactly atnoon, the horse turned aside from the road, into a shady grove on ahill, and stopped. 

"Wise beast, " said his rider; "'haste makes waste, ' and all things arebetter in moderation. I'll follow your example, and eat and rest abit. " He dismounted and sat down in the cool moss, with his backagainst a tree. He had a lunch in his traveler's pouch, and he ate itcomfortably. Then he felt drowsy from the heat and the early ride, sohe pulled his hat over his eyes, and settled himself for a nap. "Itwill go all the better for a little rest, " he said. 

That WAS a sleep! He slept like the seven sleepers, and he dreamed themost beautiful things you could imagine. At last, he dreamed that hehad entered the castle of fortune and was being received with greatfestivities. Everything he wanted was brought to him, and music playedwhile fireworks were set off in his honor. The music was so loud thathe awoke. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, and behold, the fireworks werethe very last rays of the setting sun, and the music was the voice ofthe other traveler, passing the grove on foot!

"Time to be off, " said the lazy man, and looked about him for thepretty horse. No horse was to be found. The only living thing near wasan old, bony, gray donkey. The man called, and whistled, and looked, but no little horse appeared. After a long while he gave it up, and, since there was nothing better to do, he mounted the old gray donkeyand set out again. 

The donkey was slow, and he was hard to ride, but he was better thannothing; and gradually the lazy man saw the towers of the castle drawnearer. 

Now it began to grow dark; in the castle windows the lights began toshow. Then came trouble! Slower, and slower, went the gray donkey;slower, and slower, till, in the very middle of a pitch-black wood, hestopped and stood still. Not a step would he budge for all the coaxingand scolding and beating his rider could give. At last the riderkicked him, as well as beat him, and at that the donkey felt that hehad had enough. Up went his hind heels, and down went his head, andover it went the lazy man on to the stony ground. 

There he lay groaning for many minutes, for it was not a soft place, Ican assure you. How he wished he were in a soft, warm bed, with hisaching bones comfortable in blankets! The very thought of it made himremember the castle of fortune, for he knew there must be fine bedsthere. To get to those beds he was even willing to bestir his bruisedlimbs, so he sat up and felt about him for the donkey. 

No donkey was to be found. 

The lazy man crept round and round the spot where he had fallen, scratched his hands on the stumps, tore his face in the briers, andbumped his knees on the stones. But no donkey was there. He would havelain down to sleep again, but he could hear now the howls of hungrywolves in the woods; that did not sound pleasant. Finally, his handstruck against something that felt like a saddle. He grasped it, thankfully, and started to mount his donkey. 

The beast he took hold of seemed very small, and, as he mounted, hefelt that its sides were moist and slimy. It gave him a shudder, andhe hesitated; but at that moment he heard a distant clock strike. Itwas striking eleven! There was still time to reach the castle offortune, but no more than enough; so he mounted his new steed and rodeon once more. The animal was easier to sit on than the donkey, and thesaddle seemed remarkably high behind; it was good to lean against. Buteven the donkey was not so slow as this; the new steed was slower thanhe. After a while, however, he pushed his way out of the woods intothe open, and there stood the castle, only a little way ahead! All itswindows were ablaze with lights. A ray from them fell on the lazyman's beast, and he saw what he was riding: it was a gigantic snail! asnail as large as a calf!

A cold shudder ran over the lazy man's body, and he would have got offhis horrid animal then and there, but just then the clock struck oncemore. It was the first of the long, slow strokes that mark midnight!The man grew frantic when he heard it. He drove his heels into thesnail's sides, to make him hurry. Instantly, the snail drew in hishead, curled up in his shell, and left the lazy man sitting in a heapon the ground!

The clock struck twice. If the man had run for it, he could still havereached the castle, but, instead, he sat still and shouted for a horse. 

"A beast, a beast!" he wailed, "any kind of a beast that will take meto the castle!"

The clock struck three times. And as it struck the third note, something came rustling and rattling out of the darkness, somethingthat sounded like a horse with harness. The lazy man jumped on itsback, a very queer, low back. As he mounted, he saw the doors of thecastle open, and saw his friend standing on the threshold, waving hiscap and beckoning to him. 

The clock struck four times, and the new steed began to stir; as itstruck five, he moved a pace forward; as it struck six, he stopped; asit struck seven, he turned himself about; as it struck eight, he beganto move backward, away from the castle!

