THE TEACHERS > i.e. ;i.;f.f,t;i^ ALICE O'GRADY THE TEACHERS' STORY TELLER'S BOOK THE TEACHERS STORY TELLER'S BOOK By Alice O'Grady, of the Kindergarten Department Teachers College, and Frances Throop, of the Pic hard School, Chicago, Illinois fed RAND McNALLY & COMPANY CHICAGO NEW YORK The Story Tellers Book Copyright, 1012, by Rand, McNally & Company The Teachers' Story Teller's Book Copyright, JQI3< by Rand, McNally & Company g tte ^onb-"gttc|laUvi $>rc»« INTRODUCTION The study of stories for children during the past few years has resulted in the production of many excellent books of tales, both single and in such series as the Fairy Ring and Magic Casements, and the various "Tree" books by Clifton Johnson. Money to own a library of these source books, how- ever, and time to select from many volumes the few de- sired stories, are seldom available, and as yet there has been published no book collecting only the simpler old tales, providing a story teller's book for home and school. The need of such a collection has been felt by the editors, and in this little volume they have endeavored to supply it. Here the teacher with the limited exchequer may find gathered in one collection a simple and selected group of stories. These stories, beginning with short narrative to follow the nursery rhyme and moving through more developed tales, both in struc- ture and content are intended to supply literature for children from four to eleven years of age. In other words, from the kindergarten to the fifth grade. Therefore the first stories in the book are short and often interspersed with verse. Then come the simpler folk tales and, last of all, stories that are longer and contain more detail and more experience. These are followed by the fairy tale and fable, which belong to children of a larger growth . In several instances two versions of a folk tale have been given, both versions being in current use. But in every case the first given is considered the better one. T1JK STORY TELLER'S BOOK The editors hope that the stories will be told rather than read, at least in the kindergarten and early grades. For with little children, especially, the love of story must be communicated by the minnesinger, to the eye as well as to the ear. The story teller should be an artist in interpretation, presenting the story in the most simple and natural manner. The listeners must be charmed with ballad and tale. Incident and char- acter must live again by the magic of the living voice. Since the form of the story contributes a large part of its literary value, it is best to learn the story as it is written, then to interpret it as we understand it. The function of literature is not directly to inform or to instruct, but to delight and to cultivate through the actual experiences of pure, wholesome joy; there- fore the story teller's real teaching lies in the uncon- scious sense of meaning, humor, content, and above all beauty, which he awakens. Some of the books from which stories were taken con- tain other stories which a teacher would be glad to use. Among these are Prince Dimple and his Every-day Doings and Prince Dimple and his Further Doings, Mrs. Paull; the "Arabella and Araminta" stories, Gertrude Smith; Mother Stories, Maud Lindsay; For the Children's Hour, Bailey and Lewis; Child Life in Prose, Whittier; Folk Stories and Fables, James Bald- win; Classic Stories for the Little Ones. Lida Brown McMurry; English Fairy Talcs, Joseph Jacobs; Cossack Fairy Tales, R. Nesbit Bain; and Fairy Ring and ( 'asements, Wiggin and Smith. THE TABLE OF CONTENTS PAGE Christmas Eve n Christmas Morning 13 The Christmas Tree 15 The "Wake- Up" Story 17 The " Go-Sleep " Story 20 The Sleepy Song 22 Soap-bubble Story 24 Sleepy-time Story 27 Christmas Story 33 The Birthday Party 41 Five Little Brothers 48 The Cat and the Mouse 49 The Robber Kitten 51 The Three Billy Goats Gruff 53 The Little Red Hen 55 The Little Red Hen and the Grain of Wheat . 5 7 The Old Woman and her Pig 59 The Little Gray Pony 65 The Wind's Work 70 Chicken Licken 75 The Old Woman who lived in a Vinegar Bottle . 78 Johnny and the Three Goats 83 Johnny-Cake 86 Titty Mouse and Tatty Mouse 91 The Story of the Three Bears 95 Golden Hair and the Three Bears 100 The Three Little Pigs 105 The Story of the Three Little Pigs . . . . no 7 8 THE TABLE OF CONTEXTS PAGE The Sheep and the Pig that built the House . 115 Drakesbill 119 Mr. Miacca 127 The Street Musicians 130 Robin Redbreast 137 Wee Robin's Christmas Day 138 Sir Robin 14: The Big Red Apple 142 Blunder 148 A Fairy in Ann or 159 The Magpie's Nest 160 The Hop-about Man 162 The Fox and the Rooster 174 Tit for Tat 177 A Good Thanksgiving . . 180 Praise God 182 Anders' New Cap 182 Who stole the Bird's Nest? 188 The Straw Ox 192 Nursery Song 199 The Stars in the Sky 201 The Fairies of Caldon Low 206 Finding a Dark Place 21 ] Mabel on Midsummer Day 212 Oeyvind and Marit 222 The Fairies 233 The Half-Chick 236 The Discontented Tree 242 The Three Little Christmas Trees that grew on the Hill 245 THE TABLE OF CONTENTS 9 TAGE The Snow Bird's Song 247 The Night before Christmas 249 Snow-White and Rose-Red 253 One-Eye, Two-Eyes, and Three-Eyes . ... 263 The Hut in the Forest 273 The Greedy Shepherd 281 The Miller of the Dee 292 The Tsarcvna Frog 293 The Spring Walk 306 The Language of the Birds 308 The Constant Tin Soldier . . ... .316 Mr. and Mrs. Spikky Sparrow 326 Contented John 329 Tubal Cain 331 Snyegurka 334 Suggestions to Teachers 341 THE TEACHERS' STORY TELLER'S BOOK CHRISTMAS EVE 1 Prince Dimple was a very little fellow, for he had never seen Christmas. He could only talk in his funny baby way, which no one understood except his two dolls, Jack the Harlequin, in his pink and green suit with the little bells on it, and Squeaky Sam, who was made of rubber, with a whistle inside of him which squeaked whenever you squeezed him. ''Christmas is coming.' I heard mother say so," Prince Dimple told Jack the Harlequin one day. ' * Do you know what Christmas is?" No, Jack did not know, and Squeaky Sam did not know; but Christmas must certainly be very nice, for every one seemed to be glad that it was coming, and whenever mother talked to Prince Dimple about it she hugged and kissed him, as if it were something that had a great deal to do with him. " Santa Claus is coming to-night, and little 1 This story, and the two following stories, were taken from "Prince Dimple and his Every-day Doings." By permission of George W. Jacobs 6 s Co., publishers. 12 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK Cousin Margaret has sent you a pretty stock- ing to hang up," said mother one evening when Prince Dimple was all ready for bed. Prince Dimple clapped his hands when mother showed him the stocking. It was the very prettiest stocking Prince Dimple had ever seen, and he wondered why mother did not get him such pretty stockings to wear, instead of little black silk ones. It was pink and blue, and little points hung from the top of the stocking with little gold bells on them, just like the bells on Jack the Harlequin. It had little pink and blue ribbons by which to hang it up, and it was big enough to hold a great many nice things. "See, we will hang it up by the fireplace, so that Santa Claus can find it and fill it with pretty things for Prince Dimple, " mother said. The little bells jingled and made sweet music as mother fastened it up beside the fireplace; and Prince Dimple wondered, as he went to sleep, how Santa Claus was coming and what he would bring. When Prince Dimple was sound asleep, and his little curly head was resting on his THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 13 pillow in the bassinet, then you may be sure Santa Claus came, and filled the pretty little stocking to the very top. He had far too much to put it all into the stocking, and so he piled the rest of the pretty things he had brought beside the fireplace. Mrs. Paull. CHRISTMAS MORNING Prince Dimple had slept so soundly all night long that he had not heard Santa Claus come, and he had forgotten all about his pretty stocking. When he woke up in the morning he sat up and rubbed his eyes, and then he saw the stocking filled to the top, and the beautiful presents piled up beside the fireplace. "Oh! oh! oh!" he shouted; and he nearly jumped out of his bassinet, he was so eager to get over to the fireplace, and see all the wonderful things. Mother carried him over, and he was so delighted that he hardly knew what to look at first. There was a beautiful gray horse, with a red saddle, that he had to stop and kiss the 14 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK very first thing, it was so pretty; and then he found another horse, with a rider on its back, who blew a trumpet whenever he was moved. There was a picture book full of monkeys, and Prince Dimple did love monkeys so much that he was very happy to have a whole book full of them. Everything Prince Dimple liked best was here. There was a box of big blocks that had all sorts of pictures on them, and were so light to lift that he could easily pick them up in his little hands, although they did look so big. There was the story of the Old Woman and her Pig, which mother had told Prince Dimple ever so many times, and now he could see all the pictures of the naughty pig that wouldn't go. After Prince Dimple had looked at all the pretty things that were piled up beside the fireplace mother gave him his stocking, and Prince Dimple shouted with delight as he took out the pretty things, one after another. I couldn't possibly tell you what they all were; and if you want to see them, you must THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 15 come to Prince Dimple's nursery, and he will show them all to you himself. Mrs. Paull. THE CHRISTMAS TREE Prince Dimple knew now what Christ- mas was; and he was very glad it had come, since it had brought him so many nice things. He did not want to stop and get dressed, he was so busy playing with his new toys; but at last he stopped long enough to have his bath and eat his breakfast. Mother let him hold his new ball in his hand all the time he was getting dressed, and that helped him to be patient. Still more wonderful things were to happen, though. When Prince Dimple had eaten his breakfast mother took him in her arms and carried him downstairs; and papa opened the parlor door for them. Can you guess what the wonderful thing was that Prince Dimple saw? There was a beautiful tree, sparkling with tiny tapers, and covered with beautiful shining things, and soft, glittering snow. 16 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK It was the most beautiful thing that little Prince Dimple had ever seen, and he was so surprised and so pleased that he did not say a single word. He never moved, but just sat still and looked at everything with his big blue eyes, without even a smile. It was so beautiful that he did not know what to do with himself. "What do you think of your Christmas tree, Prince Dimple?" asked papa at last. "Ah! ha!" shouted Prince Dimple, giving such a spring that he nearly jumped out of mother's arms, he was in such a hurry to go nearer to the wonderful tree. There was so much to see that Prince Dim- ple thought he would never get through look- ing at it ; and he spent Christmas Day with his beautiful tree, and was almost too happy to eat. I will not tell you about the tree, because of course you had just such a pretty one yourself, and perhaps you have seen Christ- mas trees a great many times; but it was little Prince Dimple's first Christmas tree, you know, and so it was a very wonderful THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 17 tree to him, and he thought it was the most beautiful tree in the world. Mrs. Paull. THE "WAKE-UP" STORY The sun was up and the breeze was blow- ing, and the five chicks and four geese and three rabbits and two kitties and one little dog were just as noisy and lively as they knew how to be. They were all watching for Baby Ray to appear at the window, but he was still fast asleep in his little white bed, while mamma was making ready the things he would need when he should wake up. First she went along the orchard path as far as the old wooden pump, and said: "Good Pump, will you give me some nice, clear water for the baby's bath?" And the pump was willing. The good old pump by the orchard path Gave nice, clear water for the baby's bath. Then she went a little farther on the path and stopped at the wood pile, and said: "Good Chips, the pump has given me nice, clear water for dear little Ray ; will you come 18 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK and warm the water and cook his food?" And the chips were willing. The good old pump by the orchard path Gave nice, clear water for the baby's bath. And the clean, white chips from the pile of wood Were glad to warm it and to cook his food. So mamma went on till she came to the barn, and then said: "Good Cow, the pump has given me nice, clear water, and the wood pile has given me clean, white chips for dear little Ray ; will you give me warm, rich milk? M And the cow was willing. Then she said to the top-knot hen that was scratching in the straw: "Good Biddy, the pump has given me nice, clear water, and the wood pile has given me clean, white chips, and the cow has given me warm, rich milk for dear little Ray; will you give me a new- laid egg? }} And the hen was willing. The good old pump by the orchard path Gave nice, clear water for the baby's bath. The clean, white chips from the pile of wood Were glad to warm it and to cook his food. The cow gave milk in the milk pail bright, And the top-knot Biddy an egg t new and white. THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 19 Then mamma went on till she came to the orchard, and said to a Red June apple tree: "Good Tree, the pump has given me nice, clear water, and the wood pile has given me clean, white chips, and the cow has given me warm, rich milk, and the hen has given me a new-laid egg for dear little Ray; will you give me a pretty red apple ?" And the tree was willing. So mamma took the apple and the egg and the milk and the chips and the water to the house, and there was Baby Ray in his night- gown, looking out of the window. And she kissed him and bathed him and dressed him, and while she brushed and curled his soft, brown hair, she told him the " Wake- Up' ' story that I am telling you: The good old pump by the orchard path Gave nice, clear water for the baby's bath; The clean, white chips from the pile of wood Were glad to warm it and to cook his food. The cow gave milk in the milk pail bright; The top-knot Biddy an egg, new and white; And the tree gave an apple so round and so red, For dear little Ray who was just out of bed. EUDORA BUMSTEAD. 20 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK THE "GO-SLEEP" STORY "How can I go to bed," said Penny, the flossy dog, "till I say good night to Baby Ray? He gives me part of his bread and milk, and pats me with his little soft hand. It is bedtime now for dogs and babies. I wonder if he is asleep?" So he trotted along in his silky white nightgown till he found Baby Ray on the porch in mamma's arms. And she was telling him the same little story that I am telling you: "The doggie that was given him to keep, keep, keep, Went to see if Baby Ray was asleep, sleep, sleep." "How can we go to bed," said Snowdrop and Thistledown, the youngest children of Tabby, the cat, "till we have once more looked at Baby Ray? He lets us play with his blocks and ball, and laughs when we climb on the table. It is bedtime now for kitties and dogs and babies. Perhaps we shall find him asleep." And this is what the kitties heard : "One doggie that was given him to keep, keep, keep, Two cunning little kitty-cats, creep, creep, creep, Went to see if Baby Ray was asleep, sleep, sleep." THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 21 "How can we go to bed," said the three little bunnies, "till we have seen Baby Ray?" Then away they went in their white velvet nightgowns as softly as three flakes of snow. And they, too, when they got as far as the porch, heard Ray's mamma telling the same little story: "One doggie that was given him to keep, keep, keep, Two cunning little kitty-cats, creep, creep, creep, Three pretty little bunnies with a leap, leap, leap, Went to see if Baby Ray was asleep, sleep, sleep." "How can we go to bed," said the four white geese, "till we know that Baby Ray is all right? He loves to watch us sail on the duck pond, and he brings us corn in his little blue apron. It is bedtime now for geese and rabbits and kitties and dogs and babies, and he really ought to be asleep. " So they waddled away in their white feather nightgowns, around by the porch, where they saw Baby Ray, and heard mamma tell the "Go-Sleep" story: "One doggie that was given him to keep, keep, keep, Two cunning little kitty-cats, creep, creep, creep, Three pretty little bunnies, with a leap, leap, leap, Four geese from the duck pond, deep, deep, deep, Went to see if Baby Ray was asleep, sleep, sleep." 22 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK "How can we go to bed," said the five white chicks, "till we have seen Baby Ray- once more? He scatters crumbs for us and calls us. Now it is bedtime for chicks and geese and rabbits and kitties and dogs and babies, so little Ray must be asleep." Then they ran and fluttered in their downy white nightgowns till they came to the porch, where little Ray was just closing his eyes, while mamma told the "Go-Sleep" story: "One doggie that was given him to keep, keep, keep, Two cunning little kitty-cats, creep, creep, creep, Three pretty little bunnies, with a leap, leap, leap, Four geese from the duck pond, deep, deep, deep, Five downy little chicks, crying, peep, peep, peep, All saw that Baby Ray was asleep, sleep, sleep." EUDORA BUMSTEAD. THE SLEEPY SONG 1 As soon as the fire burns red and low And the house upstairs is still, She sings me a queer little sleepy song, Of sheep that go over the hill. From "Poems." By permission of the author. Copyright, iqoj, by Chas. Scribner's Sons. THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 23 The good little sheep run quick and soft, Their colors are gray and white; They follow their leader, nose and tail, For they must be home by night. And one slips over, and one comes next, And one runs after behind ; The gray one's nose at the white one's tail, The top of the hill they find. And when they get to the top of the hill They quietly slip away, But one runs over and one comes next — Their colors are white and gray. And over they go, and over they go, And over the top of the hill The good little sheep run quick and soft, And the house upstairs is still. And one slips over and one comes next, The good little, gray little sheep! I watch how the fire burns red and low, And she says that I fall asleep. Josephine Daskam Bacon. 24 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK SOAP-BUBBLE STORY 1 THE DEAR DARLINGS PLAY A PRETTY RAINY-DAY PLAY Arabella and Araminta were two little sisters four years old. They lived in a white house on a green hill, and all day long they played together. And one day it rained while the sun was shining; the sun was shining while it rained. And Arabella looked out of the window, and said, "Oh, see, Araminta! see the sun in the rain!" And Araminta looked out of the window, and said, "Oh, see, Arabella! see the sun in the rain!" And Arabella clapped her hands, and said: "Oh, Araminta, see, see, see! There is a rainbow, a great big rainbow, shining in the sky!" And Araminta clapped her hands, and said: "Oh, Arabella, see, see, see! There is a rainbow, a great big rainbow, shining in the sky!" And their mother heard them, and she came From "Arabella and Araminta," by Gertrude Smith. Copyright, /.Vy.>. Reprinted by permission of the publishers, Small, Maynard & Com pan y, Incorporated. THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 25 and looked out of the window, and she saw the rainbow, from way over there to way over there, shining in the sky. And Arabella said: "Oh, isn't it beauti- ful, beautiful? Just see the colors, mamma!" And Araminta said: "Oh, isn't it beauti- ful, beautiful? Just see the colors, mamma!" And their mother said: "Yes, dears, it is certainly beautiful. I will tell you what we will do: I will show you how you can make some little rainbows right here in your own house." And Arabella said, "Why, mamma, how could you make little truly rainbows right here in our own house?" And Araminta said, "Why, mamma, how could you make little truly rainbows right here in our own house?" And their mother said, "Just wait and you will see." Then she went and found two pipes, two white clay pipes, and she got two bowls of water with some soapsuds in them. And she gave a pipe to Arabella, and a pipe to Ara- minta, and she showed them how to blow bubbles, how to blow soap-bubbles with some 26 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK water and a pipe. And into the bubbles the colors came, — all the beautiful colors of the rainbow. And Arabella blew a bubble as large as a teacup, and Araminta blew a bubble as large as a little bowl! And Arabella screamed with joy, and said: " Oh, oh, oh! I do see a rainbow, a little truly rainbow in my bubble, mamma!" And Araminta screamed with joy, and said: "Oh, oh, oh! I do see a rainbow, a little truly rainbow in my bubble, mamma!" And their mother said: "Yes, yes, I see, dears; but look at your dresses, do, dears; they 're as wet as wet as can be ! You must go right and take them off. " And oh, that mischief Arabella! and oh, that mischief Araminta! — what do you think they did? Why, they took their dresses off, and took off their little skirts, so nothing was upon them except their little shirts! And then they blew soap-bubbles, more and more soap-bubbles, with nothing else upon them except their little shirts! And their mother laughed, and said: "You THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 27 precious little dears, I wish I had your pic- ture as you look just now." And Arabella danced about the room, and laughed and clapped her hands; and Ara- minta danced about the room, and laughed and laughed and clapped her hands, Without a bit of trouble Arabella blew a bubble; and she blew another bubble, and she blew another bubble, and she blew another bubble; without a bit of trouble she blew another bubble. And without a bit of trouble Araminta blew a bubble; and she blew another bubble, and she blew another bubble, and she blew another bubble; without a bit of trouble she blew another bubble. SLEEPY-TIME STORY 1 WHEN BEDTIME CAME THEY WERE WIDE AWAKE, SO WERE THEIR TWO LITTLE KITTIES And one night Arabella's and Araminta' s mamma was sewing, and their papa was reading his newspaper. And there was a fire in the grate, a warm bright fire in the grate. 1 From "Arabella and Araminta" by Gertrude Smith. Copyright, 1895. Reprinted by permission of the publishers, Small, Maynard &» Company, Incorporated. 28 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK And Arabella sat on the rug before the fire, and Araminta sat on the rug before the fire. And Arabella was playing with her little white kitty, and Araminta was playing with her little black kitty. And Arabella's little white kitty's name was Annabel, and Araminta' s little black kitty's name was Lillabel. Arabella had a little red ball fastened to a long string, and Araminta had a little blue ball fastened to a long string. Arabella would roll her ball, and her little white kitty would run and jump for it. And Araminta would roll her ball, and her little black kitty would run and jump for it. The kittens were so cunning and funny, and they were having such a splendid time! Sometimes when Arabella's kitty would run very fast, or jump very high, Arabella would laugh until she tumbled right over on the floor. And sometimes when Araminta' s kitty would run very fast, or jump very high, Araminta would laugh until she would tumble right over on the floor. THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 29 Oh, they were having a splendid time! But all at once their mamma looked up from her sewing, and said: "Good night, Arabella. Good night, Araminta. The clock is on the stroke of eight." And their papa looked up from his paper, and said: "Yes, good night, Arabella. Good night, Araminta. The clock is on the stroke of eight." And Arabella said, "Oh, must we go to bed right now?" And Araminta said, "Oh, must we go to bed right now?" And their papa said: "Yes, indeed; yes, indeed. Good night, Arabella. Good night, Araminta. The clock is on the stroke of eight." Always, when it was bedtime, their papa and mamma would say: "Good night, Ara- bella. Good night, Araminta. " And sometimes they were good, and some- times they were bad; but they always ran away to bed. And their dear mamma always went with them and tucked them in and kissed them, then came away downstairs and left them. 30 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK And sometimes they were good, and some- times they were bad; but they always went to sleep. But to-night their mamma said: "Run and get your nighties, dears, And get each a flannel gown, And we 11 sit and rock you here, Till you go to sleepy-town." And Arabella ran upstairs and got her nighty and her little flannel gown. And Araminta ran upstairs and got her nighty and her little flannel gown. And their mamma undressed Arabella, and their papa undressed Araminta. Arabella's little flannel gown was red, and Araminta's little flannel gown was pink. And when they had put them on over their nighties they were just as warm as toast. Arabella's kitty was playing with Ara- minta's kitty on the rug before the fire. They were rolling and tumbling and chasing each other, and they looked so cunning and sweet ! And Arabella's mamma took Arabella on her lap, and Araminta's papa took Araminta on his lap. THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 31 Arabella said, "Oh, I want my kitty in my lap, mamma!" And Araminta said, "Oh, I want my kitty in my lap, papa!" So they jumped down and caught the kitties. Their mamma rocked Arabella, and their papa rocked Araminta; and they sang to them, — "Now a nice little rock, And never mind the clock, — Now a nice little rock, And never mind the clock! " And they sang it over, and over, and over, and over: "Now a nice little rock, And never mind the clock, — Now a nice little rock, And never mind the clock!" And Arabella cuddled in her mamma's arms, and hugged her little kitty close; and Araminta cuddled in her papa's arms, and hugged her little kitty close. And their mamma sang, and their papa sang,— 32 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK "Now she goes to sleepy-town, sleepy-town, sleepy-town ; Cuddled in her little gown, Here she goes to sleepy- town." And they sang it over, and over, and over: "Now she goes to sleepy-town, sleepy-town, sleepy- town ; Cuddled in her little gown, Here she goes to sleepy-town." And very soon Arabella could only just hear her mamma singing, and very soon Araminta could only just hear her papa sing- ing, "sleepy-town, sleepy-town. " And soon they couldn't hear them at all. They were sound asleep! And their mamma looked at their papa, and said, "Our precious little dears are both sound asleep." And their papa said, "Yes, our little pets have both reached sleepy-town." And Arabella's mamma carried her upstairs and put her in her little bed, and Araminta's papa carried her upstairs and put her in her little bed. And Arabella was hugging her white kitty up close in her arms, and Ara- minta was hugging her black kitty up close THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 33 in her arms. And the kitties were both sound asleep, too. But Araminta's kitty and Arabella's kitty did not sleep with them all night, — oh, no, indeed! They had a nice little, warm little, soft little bed down in the basement, close by the furnace. And their papa took the kitties out of their arms, and he carried them down to their bed. And Arabella slept, and slept, and slept, and slept, and slept. And Araminta slept, and slept, and slept, and slept, and slept. And the little kitties, in their soft little bed, slept, and slept, too. All through the long, dark, beautiful night they slept. And the sun came, and the morning came, and it was another day! CHRISTMAS STORY 1 HERE COMES DEAR, GOOD OLD SANTA IN THE GOOD OLD-FASHIONED WAY It was winter, and cold, very cold, — boo! boo! — very cold! It made you shiver and 1 From "Arabella and iraminta," by Gertrude Smith. Copyright, 1895. Reprinted by permission of the publishers, Small, Maynard & Company, Incorporated. 