The lazy man shouted, and beat him, but the beast went slowly backward. And the clock struck nine. The man tried to slide off, then, but fromall sides of his strange animal great arms came reaching up and heldhim fast. And in the next ray of moonlight that broke the dark clouds, he saw that he was mounted on a monster crab!

One by one, the lights went out, in the castle windows. The clockstruck ten. Backward went the crab. Eleven! Still the crab wentbackward. The clock struck twelve! Then the great doors shut with aclang, and the castle of fortune was closed forever to the lazy man. 

What became of him and his crab no one knows to this day, and no onecares. But the industrious man was received by the Fairy of Fortune, and made happy in the castle as long as he wanted to stay. And everafterward she was his friend, helping him not only to happiness forhimself, but also showing him how to help others, wherever he went. 

DAVID AND GOLIATH[1]

[1] From the text of the King James version of the Old Testament, withintroduction and slight interpolations, changes of order, and omissions. 

A long time ago, there was a boy named David, who lived in a countryfar east of this. He was good to look upon, for he had fair hair and aruddy skin; and he was very strong and brave and modest. He wasshepherd-boy for his father, and all day--often all night--he was outin the fields, far from home, watching over the sheep. He had to guardthem from wild animals, and lead them to the right pastures, and carefor them. 

By and by, war broke out between the people of David's country and apeople that lived near at hand; these men were called Philistines, andthe people of David's country were named Israel. All the strong men ofIsrael went up to the battle, to fight for their king. David's threeolder brothers went, but he was only a boy, so he was left behind tocare for the sheep. 

After the brothers had been gone some time, David's father longed verymuch to hear from them, and to know if they were safe; so he sent forDavid, from the fields, and said to him, "Take now for thy brothers anephah of this parched corn, and these ten loaves, and run to the camp, where thy brothers are; and carry these ten cheeses to the captain oftheir thousand, and see how thy brothers fare, and bring me wordagain. " (An ephah is about three pecks. )

David rose early in the morning, and left the sheep with a keeper, andtook the corn and the loaves and the cheeses, as his father hadcommanded him, and went to the camp of Israel. 

The camp was on a mountain; Israel stood on a mountain on the one side, and the Philistines stood on a mountain on the other side; and therewas a valley between them. David came to the place where theIsraelites were, just as the host was going forth to the fight, shouting for the battle. So he left his gifts in the hands of thekeeper of the baggage, and ran into the army, amongst the soldiers, tofind his brothers. When he found them, he saluted them and began totalk with them. 

But while he was asking them the questions his father had commanded, there arose a great shouting and tumult among the Israelites, and mencame running back from the front line of battle; everything becameconfusion. David looked to see what the trouble was, and he saw astrange sight: on the hillside of the Philistines, a warrior wasstriding forward, calling out something in a taunting voice; he was agigantic man, the largest David had ever seen, and he was all dressedin armor, that shone in the sun: he had a helmet of brass upon hishead, and he was armed with a coat of mail, and he had greaves of brassupon his legs, and a target of brass between his shoulders; his spearwas so tremendous that the staff of it was like a weaver's beam, andhis shield so great that a man went before him, to carry it. 

"Who is that?" asked David. 

"It is Goliath, of Gath, champion of the Philistines, " said thesoldiers about. "Every day, for forty days, he has come forth, so, andchallenged us to send a man against him, in single combat; and since noone dares to go out against him alone, the armies cannot fight. " (Thatwas one of the laws of warfare in those times. )

"What!" said David, "does none dare go out against him?"

As he spoke, the giant stood still, on the hillside opposite theIsraelitish host, and shouted his challenge, scornfully. He said, "Whyare ye come out to set your battle in array? Am I not a Philistine, and ye servants of Saul? Choose you a man for you, and let him comedown to me. If he be able to fight with me, and to kill me, then willwe be your servants; but if I prevail against him, and kill him, thenshall ye be our servants, and serve us. I defy the armies of Israelthis day; give me a man, that we may fight together!"

When King Saul heard these words, he was dismayed, and all the men ofIsrael, when they saw the man, fled from him and were sore afraid. David heard them talking among themselves, whispering and murmuring. They were saying, "Have ye seen this man that is come up? Surely ifany one killeth him that man will the king make rich; perhaps he willgive him his daughter in marriage, and make his family free in Israel!"