8 34 T HE STORY TELLER'S BOOK shake to step out of doors, just shiver and shake to step out of doors. And Arabella said, "I'm glad it's winter, and cold, because Christmas will come before long, I'm sure." And Araminta said, "Yes, Christmas will come before long, I'm sure." And there were more cold days, and more cold days, and more cold days. And then there came a day that was a very little warmer, and it began to snow. And it snowed and snowed and snowed and snowed and snowed. Right out of the sky the little white flakes came chasing each other, faster and faster and faster and faster, till the ground was all covered and white. And still it kept snowing and snowing and snowing! And the snow got deeper and deeper and deeper and deeper, till great drifts were piled all around, — the fence was covered, and the rosebush; and you couldn't see the path ! And Arabella stood at the window and watched the little white flakes come chasing each other right out of the sky. And Araminta stood at the window and THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 35 watched the little white flakes come chasing each other right out of the sky. And Arabella clapped her little hands and laughed, and said: "Oh, I'm glad that it's snowing, for now Christmas will come, I'm sure; now Christmas will come, I'm sure!" And Araminta clapped her little hands and laughed, and said: "Oh, I'm glad that it's snowing, for now Christmas will come, I'm sure; now Christmas will come, I'm sure!" And every morning, when she awoke, Arabella would say, "Is it Christmas to-day, mamma?" And every morning, when she awoke, Araminta would say, "Is it Christmas to- day, mamma?" And their mamma would say: "Not yet, not yet. You must wait for a few days more. M And Arabella would say: "Will Santa Claus come down our chimney, mamma, with a pack like the one in the picture?" And Araminta would say: "Will Santa Claus come down our chimney, mamma, with a pack like the one in the picture?" And their mamma said: "Well, I hope Santa will remember you, dears. He did 36 THE STORY TELLERS BOOK not pass over this home last year. Oh, yes, I think he'll remember!" And the days went by, and the days went by, till one day their mamma said: "To- night, Arabella, is Christmas Eve, — to-night, Araminta, is Christmas Eve, and to-morrow is Christmas Day." And Arabella clapped her hands and danced around the room and cried, "Oh, goody, goody, goody!" And Araminta clapped her hands and danced around the room and cried, "Oh, goody, goody, goody!" And Arabella said, "Shall we hang our little stockings up by the fireplace to-night for Santa to fill, mamma?" And Araminta said: "Shall we hang our little stockings up by the fireplace to-night for Santa to fill, mamma?" And their mother said: "Yes, yes, you may hang them up to-night, dears." And they did. Arabella hung her two dear little stock- ings on the right side of the fireplace, and Araminta hung her two dear little stockings on the left side of the fireplace. Close up THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 37 to the fireplace those four little stockings were hung so Santa could easily find them. And then Arabella went to bed and slept, and slept, and slept. And Araminta went to bed and slept, and slept, and slept. But while Arabella and Araminta were sleeping, dear Santa was wide awake; and all through the night he was very busily working. The moon was shining, and all over the ground the snow lay white, and it was cold, very cold, — boo! boo! It made you shiver and shake, — boo! boo! — it made you shiver and shake. It was a beautiful night for Santa ! He came in a sleigh of silver and gold, with six white reindeers, — at least so I'm told (I never sat up to see), — with six white reindeers all covered with bells, with dear little bells of silver and gold that tinkle, and tinkle, and tinkle. Of course it's all true. Don't you doubt, it's all true. How else could he come? He comes every year; how else could he come? And while Arabella slept, and while Ara- minta slept, he came in his sleigh of silver 38 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK and gold, with the six white reindeers, right up to their door, and he rapped, tap, tap, and he rang the bell; but no one woke up or heard him! It was a beautiful night for Santa ! It was cold and clear, and the moon shone bright. Just the kind of a Christmas to give delight to a jolly old soul like Santa. And Arabella's and Araminta's papa had put a ladder up by the house to make it easy for Santa. And he ran up the ladder and stood on the roof. And he tiptoed around until he found the chimney, and he laughed as he looked down the chimney, and he said: "The door is locked and all are asleep, so as usual I'll go down the chimney." And he looked up at the moon, and shook his curls, and said: "Arabella and Ara- minta are good little girls. Don't forget, dear Santa, they are good little girls. " Then, pop, he was gone down the chimney! And there by the fireplace he found Ara- bella's two little stockings and Araminta's two little stockings, and he filled them all full, so full they ran over, and things lay around on the floor. Then up through the THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 39 chimney he went as quick as a wink, much quicker than you could possibly think. And he ran down the ladder and jumped into his sleigh, and spoke to the reindeers and rode away. It was a beautiful night for Santa! And Arabella slept and slept, and Ara- minta slept and slept. And then it was Christmas morning! And Arabella woke up and said: " Merry Christmas, Araminta! Oh, do you suppose dear Santa did come?" And Araminta said: " Merry Christmas, Arabella! Oh, do you suppose dear Santa did come?" And they jumped out of their little beds and put on their, little flannel gowns, and ran downstairs as fast as they could go. And there by the fireplace the four little stockings were hanging, full, — full to the toes and running over! And Arabella said: "Oh, Santa has been here! Just see, see, see my stocking, Ara- minta!" And Araminta said: "Oh, Santa has been here! Just see, see, see my stocking, Ara- bella!" 40 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK And then they looked at their presents. Arabella had a beautiful big new doll, and Araminta had a beautiful big new doll. And Arabella had a little set of dishes, and Araminta had a little set of dishes. And Arabella had a storybook, a beautiful story- book, and Araminta had a storybook, a beautiful storybook. And Arabella had a little white muff and tippet all for herself, and Araminta had a little white muff and tippet all for herself. And Arabella had a rocking-horse, — she was very fond of horses, — and Araminta had a rocking-horse, — she was very fond of horses. And Arabella had a big red ball, and Araminta had a big red ball. And Arabella had a box of candy and nuts, and Araminta had^a box of candy and nuts. And Arabella had a little silver thimble, and Araminta had a little silver thimble. And they had other things, a great many other things, — I cannot begin to tell you. And all day long they played with their presents, — yes, all Christmas Day they played with their presents. It was a very merry Christmas. 7 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 41 THE BIRTHDAY PARTY 1 GOOD-BY, ARABELLA, GOOD-BY, ARAMINTA. WE HOPE YOU WILL HAVE MANY HAPPY BIRTHDAYS And the days went by, and the weeks went by, and the months went by, and a year went by, and our dear Arabella was five years old, and our dear Araminta was five years old. Their birthday came on the very same day, because they were twins, you know. It was a beautiful day in June, a beautiful day in June ; and it was their birthday. And what do you suppose they had? Why, they had a party, a birthday party, out under the trees on the lawn. It was Arabella's party, and it was Araminta's party. And there were five little girls and five little boys invited to come to the party. And they were to have such a beautiful time ! At half-past two the party came, and stayed till half -past five. And Arabella wore a white dotted muslin dress, and her little arms and her neck were bare. And she wore a pink sash, and little 1 From "Arabella and Araminta'' by Gertrude Smith. Copyright, 1805. Reprinted by permission of the publishers, Small, Maynard & Company t Incorporated. 42 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK pink bows on her shoulders. And, oh, she did look so pretty, and sweet, and dear! And Araminta wore a white dotted muslin dress, and her little arms and neck were bare. And she wore a blue sash, and little blue bows on her shoulders. And, oh, she did look so pretty, and sweet, and dear! And when it was time for the children to come, — for the children to come to the party, — Arabella and Araminta stood out by the gate, stood out by the gate, and waited. And up the road the children came, — the five little girls and the five little boys, — all running and skipping and jumping. And Arabella clapped her hands, and said: "Oh, the party is coming! Araminta, see, see, the party is coming!" And Araminta clapped her hands, and said : "Oh, the party is coming! See, see, the party is coming!" And Arabella climbed up on the gate, and waved her little handkerchief. "I see you!" she called. "I see you, all of you, coming!" And Araminta climbed up on the gate, and waved her little handkerchief. "I see you!" she called. "I see you, all of you, coming!" THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 43 And up through the gate the children came, — the five little girls and the five little boys, — all running and skipping and jumping. There were Jamie and Josie Browne, and Martha and Nelly Little, and dear little Dorothy Flint, and her cousin Margery Allen, and Henry and Herbert and Freddy DeLong, and their little sister Mabel. And this was the party. It was a beautiful day in June, you remem- ber, a warm, bright, beautiful day in June. And what fun they had at that party! They ran about on the lawn, and they played all the games they knew. And Ara- bella's mamma, and Araminta's mamma, came out on the lawn and told them some new games to play, and showed them how to play them. She played with them, just as though she were a dear little girl herself. And, oh, they had a beautiful time! And then came the loveliest part of all, the dinner, — the birthday dinner out under the trees on the lawn. All the five little girls sat on one side of the table, and all the five little boys sat on the other side of the table, and Arabella sat at one end of the 44 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK table in her high chair, and Araminta sat at the other end of the table in her high chair. And then the dinner began. And right in the middle of the table were five dear little cakes with candles on them, one little candle on each little cake. And one of the cakes had " Arabella" printed on it in candies, in little pink and white candies. And one of the cakes had "Araminta" printed on it in candies, in little pink and white candies. These were their birthday cakes, you know, their dear little birthday cakes. But before they came to the cakes they had other things that were good to eat, a great many other things. It was a very, very nice dinner. And up over their heads were the green, green boughs of the trees, and up in the trees the dear little birds were singing and singing and singing. And the five little boys, and the five little girls, and dear Arabella, and dear Araminta, were eating their dinner, and laughing and talking, and having the best, best time. And then such a funny thing happened, such a funny, funny thing happened. What do you suppose it was? Why, it began to THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 45 rain! But that isn't funny at all, you say, to have it rain on the dinner. But it wasn't truly rain, at all, only a shower of flowers, right out of the cherry tree above them, came falling and falling and falling all over the heads of the children, all over the heads of the party ! And the children laughed with delight, and held up their hands and caught them. "Oh, it's raining flowers!" they all cried, and held up their hands and caught them. But Arabella pointed up in the tree and laughed, and said: "Oh, I see my naughty, funny papa up in the tree! I know who tumbled the flowers on our heads! I know! I know! I know!" And Araminta pointed up in the tree, and said: "Oh, I see my naughty, funny papa up in the tree! I know who tumbled the flowers on our heads! I know! I know J I know!" And all the children laughed and looked up in the tree and pointed. "We see you up in the tree!" they cried. "We see you up there in the branches! We know who tumbled the flowers on our heads! We know! we know!" 46 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK And then that funny papa sat out on bough of the tree and sang them this song: "I should not think a turtle-dove Could sit up in a tree, And hold by his two little feet, While making melody. "I wonder why the pigeons Have never learned to write; Such bright-eyed, clever little birds, I really think they might ! "I can't think why a cherry tree Should never raise a pear, But always cherries, cherries red, A-bobbing in the air. "I don't see how an apple In one summer can learn how To grow up from a blossom And hang upon a bough. "What would you do, what could you do, If some fine summer day The leaves should all be faces, And watch you while you play? "Suppose this tree should change its mind Before another spring, And turn into a giant, And tell us everything? " THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 47 And the children all cried: "Tell it again! Tell it again !" And so he sang it again. And then he jumped down from the tree, while all the children stood about and laughed and clapped their hands. And then the dinner was over, and they played more games; and Arabella's and Araminta's papa played with them, — that dear good papa played with them. And they had a splendid time. I am sure they will always remember, they had such a splen- did time. And then it was half -past five, and the party went home, — all the five little girls and the five little boys, — and the party was over. And that night, when Arabella went to bed, she stood on tiptoe and looked in the glass, and said: "I'm five years old, I'm not four any more; and I'm certainly, cer- tainly growing." And Araminta stood on tiptoe beside Arabella, and looked in the glass, and said: "I'm five years old, I'm not four any more; and I'm certainly, certainly growing." 48 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK FIVE LITTLE BROTHERS Five little brothers set out together To journey the livelong day. In a curious carriage all made of leather They hurried away, away! One big brother, and three quite small, And one wee fellow no size at all. The carriage was dark and none too roomy, And they could not move about; The five little brothers grew very gloomy, And the wee one began to pout, Till the biggest one whispered, "What do you say? Let's leave the carriage and run away!" So out they scampered, the five together, And off and away they sped! When somebody found the carriage of leather, Oh, my, how she shook her head! 'Twas her little boy's shoe, as every one knows, And the five little brothers were five little toes. Ella Wheeler Wilcox. THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 49 THE CAT AND THE MOUSE 1 The cat and the mouse played in a malt house. The cat bit off the mouse's tail. "Pray, Puss, give me my tail again." "No," said the cat, "I'll not give you your tail again till you go to the cow and fetch me some milk." First she leaped, and then she ran, Till she came to the cow and thus began : "Pray, Cow, give me some milk that I may give it to the cat, so she may give me my tail again." "No," said the cow, "I'll give you no milk till you go to the farmer and get me some hay." First she leaped, and then she ran, Till she came to the farmer and thus began : "Pray, Farmer, give me some hay that I may give it to the cow, so she may give me some milk that I may give it to the cat, so she may give me my tail again." "No," said the farmer, "I'll give you no hay till you go to the butcher and fetch me some meat." 1 From "For the Children's Hour." By Permission of the publishers, Milton Bradley Co. 50 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK First she leaped, and then she ran, Till she came to the butcher and thus began : "Pray, Butcher, give me some meat that I may give it to the farmer, so he may give me some hay that I may give it to the cow, so she may give me some milk that I may give it to the cat, so she may give me my tail again. ' ' "No, " said the butcher, "I will give you no meat till you go to the baker and fetch me some bread. M First she leaped, and then she ran, Till she came to the baker and thus began : "Pray, Baker, give me some bread that I may give it to the butcher, so he may give me some meat that I may give to the farmer, so he may give me some hay that I may give to the cow, so she may give me some milk that I may give to the cat, so she may give me my tail again. " "Well," said the baker, "I'll give you some bread — But don't eat my meal, or I'll cut off your head." The baker gave the mouse bread which she brought to the butcher, the butcher gave the mouse meat which she brought to the farmer, THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 51 the farmer gave the mouse hay which she brought to the cow, the cow gave the mouse milk which she brought to the cat, and the cat gave the mouse her tail again. Carolyn S. Bailey. THE ROBBER KITTEN A kitten once to its mother said, "111 never more be good, But I'll go and be a robber bold And live in a dreary wood, Wood, wood, wood, And live in a dreary wood." So off he went to a dreary wood And there he met a cock, And blew his head with a pistol off, Which gave him an awful shock, Shock, shock, shock, Which gave him an awful shock. Soon after that he met a cat. "Now give to me your purse Or I '11 shoot you through, and stab you, too, And kill you, which is worse, Worse, worse, worse, And kill you, which is worse/' 52 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK At last he met a robber dog And they sat down to drink; The dog did joke and laugh and sing, Which made the kitten wink, Wink, wink, wink, Which made the kitten wink. At last they quarreled, then they fought Beneath the greenwood tree, And puss was felled with an awful club Most terrible to see, See, see, see, Most terrible to see. When puss got up his eye was cut, And swelled, and black and blue, Moreover all his bones were sore, Which made this kitten mew, Mew, mew, mew, Which made this kitten mew. So up he got and rubbed his head And went home very sad. "O mother dear, behold me here; I'll nevermore be bad, Bad, bad, bad, I'll nevermore be bad." THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 53 THE THREE BILLY GOATS GRUFF Once there were three billy goats named Gruff. They wished to go up on the hillside to eat the fresh green grass that grew there, for they were very lean and hungry and the grass was all gone from their side of the mountain. But there was a little stream over which they must pass to reach the green hillside, and under the bridge which they must cross lived an ugly old troll. ''I will go first," said the little billy goat Gruff, and he started across the bridge. Trip, trap, trip, trap, went the bridge. "Who goes tripping over my bridge?" roared the troll. "It's I— I'm the little billy goat Gruff," said the little goat. "I go upon the hillside to eat the green grass." "I think I'll eat you," said the troll. "Oh, don't do that," said the little goat. "My bigger brother is coming. You'd better eat him." "Very well," said the troll, and the little goat hurried on, trip, trap, trip, trap, over 54 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK the bridge, and up on the hillside to eat the green grass. Soon after the next billy goat Gruff came along. Trip, trap, trip, trap, went the bridge. "Who goes tripping over my bridge?" roared the troll. "It's I. I'm the second billy goat Gruff. I 'm going up on the hillside to eat the green grass." "I think I'll eat you," said the troll. "Oh, don't eat me. My big brother is coming. You'd better eat him." "Well, be off with you," said the troll. But just then up came the big billy goat Gruff. TRIP, TRAP, TRIP, TRAP, went the bridge. "Who goes tripping over my bridge?" roared the troll. "It's I. I'm the big billy goat Gruff. I go up on the hillside to eat the green grass." "Now, I'm coming up to eat you," roared the troll. "COME ON, THEN," said the big billy goat Gruff, who had a great hoarse voice of THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 55 his own, and he lowered his horns and when the old troll climbed upon the bridge he struck him a terrible blow and knocked him down into the water, where he was changed into a great stone. If you go over the bridge you may see it there to this day. And the big billy goat Gruff went TRIP, TRAP, TRIP, TRAP over the bridge and up on the hillside to eat the green grass. And if the grass is not all gone, the three brother billy goats are eating there yet. Adapted from the Norwegian. THE LITTLE RED HEN Once upon a time there was a little red hen who lived alone in a little house in the wood. A crafty old fox had his home in the wood, and many a time he tried to catch the little red hen and carry her away to his hole, but she always outwitted him. One day he had crept up close to her house when he saw her come out to fill her apron full of chips to make her fire. Quick as a flash he darted through the door. In came 56 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK the little red hen, but when she saw the fox she flew screaming to the rafters. "Come down," said the fox. "Oh, no," said the little red hen. "Then see how I can dance," said the fox, and round and round he danced until the little red hen grew so dizzy that down she fell from the rafters. Quickly the fox popped her into his bag and off he went through the wood with the bag over his shoulder. But he soon became tired and lay down to rest. The little red hen took her scissors from her pocket and snipped a hole in the bag. Very quietly she crept out and, finding a big stone, she rolled it into the bag and sewed up the hole. And away ran the little red hen to her house, and went in and locked the door. Soon the fox awoke and, putting the bag on his back, away he ran to his den. "This little red hen is very heavy," said he. "It is a good supper I shall have to- night." When he came to his den he called to his old mother: "Put on the kettle, for it's the little red hen we'll have for our supper." THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 57 So the old fox put on the kettle, and when the water boiled they held the sack over the kettle, and out fell the big stone, and splash! went the boiling water all over the fox and his mother, and scalded them to death. But the little red hen lived happily in her house ever after. THE LITTLE RED HEN AND THE GRAIN OF WHEAT One day when the little red hen was scratch- ing in the garden she found a grain of wheat. "Who will plant this grain of wheat?" said the little red hen. "I won't," said the cat. "I won't," said the rat. "I won't," said the cock. "I won't," said the duck. "I won't," said the curly-tailed pig. "Then I will," said the little red hen, and she did. The wheat grew and grew, and finally it was ready to cut. "Who will cut the wheat?" said the little red hen. "I won't " said the cat. 58 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK "I won't," said the rat. "I won't," said the cock. "I won't," said the duck. "I won't," said the curly-tailed pig. "Then I will," said the little red hen, and she did. When the wheat was gathered she said, "Who will take this wheat to the mill?" I won't, " said the cat. I won't," said the rat. I won't," said the cock. I won't," said the duck. I won't," said the curly-tailed pig. Then I will," said the little red hen, and she did. When the wheat was ground the little red hen brought it home. "Now who will make this wheat into bread?" said she. I won't, " said the cat. I won't," said the rat. I won't," said the cock. I won't," said the duck. I won't," said the curly-tailed pig. Then I will," said the little red hen. So she made the bread and baked it, and THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 59 when it was done she took it from the oven. "Now who will help me eat this bread?" said she. "I will," said the cat. "I will," said the rat. "I will," said the cock. "I will," said the duck. "I will," said the curly-tailed pig. " Oh, no, you won't, " said the little red hen, and calling the little chickens, they had a feast in the corner of the barnyard, and the cat and the rat and the cock and the duck and the curly-tailed pig did not get even a crumb. THE OLD WOMAN AND HER PIG An old woman was sweeping her house and she found a little crooked sixpence. "What shall I do with this sixpence?" said she. * ' I will go to market, and buy a little pig. ' ' So the old woman went to market and bought the pig. And as she was coming home she came to a stile; but the pig would not go over the stile. So she said: "Pig, pig, get over the stile; Or I shan't get home to-night." But the pig would not. 60 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK She went a little farther, and she met a dog. So she said to the dog: "Dog, dog, bite pig; Pig won't get over the stile; And I shan't get home to-night." But the dog would not. She went a little farther, and she met a stick. So she said: "Stick, stick, beat dog; Dog won't bite pig; Pig won't get over the stile; And I shan't get home to-night." But the stick would not. She went a little farther, and she met a fire. So she said: "Fire, fire, burn stick; Stick won't beat dog; Dog won't bite pig; Pig won't get over the stile; And I shan't get home to-night." But the fire would not. She went a little farther, and she met some water. So she said: "Water, water, quench fire; Fire won't burn stick; Stick won't beat dog; THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 61 Dog won't bite pig; Pig won't get over the stile; And I shan't get home to-night." But the water would not. She went a little farther, and she met an ox. So she said: "Ox, ox, drink water; Water won't quench fire; Fire won't burn stick ; Stick won't beat dog; Dog won't bite pig; Pig won't get over the stile; And I shan't get home to-night." But the ox would not. She went a little farther, and she met a butcher. So she said: "Butcher, butcher, kill ox; Ox won't drink water; Water won't quench fire; Fire won't burn stick ; Stick won't beat dog; Dog won't bite pig; Pig won't get over the stile; And I shan't get home to-night." But the butcher would not : She went a little farther, and she met a rope. So she said: 62 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK "Rope, rope, hang butcher* Butcher won't kill ox; Ox won't drink water; Water won't quench fire; Fire won't burn stick; Stick won't beat dog; Dog won't bite pig; Pig won't get over the stile; And I shan't get home to-night." But the rope would not. She went a little farther, and she met a rat. So