David heard this, and he asked the men if it were so. It was surelyso, they said. 

"But, " said David, "who is this Philistine, that he should defy thearmies of the living God?" And he was stirred with anger. 

Very soon, some of the officers told the king about the youth who wasasking so many questions, and who said that a mere Philistine shouldnot be let defy the armies of the living God. Immediately Saul sentfor him. When David came before Saul, he said to the king, "Let noman's heart fail because of him; thy servant will go and fight withthis Philistine. "

But Saul looked at David, and said, "Thou art not able to go againstthis Philistine, to fight with him, for thou art but a youth, and hehas been a man of war from his youth. "

Then David said to Saul, "Once I was keeping my father's sheep, andthere came a lion and a bear, and took a lamb out of the flock; and Iwent out after the lion, and struck him, and delivered the lamb out ofhis mouth, and when he arose against me, I caught him by the beard, andstruck him, and slew him! Thy servant slew both the lion and the bear;and this Philistine shall be as one of them, for he hath defied thearmies of the living God. The Lord, who delivered me out of the paw ofthe lion and out of the paw of the bear, he will deliver me out of thehand of this Philistine. "

"Go, " said Saul, "and the Lord be with thee!"

And he armed David with his own armor, --he put a helmet of brass uponhis head, and armed him with a coat of mail. But when David girded hissword upon his armor, and tried to walk, he said to Saul, "I cannot gowith these, for I am not used to them. " And he put them off. 

Then he took his staff in his hand and went and chose five smoothstones out of the brook, and put them in a shepherd's bag which he had;and his sling was in his hand; and he went out and drew near to thePhilistine. 

And the Philistine came on and drew near to David; and the man thatbore his shield went before him. And when the Philistine looked aboutand saw David, he disdained him, for David was but a boy, and ruddy, and of a fair countenance. And he said to David, "Am I a dog, thatthou comest to me with a cudgel?" And with curses he cried out again, "Come to me, and I will give thy flesh unto the fowls of the air, andto the beasts of the field. "

But David looked at him, and answered, "Thou comest to me with a sword, and with a spear, and with a shield; but I come to thee in the name ofthe Lord of hosts, the God of the armies of Israel, whom thou hastdefied. This day will the Lord deliver thee into my hand; and I willsmite thee, and take thy head from thee, and I will give the carcassesof the host of the Philistines this day unto the fowls of the air, andto the wild beasts of the earth, that all the earth may know that thereis a God in Israel! And all this assembly shall know that the Lordsaveth not with sword and spear; for the battle is the Lord's, and hewill give you into our hands. "

And then, when the Philistine arose, and came, and drew nigh to meetDavid, David hasted, and ran toward the army to meet the Philistine. And when he was a little way from him, he put his hand in his bag, andtook thence a stone, and put it in his sling, and slung it, and smotethe Philistine in the forehead, so that the stone sank into hisforehead; and he fell on his face to the earth. 

And David ran, and stood upon the Philistine, and took his sword, anddrew it out of its sheath, and slew him with it. 

Then, when the Philistines saw that their champion was dead, they fled. But the army of Israel pursued them, and victory was with the men ofIsrael. 

And after the battle, David was taken to the king's tent, and made acaptain over many men; and he went no more to his father's house, toherd the sheep, but became a man, in the king's service. 

THE SHEPHERD'S SONG

David had many fierce battles to fight for King Saul against theenemies of Israel, and he won them all. Then, later, he had to fightagainst the king's own soldiers, to save himself, for King Saul grewwickedly jealous of David's fame as a soldier, and tried to kill him. Twice, when David had a chance to kill the king, he let him go safe;but even then, Saul kept on trying to take his life, and David was keptaway from his home and land as if he were an enemy. 

But when King Saul died, the people chose David for their king, becausethere was no one so brave, so wise, or so faithful to God. King Davidlived a long time, and made his people famous for victory andhappiness; he had many troubles and many wars, but he always trustedthat God would help him, and he never deserted his own people in anyhard place. 

After a battle, or when it was a holiday, or when he was very thankfulfor something, King David used to make songs, and sing them before thepeople. Some of these songs were so beautiful that they have neverbeen forgotten. After all these hundreds and hundreds of years, wesing them still; we call them Psalms. 