she said: "Rat, rat, gnaw rope; Rope won't hang butcher; Butcher won't kill ox; Ox won't drink water; Water won't quench fire; Fire won't burn stick; Stick won't beat dog; Dog won't bite pig; Pig won't get over the stile; And I shan't get home to-night." But the rat would not. She went a little farther, and she met a cat. So she said: "Cat, cat, kill rat; Rat won't gnaw rope; Rope won't hang butcher; THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 63 Butcher won't kill ox; Ox won't drink water; Water won't quench fire ; Fire won't burn stick; Stick won't beat dog; Dog won't bite pig; Pig won't get over the stile; And I shan't get home to-night." But the cat said to her, "If you will go to yonder cow, and fetch me a saucer of milk, I will kill the rat." So away went the old woman to the cow, and said: "Cow, cow, give me a saucer of milk; Cat won't kill rat; Rat won't gnaw rope; Rope won't hang butcher; Butcher won't kill ox; Ox won't drink water; Water won't quench fire; Fire won't burn stick; Stick won't beat dog; Dog won't bite pig; Pig won't get over the stile; And I shan't get home to-night." But the cow said to her, "If you will go to yonder haymakers, and fetch me a wisp of hay, 111 give you the milk." So away went 64 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK the old woman to the haymakers, and said: "Playmakers, give me a wisp of hay; Cow won't give me milk; Cat won't kill rat; Rat won't gnaw rope; Rope won't hang butcher; Butcher won't kill ox; Ox won't drink water; Water won't quench fire; Fire won't burn stick; Stick won't beat dog; Dog won't bite pig; Pig won't get over the stile; And I shan't get home to-night." But the haymakers said to her, "If you will go to yonder stream, and fetch us a bucket of water, we'll give you the hay." So away the old woman went ; but when she got to the stream, she found the bucket was full of holes. So she covered the bottom with pebbles, and then filled the bucket with water, and away she went back with it to the haymakers; and they gave her a wisp of hay. As soon as the cow had eaten the hay she gave the old woman the milk; and away she went with it in a saucer to the cat. As soon as the cat had lapped up the milk THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 65 The cat began to kill the rat; The rat began to gnaw the rope; The rope began to hang the butcher; The butcher began to kill the ox; The ox began to drink the water; The water began to quench the fire; The fire began to burn the stick; The stick began to beat the dog; The dog began to bite the pig; The little pig in a fright jumped over the stile ; And so the old woman got home that night. THE LITTLE GRAY PONY 1 There was once a man who owned a little gray pony. Every morning when the dewdrops were still hanging on the pink clover in the mead- ows, and the birds were singing their morning song, the man would jump on his pony and ride away, clippety, clippety, clap! The pony's four small hoofs played the j oiliest tune on the smooth pike road, the pony's head was always high in the air, and the pony's two little ears were always pricked up ; for he was a merry gray pony, and loved to go clippety, clippety, clap! 1 From" Mother Stories.'' By permission of the publishers, Milton Bradley Co. 66 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK The man rode to town and to country, to church and to market, up hill and down hill; and one day he heard something fall with a clang on a stone in the road. Looking back, he saw a horseshoe lying there. And when he saw it, he cried out: "What shall I do? What shall I do? If my little gray pony has lost a shoe? " Then down he jumped, in a great hurry, and looked at one of the pony's forefeet; but nothing was wrong. He lifted the other forefoot, but the shoe was still there. He examined one of the hindfeet, and began to think that he was mistaken; but when he looked at the last foot, he cried again: "What shall I do? What shall I do? My little gray pony has lost a shoe! M Then he made haste to go to the black- smith; and when he saw the smith he called out to him: "Blacksmith ! Blacksmith ! I Ve come to you ; My little gray pony has lost a shoe! " But the blacksmith answered and said: "How can I shoe your pony's feet, Without some coal the iron to heat?" THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 67 The man was downcast when he heard this ; but he left his little gray pony in the black- smith's care, while he hurried here and there to buy the coal. First of all he went to the store; and when he got there he said: "Storekeeper! Storekeeper! Fve come to you; My little gray pony has lost a shoe ! And I want some coal the iron to heat, That the blacksmith may shoe my pony's feet." But the storekeeper answered and said: "Now, I have apples and candy to sell, And more nice things than I can tell ; But I 've no coal the iron to heat, That the blacksmith may shoe your pony's feet." Then the man went away, sighing and saying: "What shall I do? What shall I do? My little gray pony has lost a shoe! " By and by he met a farmer coming to town with a wagon full of good things; and he said: "Farmer! Farmer! I've come to you; My little gray pony has lost a shoe ! And I want some coal the iron to heat, That the blacksmith may shoe my pony's feet." 68 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK Then the farmer answered the man and said: "I 've bushels of corn and hay and wheat, Something for you and your pony to eat; But I 've no coal the.iron to heat, That the blacksmith may shoe your pony's feet." So the farmer drove away and left the man standing in the road, sighing and saying : "What shall I do? What shall I do? My little gray pony has lost a shoe! " In the farmer's wagon, frill of good things, he saw corn, which made him think of the mill; so he hastened there, and called to the dusty miller : "Miller! Miller! I 've come to you; My little gray pony has lost a shoe, And I want some coal the iron to heat, That the blacksmith may shoe my pony's feet." The miller came to the door in surprise; and when he heard what was needed he said: "I have wheels that go round and round, And stones to turn till the grain is ground; But I 've no coal the iron to heat, That the blacksmith may shoe your pony's feet." Then the man turned away sorrowfully THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 69 and sat down on a rock near the roadside, sighing and saying: "What shall I do? What shall I do? My little gray pony has lost a shoe! " After a while a very old woman came down the road, driving a flock of geese to market; and when she came near the man she stopped to ask him his trouble. He told her all about it ; and when she had heard it all she laughed till her geese joined in_with a cackle; and she said: "If you would know where the coal is found, You must go to the miner, who works in the ground." Then the man sprang to his feet, and, thanking the old woman, he ran to the miner. Now the miner had been working many a long day down in the mine, under the ground, where it was so dark that he had to wear a lamp on the front of his cap to light him at his work! He had plenty of black coal ready, and gave great lumps of it to the man, who took them in haste to the blacksmith. The blacksmith lighted his great red fire, and hammered out four fine new shoes, with a cling ! and a clang! and fastened them on with a rap! ?0 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK and a tap i Then away rode the man on his little gray pony, — clippety, clippety, clap ! Maud Lindsay. THE WIND'S WORK 1 One morning Jan waked up very early, and the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was his great kite in the corner. His big brother had made it for him; and it had a smiling face, and a long tail that reached from the bed to the fireplace. It did not smile at Jan that morning though, but looked very sorrowful and seemed to say, " Why was I made? Not to stand in a corner, I hope!" for it had been finished for two whole days and not a breeze had blown to carry it up like a bird in the air. Jan jumped out of bed, dressed himself, and ran to the door to see if the windmill on the hill was at work; for he hoped that the wind had come in the night. But the mill was silent and its arms stood still. Not even a leaf turned over in the yard. The windmill stood on a high hill where all the people could see it, and when its long 1 F rom" Mother Stories." By permission of the publishers, Milton Bradley Co. THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 71 arms went whirling around every one knew that there was no danger of being hungry, for then the miller was busy from morn to night grinding the grain that the farmers brought him. When Jan looked out, however, the miller had nothing to do, and was standing in his doorway, watching the clouds, and saying to himself (though Jan could not hear him) : "Oh! how I wish the wind would blow, So that my windmill's sails might go, To turn my heavy millstones round ! For corn and wheat must both be ground, And how to grind I do not know Unless the merry wind will blow." He sighed as he spoke, for he looked down in the village, and saw the baker in neat cap and apron, standing idle too. The baker's ovens were cold, and his trays were clean, and he, too, was watching the sky, and saying: "Oh! how I wish the wind would blow, So that the miller's mill might go, And grind me flour so fine, to make My good light bread and good sweet cake ! But how to bake I do not know Without the flour as white as snow." 72 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK Jan heard every word that the baker said, for he lived next door to him; and he felt so sorry for his good neighbor that he wanted to tell him so. But before he had time to speak, somebody else called out from across the street : "Well! I 'm sure I wish the wind would blow, For this is washing day, you know. I 've scrubbed and rubbed with all my might, In tubs of foam from morning light, And now I want the wind to blow To dry my clothes as white as snow." This was the washerwoman, who was hanging out her clothes. Jan could see his own Sunday shirt, with ruffles, hanging limp on her line, and it was as white as a snow- flake, sure enough! "Come over, little neighbor, " cried the washerwoman, when she saw Jan. "Come over, little neighbor, and help me work to- day!" So, as soon as Jan had eaten his breakfast, he ran over to carry her basket for her. The basket was heavy, but he did not care; and as he worked he heard some one singing a song, 1 with a voice almost as loud and as strong as the wind. 1 Air: "Nancy Lee." THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 73 "Oh! if the merry wind would blow, Yeo ho ! lads, ho ! yeo ho ! yeo ho ! My gallant ship would gayly go, Yeo ho! lads, ho! yeo ho! In fresh'ning gales we 'd loose our sails, And o'er the sea, Where blue waves dance, and sunbeams glance, We 'd sail in glee, But winds must blow, before we go Across the sea, Yeo ho! my lads, yeo ho! " Jan and the washerwoman and all the neighbors looked out to see who was singing so cheerily, and it was the sea-captain whose white ship Jan had watched in the harbor. The ship was laden with linen and laces for fine ladies, but it could not go till the wind blew. The captain was impatient to be off, and so he walked about town, singing his jolly song to keep himself happy. Jan thought it was a beautiful song, and when he went home he tried to sing it him- self. He did not know all the words, but he put his hands in his pockets and swelled out his little chest and sang in as big a voice as he could: "Yeo ho! my lads, yeo ho!" While he sang, something kissed him on 74 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK the cheek; and when he turned to see what it was his hat spun off into the yard as if it were enchanted; and when he ran to pick his hat up he heard a whispering all through the town. He looked up, and he looked down, and on every side, but saw nobody! At last the golden weather vane on the church tower called down: 11 Foolish child, it is the wind from out of the east." The trees had been the first to know of its coming, and they were bowing and bending to welcome it; while the leaves danced off the branches and down the hill, in a whirl of delight. The windmill's arms whirled round, oh! so fast, and the wheat was ground into white flour for the baker, who kindled his fires and beat his eggs in the twinkling of an eye; and he was not quicker than the sea-captain, who loosed his sails in the fresh'ning gales, just as he had said he would, and sailed away to foreign lands. Jan watched him go, and then ran in great haste to get his kite; for the petticoats on the washerwoman's clothesline were puffed THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 75 up like balloons, and all the world was astir. "Now I'm in my proper place," said the kite as it sailed over the roofs of the houses, over the tree tops, over the golden weather vane, and even over the windmill itself. Higher, higher, higher it flew, as if it had wings; till it slipped away from the string, and Jan never saw it again, and only the wind knew where it landed at last. Maud Lindsay. CHICKEN LICKEN One day as Chicken Licken was scratching under the pea vines in the barnyard a pea fell out of a pod and struck her on the head. "Oh!" said Chicken Licken, "the sky is falling! I must go and tell the king." So she ran and she ran, until she met Henny Penny. " Where are you going, Chicken Licken?" said Henny Penny. "Oh, Henny Penny, the sky is falling, and I'm going to tell the king!" " How do you know? " "I saw it with my eyes and I heard it with my ears, and a piece of it fell on my tail!" 76 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK "Then I will go with you," said Henny Penny. So they ran and they ran, until they met Cocky Locky. "Good morning, Henny Penny, " said Cocky Locky. "Where are you going?" "Oh, Cocky Locky, the sky is falling, and we are going to tell the king!" "How do you know?" "Chicken Licken told me." "I saw it with my eyes and I heard it with my ears, and a piece of it fell on my tail," said Chicken Licken. "Then I will go with you," said Cocky Locky. So they ran and they ran, until they met Ducky Lucky. "Good morning, Cocky Locky, Henny Penny, and Chicken Licken," said Ducky Lucky. "Where are you going?" "The sky is falling, and we are going to tell the king. " "How do you know?" "Henny Penny told me," said Cocky Locky. "Chicken Licken told me," said Henny Penny. THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 77 " I saw it with my eyes and I heard it with my ears, and a piece of it fell on my tail," said Chicken Licken. "Then I will go with you," said Ducky Lucky. So they ran and they ran, until they met Turkey Lurkey. "Good morning, Ducky Lucky, Cocky Locky, Henny Penny, and Chicken Licken," said Turkey Lurkey. "Where are you going?" "Oh, Turkey Lurkey, the sky is falling, and we are going to tell the king. " "How do you know?" said Turkey Lurkey. "Cocky Locky told me," said Ducky Lucky. "Henny Penny told me," said Cocky Locky. "Chicken Licken told me," said Henny Penny. "I saw it with my eyes and I heard it with my ears, and a piece of it fell on my tail," said Chicken Licken. "Then I will go with you," said Turkey Lurkey. So they ran and they ran, until they came to the woods. 78 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK They had not gone far into the woods when they met Foxy Loxy. "Good morning, Turkey Lurkey, Ducky Lucky, Cocky Locky, Henny Penny, and Chicken Licken. Where are you going ?" "The sky is falling, and we are going to tell the king." " Do you know where to go? " "No," said they. "Follow me, and I will show you," said Foxy Loxy. So they all followed him into the deep woods. By and by they came to a rocky cavern in the hillside. "Walk in here," said Foxy Loxy. And Turkey Lurkey, Ducky Lucky, Cocky Locky, Henny Penny, and Chicken Licken all walked into Foxy Loxy's den — and though he was seen to come out, no one ever saw those foolish birds again, and the king was never told that the sky was falling. THE OLD WOMAN WHO LIVED IN A VINEGAR BOTTLE Once there was an old woman who lived in a vinegar bottle. THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 79 One day she went to market to buy a loaf of bread, a pat of butter, and a little fish for her supper. When she was returning home she had to cross a bridge over a stream. Just before she came to the stream the little fish poked his head out of the paper and said, " Oh, please, little old woman, don't cook me for your supper. I don't want to be fried in a pan. ' ' "But I must," said the little old woman, "I have nothing else for my supper." " Please, please, throw me into the water," said the little fish, "and maybe some day I can do something for you. " And he pleaded so hard that the old woman threw him into the water. He looked up and said, "Thank you, old woman," and then he disappeared. So the old woman went home, and that night she had only bread and butter and tea for her supper. The next morning when she was sweeping her house she found a bright new silver quarter. "There," said she, "the little fish has sent me this. ' ' And when she had finished her work she went again to market. This time she bought a piece of meat for her supper. When she was coming home 80 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK what should she see in the water but the little fish. So she stopped and called out, "Thank you, little fish, for the silver quarter you sent me, but oh, little fish, I wish I had a little house to live in. It is very difficult keeping house in a vinegar bottle. One has so little room. " "Go home," said the little fish, "and per- haps you will have your wish." So the old woman went home, but when she got there the vinegar bottle was gone and in its place stood a neat little house. The old woman went in and was very happy for a few days with her housekeeping. But soon she began to wish for a larger house. This one was altogether too small. So the old woman went down to the bridge and called, "Little fish, little fish, I've got another wish!" "Oh, is it you, old woman?" said the little fish. "What is it you want now?" "The little house was very nice, little fish," said the old woman, "but it is quite too small for me. I want a large house, so that I may have company, and I want a little girl to help me take care of it. " THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK "Well, well," said the little fish, "we will see, " and down he went under the water. The old woman hurried home, but when she came in sight of the place the little house was gone and there stood a fine large one and a dear little girl was sweeping off the steps. The old woman was greatly pleased, and she and the little girl were very happy for a time. They gave parties and they went to market and to church together. But one day the old woman thought how very nice it would be if they had a little pony and cart so that they might drive. She hurried down to the bridge and leaning over she called, "Little fish, little fish, I've got another wish!" "What, another wish?" said the little fish, looking up out of the water. "What do you wish for this time?" "I want a little pony and a cart so that my little girl and I can drive. It is very tire- some having to walk everywhere one goes," said the little old woman. "Well," said the little fish, "go home, and maybe you will have your wish." Away went the old woman, and when she 82 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK got home what should she see but a little pony and cart tied in front of her house. The old woman was delighted, and she and the little girl had a beautiful time driving to church and to market and to the park when their work was finished. But one day the old woman thought how fine it would be if they had a big strong horse and a carriage with two seats so that they might take their friends driving. So she said to herself, "I'll go and tell the little fish." Down to the bridge she ran and called, "Little fish, little fish, I've got another wish!" "Another wish, old woman?" said the little fish from the water. "What is it you want now?" "I want a larger horse and a carriage with two seats, so that we may take our friends with us when we go driving. That little pony can go neither very fast nor very far." "You want too many things, old woman," said the little fish. "I can do no more for you," and he swam away under the water and the old woman never saw him again. THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 83 When she reached home the fine house, the little girl, and the pony and cart were gone, and there stood the old vinegar bottle. Adapted. JOHNNY AND THE THREE GOATS Every morning Johnny drove his three goats to pasture and every evening when the sun was going to bed he brought them home. One morning he set off bright and early, driving the goats before him and whistling as he trudged along. Just as he reached Mr. Smith's turnip field what should he see but a broken board in the fence. The goats saw it too, and in they skipped and began running round and round the field, stopping now and then to nip off the tops of the tender young turnips. Johnny knew that would never do. Pick- ing up a stick, he climbed through the fence and tried to drive the goats out. But never were there such provoking goats. Round and round they went, not once looking toward the hole in the fence. Johnny ran and rail and ran till he could run no farther, and then he crawled through the hole in the fence and 84 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK sat down beside the road and began to cry. Just then who should come down the road but the fox. "Good morning, Johnny !" said he. "What are you crying about?" "I'm crying because I can't get the goats out of the turnip field," said Johnny. "Oh, don't cry about that," said the fox. "I'll drive them out for you." So over the fence leaped the fox, and round and round the turnip field he ran after the goats. But no, they would not go out. They flicked their tails and shook their heads and away they went, trampling down the turnips until you could hardly have told what had been growing in the field. The fox ran till he "could run no more. Then he went over and sat down beside Johnny, and he began to cry. Down the road came a rabbit. "Good morning, Fox," said he. "What are you crying about?" "I'm crying because Johnny is crying," said the fox, "and Johnny is crying because he can't get the goats out of the turnip field." THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 85 "Oh, don't cry about that," said the rabbit. "I'll chase them out for you." Through the fence hopped the rabbit, and round and round the field he chased the goats, but they would not go out, and finally the rabbit gave up the chase and went out into the road and sat down beside the fox, and he began to cry. Just then a bee came buzzing along over the tops of the flowers. When she saw the rabbit she said, "Good morning, Bunny, what are you crying about?" "I'm crying because the fox is crying," said the rabbit, "and the fox is crying because Johnny is crying, and Johnny is crying because he can't get the goats out of the tur- nip field." "Don't cry about that," said the bee, "I'll soon get them out for you." "You!" said the rabbit, "a little thing like you drive the goats out, when neither Johnny, nor the fox, nor I can get them out?" And he laughed at the very idea of such a thing. "Watch me," said the bee, and over the THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK fence she flew and buzz-zz-zz she went right in the ear of the biggest goat. The goat shook his head and tried to brush away the bee, but the bee only flew to the other ear and buzz-zz-zz she went, until the goat thought there must be some dreadful thing in the turnip field, so out through the hole in the fence he went, and ran down the road to his pasture. The bee flew over to the second goat and buzz-zz she went first in one ear and then in the other, until that goat was willing to follow the other through the fence and down the road to the pasture. The bee flew after the third goat and buzzed first in one ear and then in the other until he too was glad to follow the others. "Thank you, little bee," said Johnny, and, wiping away his tears, he hurried down the road to put the goats in the pasture. Adapted from the Norwegian. JOHNNY-CAKE 1 Once upon a time there was an old man, and an old woman, and a little boy. One 1 From "English Fairy Tales." By permission of the publishers, G. P. Putnam's Sons, New York and London. THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 87 morning the old woman made a Johnny- cake, and put it in the oven to bake. "You watch the Johnny-cake while your father and I go out to work in the garden. " So the old man and the old woman went out and began to hoe potatoes, and left the little boy to tend the oven. But he didn't watch it all the time, and all of a sudden he heard a noise, and he looked up and the oven door popped open, and out of the oven jumped Johnny-cake, and went rolling along end over end, toward the open door of the house. The little boy ran to shut the door, but Johnny-cake was too quick for him and rolled through the door, down the steps, and out into the road long before the little boy could catch him. The little boy ran after him as fast as he could clip it, crying out to his father and mother, who heard the uproar, and threw down their hoes and gave chase too. But Johnny-cake outran all three a long way, and was soon out of sight, while they had to sit down, all out of breath, on a bank to rest. On went Johnny-cake, and by and by he came'to two well-diggers who looked up from 88 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK their work and called out: " Where ye go- ing, Johnny-cake?" He said: " I 've outrun an old man, and an old woman, and a little boy, and I can outrun you too-o-o!" "Ye can, can ye? We'll see about that!" said they; and they threw down their picks and ran after him, but couldn't catch up with him, and soon they had to sit down by the roadside to rest. On ran Johnny-cake, and by and by he came to two ditch-diggers who were digging a ditch. "Where ye going, Johnny-cake?" said they. He said: "I've outrun an old man, and an old woman, and a little boy, and two well-diggers, and I can outrun you too-o-o!" "Ye can, can ye? We'll see about that!" said they; and they threw down their spades, and ran after him too. But Johnny-cake soon outstripped them also, and seeing they could never catch him, they gave up the chase and sat down to rest. On went Johnny-cake, and by and by he came to a bear. The bear said: "Where are ye going, Johnny-cake?" THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 89 He said: "I've outrun an old man, and an old woman, and a little boy, and two well- diggers, and two ditch-diggers, and I can outrun you too-0-0!" "Ye can, can ye?" growled the bear. "We'll see about that!" and trotted as fast as his legs could carry him after Johnny-cake, who never stopped to look behind him. Before long the bear was left so far behind that he saw he might as well give up the hunt first as last, so he stretched himself out by the roadside to rest. On went Johnny-cake, and by and by he came to a wolf. The wolf said: "Where ye going, Johnny-cake?" He said: "I've outrun an old man, and an old woman, and a little boy, and two well- diggers, and two ditch-diggers, and a bear, and I can outrun you too-0-0!" "Ye can, can ye?" snarled the wolf. "We'll see about that!" And he set into a gallop after Johnny-cake, who went on and on so fast that the wolf too saw there was no hope of overtaking him, and he too lay down to rest. On went Johnny-cake, and by and by he 90 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK came to a fox that lay quietly in a corner of the fence. The fox called out in a sharp voice, but without getting up: "Where ye going, Johnny-cake?'' He said: "I've outrun an old man, and an old woman, and a little boy, and two well- diggers, and two ditch-diggers, a bear, and a wolf, and I can outrun you too-o-o!" The fox said: "I can't quite hear you, Johnny-cake, won't you come a little closer?" turning his head a little to one side. Johnny-cake stopped his race for the first time, and went a little closer, and called out in a very loud voice: "Tve outrun an old man, and an old woman, and a little boy, and two well-diggers, and two ditch-diggers, and a bear, and a wolf, and I can outrun you too-o-o/" "Can't quite hear you; won't you come a little closer?" said the fox in a feeble voice, as he stretched out his neck toward" Johnny- cake, and put one paw behind his ear. Johnny-cake came up close, and leaning toward the fox screamed out : "I ' ve outrun AN OLD MAN, AND AN OLD WOMAN, AND A LITTLE BOY, AND TWO WELL-DIGGERS, AND THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 91 TWO DITCH-DIGGERS, AND A BEAR, AND A WOLF, AND I CAN OUTRUN YOU TOO-0-0! ,, "You can, can you?" yelped the fox, and he snapped up the Johnny-cake in his sharp teeth in the twinkling of an eye. Joseph Jacobs. TITTY MOUSE AND TATTY MOUSE Titty Mouse and Tatty Mouse both lived in a house. Titty Mouse went a-leasing and Tatty Mouse went a-leasing, So they both went a-leasing. Titty Mouse leased an ear of corn, and Tatty Mouse leased an ear of corn, So they both leased an ear of corn. Titty Mouse made a pudding, and Tatty Mouse made a pudding, So they both made a pudding. And Tatty Mouse put her pudding into the pot to boil, But when Titty went to put hers in, the pot tanbled over, and scalded her to death. Then Tatty sat down and wept; then a three-legged stool said: "Tatty, why do you weep?" "Titty's dead," said Tatty, "and 1 From "English Fairy Tales." By permission of the publishers, G. P. Putnam's Sons, New York and London. 