Often, after David had made a song, his chief musician would sing withhim, as the people gathered to worship God. Sometimes the singers weredivided into two great choruses, and went to the service in twoprocessions; then one chorus would sing a verse of David's song, andthe other procession would answer with the next, and then both wouldsing together; it was very beautiful to hear. Even now, we sometimesdo that with the songs of David in our churches. 

One of the Psalms that everybody loves is a song that David made whenhe remembered the days before he came to Saul's camp. He rememberedthe days and nights he used to spend in the fields with the sheep, whenhe was just a shepherd boy; and he thought to himself that God hadtaken care of him just as carefully as he used to care for the littlelambs. It is a beautiful song; I wish we knew the music that Davidmade for it, but we only know his words. I will tell it to you now, and then you may learn it, to say for yourselves. 

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. 

He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; he leadeth me beside thestill waters. 

He restoreth my soul; he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness forhis name's sake. 

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I willfear no evil; for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfortme. 

Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thouanointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. 

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; andI will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever. 

THE HIDDEN SERVANTS[1]

[1] Adapted, with quotations, from the poem in The Hidden Servants, byFrancesca Alexander (Little, Brown & Co. ). 

This is a legend about a hermit who lived long ago. He lived high upon the mountain-side in a tiny cave; his food was roots and acorns, abit of bread given by a peasant, or a cheese brought by a woman whowanted his prayers; his work was praying, and thinking about God. Forforty years he lived so, preaching to the people, praying for them, comforting them in trouble, and, most of all, worshiping in his heart. There was just one thing he cared about: it was to make his soul sopure and perfect that it could be one of the stones in God's greatTemple of Heaven. 

One day, after the forty years, he had a great longing to know how faralong he had got with his work, --how it looked to the Heavenly Father. And he prayed that he might be shown a man--

 "Whose soul in the heavenly grace had grown To the selfsame measure as his own; Whose treasure on the celestial shore Could neither be less than his nor more. "

As he looked up from his prayer, a white-robed angel stood in the pathbefore him. The hermit bowed before the messenger with great gladness, for he knew that his wish was answered. "Go to the nearest town, " theangel said, "and there, in the public square, you will find amountebank (a clown) making the people laugh for money. He is the manyou seek, his soul has grown to the selfsame stature as your own; histreasure on the celestial shore is neither less than yours nor more. "

When the angel had faded from sight, the hermit bowed his head again, but this time with great sorrow and fear. Had his forty years ofprayer been a terrible mistake, and was his soul indeed like a clown, fooling in the market-place? He knew not what to think. Almost hehoped he should not find the man, and could believe that he had dreamedthe angel vision. But when he came, after a long, toilful walk, to thevillage, and the square, alas! there was the clown, doing his sillytricks for the crowd. 

The hermit stood and looked at him with terror and sadness, for he feltthat he was looking at his own soul. The face he saw was thin andtired, and though it kept a smile or a grin for the people, it seemedvery sad to the hermit. Soon the man felt the hermit's eyes; he couldnot go on with his tricks. And when he had stopped and the crowd hadleft, the hermit went and drew the man aside to a place where theycould rest; for he wanted more than anything else on earth to know whatthe man's soul was like, because what it was, his was. 

So, after a little, he asked the clown, very gently, what his life was, what it had been. And the clown answered, very sadly, that it was justas it looked, --a life of foolish tricks, for that was the only way ofearning his bread that he knew. 

"But have you never been anything different?" asked the hermit, painfully. 

The clown's head sank in his hands. "Yes, holy father, " he said, "Ihave been something else. I was a thief! I once belonged to thewickedest band of mountain robbers that ever tormented the land, and Iwas as wicked as the worst. "

Alas! The hermit felt that his heart was breaking. Was this how helooked to the Heavenly Father, --like a thief, a cruel mountain robber?He could hardly speak, and the tears streamed from his old eyes, but hegathered strength to ask one more question. "I beg you, " he said, "ifyou have ever done a single good deed in your life, remember it now, and tell it to me;" for he thought that even one good deed would savehim from utter despair. 

"Yes, one, " the clown said, "but it was so small, it is not worthtelling; my life has been worthless. "

"Tell me that one!" pleaded the hermit. 