92 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK so I weep." "Then," said the stool, "I'D hop, "so the stool hopped. Then a broom in the corner of the room said : "Stool, why do you hop?" "Oh!" said the stool, " Titty 's dead, and Tatty weeps, and so I hop." "Then," said the broom, "I'll sweep," so the broom began to sweep. Then, said the door, "Broom, why do you sweep?" "Oh!" said the broom, "Titty's dead, and Tatty weeps, and the stool hops, and so I sweep." "Then," said the door, " I '11 jar, " so the door jarred. Then, said the window, "Door, why do you jar?" "Oh!" said the door, "Titty's dead, and Tatty weeps, and the stool hops, and the broom sweeps, and so I jar." "Then," said the window, "I'll creak," so the window creaked. Now there was an old form outside the house, and when the window creaked the form said: "Window, why do you creak?" " Oh !" said the window, "Titty's dead, and Tatty weeps, and the stool hops, and the broom sweeps, the door jars, and so I creak." "Then," said the old form, "I'll run round the house"; then the old form ran THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 93 round the house. Now there was a fine, large walnut tree growing by the cottage, and the tree said to the form: "Form, why do you run round the house ? ' ' * ' Oh ! ' ' said the form , "Titty's dead, and Tatty weeps, and the stool hops, and the broom sweeps, the door jars, and the window creaks, and so I run round the house." "Then," said the walnut tree, "I'll shed my leaves," so the walnut tree shed all its beautiful green leaves. Now there was a little bird perched on one of the boughs of the tree, and when all the leaves fell it said: "Walnut tree, why do you shed your leaves?" "Oh!" said the tree, "Titty's dead, and Tatty weeps, the stool hops, and the broom sweeps, the door jars, and the window creaks, the old form runs round the house, and so I shed my leaves." "Then," said the little bird, "I'll moult all my feathers," so he moulted all his pretty feathers. Now there was a little girl walking below, carrying a jug of milk for her brothers' and sisters' supper, and when she saw the poor little bird moult all its feathers, she said : "Little bird, why do you moult all your 94 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK feathers?" "Oh!" said the little bird, "Titty's dead, and Tatty weeps, the stool hops, and the broom sweeps, the door jars, and the window creaks, the old form runs round the house, the walnut tree sheds its leaves, and so I moult all my feathers." "Then," said the little girl, "I'll spill the milk," so she dropped the pitcher and spilled the milk. Now there was an old man just by on the top of a ladder, thatching a rick, and when he saw the little girl spill the milk he said: "Little girl, what do you mean by spilling the milk? Your little brothers and sisters must go without their supper. " Then said the little girl: "Titty's dead, and Tatty weeps, the stool hops, and the broom sweeps, the door jars, and the window creaks, the old form runs round the house, the walnut tree sheds all its leaves, the little bird moults all its feathers, and so I spill the milk." "Oh!" said the old man, "then I'll tumble off the ladder and break my neck," so he tumbled off the ladder and broke his neck, and when the old man broke his neck the great walnut tree fell down with a crash and upset the old form and house, and the house, THE STpRY TELLER'S BOOK 95 falling, knocked the window out, and the window knocked the door down, and the door upset the broom, and the broom upset the stool, and poor little Tatty Mouse was buried beneath the ruins. Joseph Jacobs. THE STORY OF THE THREE BEARS Once upon a time there were three bears who lived together in a house of their own in a wood. One of them was a great huge father bear, and one was a middle-sized mother bear, and the other was a little wee baby bear. They each had a bowl for their porridge: a great bowl for the father bear, and a middle- sized bowl for the mother bear, and a wee little bowl for the little bear. And they had each a chair to sit in: a great chair for the father bear, and a middle-sized chair for the mother bear, and a little chair for the little bear. And they had each a bed to sleep in: a great bed for the father bear, and a middle- sized bed for the mother bear, and a little bed for the little bear. One day after they had made the porridge 96 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK for their breakfast, and poured it into their porridge pots, they walked out into the wood while the porridge was cooling, that they might not burn their mouths by beginning too soon to eat it. And while they were out, a little old woman came to the house. She was a very inquisitive little old woman, for first she looked in the window, then she lifted the latch and opened the door and walked in. There on the table she saw the three bowls of porridge, and she set about helping herself. First she tasted the porridge of the great huge bear, and that was too hot for her. Then she tasted the porridge of the middle- sized bear, and that was too cold for her. And then she went to the porridge of the little wee bear, and that was neither too cold nor too hot, but just right, and she liked it so well that she ate it all up. Then the little old woman sat down in the chair of the great huge bear, and that was too hard for her. Then she sat down in the chair of the middle-sized bear, and that was too soft for her. THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 97 And then she sat down in the chair of the little wee bear, and that was neither too hard nor too soft, but just right, so she seated her- self there, but she sat dow r n so hard that the bottom fell out. Then the little old woman went upstairs to the bed chamber where the three bears slept. First she lay down upon the bed of the great huge bear, but that was too high. Then she lay down on the bed of the middle- sized bear, but that was too low for her. And then she lay down upon the bed of the little wee bear, and that was neither too high nor too low, but just right, so she lay there till she fell fast asleep. But by this time the three bears thought their porridge would be cool enough, so they came home to breakfast. Now the little old woman had left the spoon of the great father bear standing in his porridge. "SOMEBODY HAS BEEN TASTING MY PORRIDGE," said the father bear in his great gruff voice. And when the mother bear looked at hers 98 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK she saw that the spoon was standing in it too. "Somebody has been tasting my por- ridge," said the mother bear in her middle- sized voice. Then the little wee bear looked at his, and there was the spoon in the bowl, but the porridge was all gone. li Somebody has been tasting my porridge, and has eaten it all up" said the little wee bear in his little wee voice. Upon this the three bears began to look about them. Now the little old woman had not put the cushion straight when she rose from the chair of the great huge bear. "SOMEBODY HAS BEEN SITTING IN MY CHAIR," said the father bear in his great gruff voice. Now the little old woman had knocked down the cushion from the chair of the middle- sized bear. "Somebody has been sitting in my chair," said the mother bear in her middle-sized voice. Now you know what the little old woman had done to the chair of the little bear. THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 99 "Somebody has been sitting in my chair, and has sat the bottom out of it" said the little wee bear in his little wee voice. Then the three bears decided to make further search, so they went upstairs into their bed chamber. Now the little old woman had pulled the pillow of the great huge bear out of its place. "SOMEBODY HAS BEEN LYING ON MY BED," said the father bear in his great gruff voice. And the little old woman had pulled off the coverlet of the middle-sized bear. "Somebody has been lying on my bed," said the mother bear in her middle-sized voice. When the little wee bear came to look at his bed, there was the coverlet in its place, and the pillow in its place, and there on the bed was the little old woman. "Somebody has been lying on my bed, and here she is, 11 said the little wee bear in his little wee voice. The little old woman had heard in her sleep the great gruff voice of the father bear, but it sounded in her sleep like the rumbling of ioo THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK thunder; and she had heard the middle- sized voice of the mother bear, but it was only as if she had heard some one speaking in a dream ; but when she heard the little wee voice of the little wee bear, it was so sharp and so shrill that it wakened her at once. Up she started, and when she saw the three bears at one side of the bed she tumbled her- self out at the other, and ran to the window. Now the window was open and out the little old woman jumped and away she ran into the wood, and what became of her I cannot tell, but the three bears never saw anything more of her. GOLDEN HAIR AND THE THREE BEARS Once upon a time there were three bears who lived in a little house in the forest. There was the great huge father bear and the middle-sized mother bear and the tiny baby bear. One morning the mother bear made the porridge for their breakfast and poured it into their bowls to cool, a great big bowl for the father bear and a middle-sized bowl for THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 101 the mother bear and a little wee bowl for the baby bear. "Now, my dears," said the father bear, "we will go for a walk while our porridge is cooling." So the great huge father bear and the middle-sized mother bear and the tiny baby bear all went for a walk in the woods. Near the woods where the bears lived there lived a little girl whose hair was so yellow that she was called "Golden Hair." She loved to gather the flowers that grew among the grass and under the trees. On this morning she said to her mother, "Please, mother, let me go and gather some flowers, they are so beautiful to-day." "If you will not go into the deep woods, you may go," said her mother. "No, I will not go far," said Golden Hair, but she was a very thoughtless little girl, and she went on and on, gathering flowers, until she had a great bunch, as many as her hands could hold, but when she looked up she was in the heart of the deep woods. No one an- swered when she called, and she ran on and on, until she was too tired to run any farther. 