"Once, " said the man, "our band broke into a convent garden and stoleaway one of the nuns, to sell as a slave or to keep for a ransom. Wedragged her with us over the rough, long way to our mountain camp, andset a guard over her for the night. The poor thing prayed to us sopiteously to let her go! And as she begged, she looked from one hardface to another with trusting, imploring eyes, as if she could notbelieve men could be really bad. Father, when her eyes met minesomething pierced my heart! Pity and shame leaped up, for the firsttime, within me. But I made my face as hard and cruel as the rest, andshe turned away, hopeless. 

"When all was dark and still, I stole like a cat to where she laybound. I put my hand on her wrist and whispered, 'Trust me, and I willtake you safely home. ' I cut her bonds with my knife, and she looked atme to show that she trusted. Father, by terrible ways that I knew, hidden from the others, I took her safe to the convent gate. Sheknocked; they opened; and she slipped inside. And, as she left me, sheturned and said, 'God will remember. '

"That was all. I could not go back to the old bad life, and I hadnever learned an honest way to earn my bread. So I became a clown, andmust be a clown until I die. "

"No! no! my son, " cried the hermit, and now his tears were tears ofjoy. "God has remembered; your soul is in his sight even as mine, whohave prayed and preached for forty years. Your treasure waits for youon the heavenly shore just as mine does. "

"As YOURS? Father, you mock me!" said the clown. 

But when the hermit told him the story of his prayer and the angel'sanswer, the poor clown was transfigured with joy, for he knew that hissins were forgiven. And when the hermit went home to his mountain, theclown went with him. He, too, became a hermit, and spent his time inpraise and prayer. 

Together they lived, and worked, and helped the poor. And when, aftertwo years, the man who had been a clown died, the hermit felt that hehad lost a brother holier than himself. 

For ten years more the hermit lived in his mountain hut, thinkingalways of God, fasting and praying, and doing no least thing that waswrong. Then, one day, the wish once more came, to know how his workwas growing, and once more he prayed that he might see a being--

 "Whose soul in the heavenly grace had grown To the selfsame measure as his own; Whose treasure on the celestial shore Could neither be less than his nor more. "

Once more his prayer was answered. The angel came to him, and told himto go to a certain village on the other side of the mountain, and to asmall farm in it, where two women lived. In them he should find twosouls like his own, in God's sight. 

When the hermit came to the door of the little farm, the two women wholived there were overjoyed to see him, for every one loved and honoredhis name. They put a chair for him on the cool porch, and brought foodand drink. But the hermit was too eager to wait. He longed greatly toknow what the souls of the two women were like, and from their looks hecould see only that they were gentle and honest. One was old, and theother of middle age. 

Presently he asked them about their lives. They told him the littlethere was to tell: they had worked hard always, in the fields withtheir husbands, or in the house; they had many children; they had seenhard times, --sickness, sorrow; but they had never despaired. 

"But what of your good deeds, " the hermit asked, --"what have you donefor God?"

"Very little, " they said, sadly, for they were too poor to give much. To be sure, twice every year, when they killed a sheep for food, theygave half to their poorer neighbors. 

"That is very good, very faithful, " the hermit said. "And is there anyother good deed you have done?"

"Nothing, " said the older woman, "unless, unless--it might be called agood deed--" She looked at the younger woman, who smiled back at her. 

"What?" said the hermit. 

Still the woman hesitated; but at last she said, timidly, "It is notmuch to tell, father, only this, that it is twenty years since mysister-in-law and I came to live together in the house; we have broughtup our families here; and in all the twenty years there has never beena cross word between us, or a look that was less than kind. "

The hermit bent his head before the two women, and gave thanks in hisheart. "If my soul is as these, " he said, "I am blessed indeed. "

And suddenly a great light came into the hermit's mind, and he saw howmany ways there are of serving God. Some serve him in churches and inhermit's cells, by praise and prayer; some poor souls who have beenvery wicked turn from their wickedness with sorrow, and serve him withrepentance; some live faithfully and gently in humble homes, working, bringing up children, keeping kind and cheerful; some bear painpatiently, for his sake. Endless, endless ways there are, that only theHeavenly Father sees. 

And so, as the hermit climbed the mountain again, he thought, --

 "As he saw the star-like glow Of light, in the cottage windows far, How many God's hidden servants are!"