102 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK Just then she saw a little house not far away among the trees. "Some one here will surely tell me the way home," said the little girl, and she ran to the little house and knocked on the door. No one answered, so Golden Hair opened the door and walked in. On the table she saw three bowls of porridge. She was very hungry, so she ran to the table and tasted the porridge in the great big bowl, but it was very salt; then she tasted the porridge in the middle-sized bowl, but that was too sweet ; so she tasted the porridge in the little wee bowl, and that was just right, and she ate and she ate until the porridge was all gone. She looked around the room and she saw three chairs, a great huge chair and a middle- sized chair and a little wee chair. First she sat down in the great huge chair, but that was too high for her; and then she sat down in the middle-sized chair, but that was too low for her; so then she sat down in the little wee chair, and that was just right, and she rocked and she rocked until she fell over and broke the chair. THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 103 Then Golden Hair thought she would go upstairs and see what there might be up there. There she saw three beds, a great huge bed and a middle-sized bed and a little wee bed. First she lay down on the great huge bed, but that was too hard for her; so then she lay down on the middle-sized bed, but that was too soft for her; so then she tried the little wee bed, and that was so comfortable that before she knew it she was fast asleep. Just then the three bears who lived in the house came home from their walk. See- ing the door open, they hurried in. "SOMEBODY HAS BEEN EATING MY PORRIDGE !" growled the great huge bear. ''Somebody has been eating my por- ridge !" snarled the middle-sized bear. " Somebody has been at my porridge and eaten it all up!" cried the little wee bear. Then the bears looked around to see who had been in their house. "SOMEBODY HAS BEEN SITTING IN MY CHAIR!" growled the great huge bear. 104 the story teller's book "Somebody has been sitting in my chair!" snarled the middle-sized bear. "Somebody has been sitting in my chair and broke it to pieces!" cried the little wee bear. Then the bears decided to go upstairs to look for the intruder. The great huge bear went first, and the middle-sized bear came next, and last of all came the little wee bear. "SOMEBODY HAS BEEN LYING ON MY BED!" growled the great huge bear. " Somebody has been lying on my bed!" snarled the middle-sized bear. "Somebody has been lying on my bed" cried the little wee bear, "and here she is!" Now the voice of the great huge bear had sounded to Golden Hair like thunder; and the voice of the middle-sized bear had sounded like the wind in the tree tops; but the voice of the little wee bear was so shrill that it woke her up. When she opened her eyes and saw the three bears looking angrily at her she was so frightened that she rolled off the bed on the farther side and, running to the window, she jumped out. THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 105 On and on she ran until finally she came to the path that led to her home. When she reached her home she was so tired she could hardly tell her mother what a naughty child she had been, and she never again strayed into the heart of the deep woods where the bears lived. THE THREE LITTLE PIGS Once upon a time there was an old mother pig who had three little pigs. The name of the first was Whitey, for he was all white; the name of the second was Blacky, for he was all black; and the name of the third was Spotty, for he was black and white. One day the old mother pig called the three little pigs and said to them: "My dear little pigs, it is time for you to go out in the world and seek your fortune. You must each build a house for yourself, but be sure to build your house of brick, for if you do not the old wolf will come and eat you up. I have here a carrot, and a potato, and a turnip. You, Whitey, may take your choice, for you are the eldest and must go first." 106 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK Whitey chose the carrot. He put it under his arm, and said good-by to his mother and brothers, and off he started to seek his fortune. He had not gone far before he met a man carrying some glass. He said to himself, "I think a glass house would be nicer than a brick one." So he said, "Man, man, will you give me some glass to make a house? For I have none to live in." "Certainly I will, little pig," said the man. So the little pig made himself a nice glass house, and sat down inside to eat his carrot. Before very long the old wolf came by. When he saw the little pig in the glass house he went to the door and knocked. "Tiny pig, tiny pig, let me come in," said the old wolf. "No, no, by the hair on my chinny, chin, chin!" said the tiny pig. "Then Til huff and I'll puff till I blow your house in," said the wolf, and he did, and ate up the tiny pig, and that was the end of the first little pig. Blacky was the next little pig to seek his fortune. He chose the turnip, but he ate it THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 107 up at once. Then saying good-by he went off down the road. He had not gone far before he met a man carrying paper. He said to himself, for he was a lazy little pig, "I think a paper house would be easier to build than a brick one." So he said, "Man, man, will you give me some paper to make a house? For I have none to live in." "Certainly I will, little pig," said the man. So the little pig made himself a paper house and went to sleep inside. Presently the old wolf came by, and he went to the door and knocked. "Tiny pig, tiny pig, let me come in, or I'll huff and I'll puff till I blow your house in!" But the tiny pig did not hear, for he was asleep. So the old wolf huffed and puffed, but he could not break the house in. But, before long, a shower of rain came up. The paper house got wet, and the old wolf huffed and puffed and got in, and ate up the tiny pig, and that was the end of the second little pig. Now it was Spotty' s turn to seek his for- tune. The potato was left for him, and put- ting it in a little basket and hanging it on 108 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK his arm, he said good-by to his mother and went off down the road. First he met a man carrying glass, but he remembered what his mother had said and he did not ask for any glass. Next he met a man carrying paper, but he remembered what his mother had said and did not ask for any paper. He walked on and on, till at last he met a man carrying bricks. "Man, man, will you give me some bricks to build a house? For I have none to live in." "Certainly I will, little pig," said the man. So the little pig built himself a nice brick house, with a door and a window and a fine red chimney. He went inside and made a fire in the stove and put on the potato to boil. Presently the old wolf came by. He did not look so pleasant when he saw this little pig's house, but he went to the door and knocked, and he said: "Tiny pig, tiny pig, let me come in!" "No, no, not by the hair on my chinny, chin, chin!" said the tiny pig. "Then I'll huff and I'll puff till I blow your house in!" said the old wolf. THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 109 So he huffed and puffed, but he could not blow the house in. Then he sat down to wait for a shower of rain. But, when the rain came, he huffed and he puffed, but still he could not blow the house in, so then he went to the door and said: "Tiny pig, tiny pig, won't you let the tip of my nose in?" "No," said the tiny pig. "Tiny pig, tiny pig, won't you let me put my paw in?" "No," said the tiny pig. "Tiny pig, tiny pig, won't you let me put the tip of my ear in?" "No," said the tiny pig. "Tiny pig, tiny pig, will you let the tip of my tail in?" "No," said the tiny pig. "Then I will climb up on the roof and come down through the chimney," said the wolf. But the tiny pig made the fire hotter, and when the old wolf came down the chimney he was burned up, and that was the end of him. The tiny pig sent for his mother and they ate the potato together and lived happily ever after in the little brick house. no THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK THE STORY OF THE THREE LITTLE PIGS 1 Once upon a time when pigs spoke rhyme, And monkeys chewed tobacco, And hens took snuff to make them tough, And ducks went quack, quack, quack, O! There was an old sow with three little pigs, and as she had not enough to keep them, she sent them out to seek their fortune. The first that went off met a man with a bundle of straw, and said to him: " Please, man, give me that straw to build me a house.' ' Which the man did, and the little pig built a house with it. Presently came along a wolf, and knocked at the door, and said: "Little pig, little pig, let me come in." To which the pig answered: "No, no, by the hair of my chinny, chin, chin!" The wolf then answered to that: "Then I '11 huff, and I '11 puff, and I '11 blow your house in." So he huffed, and he puffed, and he blew his house in, and ate up the little pig. 1 From "English Fairy Tales." By permission of the publishers, G. P. Putnam's Sons, New York and London. THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK in The second little pig met a man with a bundle of furze, and said: " Please, man, give me that furze to build a house.' ' Which the man did, and the pig built his house. Then along came the wolf, and said: " Little pig, little pig, let me come in. ,, "No, no, by the hair of my chinny, chin, chin!" "Then I'll puff, and 111 huff, and I'll blow your house in." So he huffed, and he puffed, and he puffed, and he huffed, and at last he blew the house down, and he ate up the little pig. The third little pig met a man with a load of bricks, and said: "Please, man, give me those bricks to build a house with." So the man gave him the bricks, and he built his house with them. And the wolf came, as he did to the other little pigs, and said: "Little pig, little pig, let me come in." "No, no, by the hair of my chinny, chin, chin!" "Then Til huff, and I'll puff, and I'll blow your house in." ii2 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK Well, he huffed, and he puffed, and he huffed, and he puffed, and he puffed and he huffed; but he could not get the house down. When he found that he could not, with all his huffing and puffing, blow the house down, he said: "Little pig, I know where there is a nice field of turnips." "Where?" said the little pig. "Oh, in Mr. Smith's Home-field, and if you will be ready to-morrow morning I will call for you, and we will go together, and get some for dinner." "Very well," said the little pig, "I will be ready. What time do you mean to go?" "Oh, at six o'clock." Well, the little pig got up at five, and got the turnips before the wolf came (which he did about six) and who said: "Little pig, are you ready?" The little pig said: "Ready! I have been and come back again, and got a nice potful for dinner." The wolf felt very angry at this, but thought that he would be up to the little pig somehow or other, so he said: THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 113 "Little pig, I know where there is a nice apple tree." "Where?" said the pig. "Down at Merry-garden," replied the wolf. " If you will not deceive me I will come for you at five o'clock to-morrow and get some apples. ' ' Well, the little pig bustled up the next morning at four o'clock, and went off for the apples, hoping to get back before the wolf came; but he had farther to go, and had to climb the tree, so that just as he was coming down from it he saw the wolf coming, which, as you may suppose, frightened him very much. When the wolf came up he said: "Little pig, what! are you here before me? Are they nice apples?" "Yes, very," said the little pig. "I will throw you down one." And he threw it so far, that, while the wolf was gone to pick it up, the little pig jumped down and ran home. The next day the wolf came again, and said to the little pig: "Little pig, there is a fair at Shanklin this afternoon. Will you go?" "Oh, yes," said the pig, "I will go. What time shall you be ready?" 8 114 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK "At three," said the wolf. So the little pig went off before the time as usual, and got to the fair, and bought a butter churn, which he was going home with when he saw the wolf coming. Then he could not tell what to do. So he got into the churn to hide, and by so doing turned it round, and it rolled down the hill with the pig in it, which fright- ened the wolf so much that he ran- home with- out going to the fair. He went to the little pig's house, and told him how frightened he had been by a great round thing which came down the hill past him. Then the little pig said: "Hah, I frightened you, then. I had been to the fair and bought a butter churn, and when I saw you I got into it, and rolled down the hill." Then the wolf was very angry indeed, and declared he would eat up the little pig, and that he would get down the chimney after him. When the little pig saw what he was about, he hung on the pot full of water, and made up a blazing fire, and, just as the wolf was coming down, took off the cover, and in fell the wolf. So that was the end of the old THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 115 wolf, and the little pig lived happy ever after- ward. Joseph Jacobs. THE SHEEP AND THE PIG THAT BUILT THE HOUSE There was once upon a time a sheep who stood in his pen to be fattened, so he lived well and every day he had all that he could eat. So it went on until one day when the dairy maid came to bring him his food, she said: "Eat away, sheep; you won't be here much longer. To-morrow we are going to kill you." But the sheep ate until he was ready to burst; and when he had finished he butted out the door of his pen and took his way to the neighboring farm. There he went straight to the pigsty, where there lived a pig whom he had met out on the common. "Good day," said the sheep, "and thanks for your kindness the last time we met." "Good day," said the pig, "and the same to you." n6 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK "Do you know why they feed you and make you so comfortable ?" said the sheep. "No," said the pig. " Because they are going to kill you and eat you," said the sheep. 11 Much good may it do them, " said the pig. " If you will come with me, " said the sheep, "we will go to the woods and build us a house, and there we can live very comfort- ably." Yes, the pig was willing. "Good company is a fine thing, " he said, and so the two set off. When they had gone a bit farther they met a goose. "Good day, good sirs," said the goose, "and thanks for our last merry meeting. Where are you going to-day?" " Good day to you, " said the sheep. "You must know we were too well treated at home, and so we are going to the woods to build a house for ourselves. " "May I go with you?" said the goose. "For it's child's play when three share the day." "What can you do to build a house?" said the pig. THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 117 "I can pull moss and stuff it in the cracks and make your house tight and warm, " said the goose. Yes, she might go with them, for above all things the pig wished to be warm and com- fortable. So when they had gone a little farther, for the goose found it hard work to keep up with them, they met a hare, who came frisking out of the wood. "Good day, sirs, and thanks for our last merry meeting. How far are you traveling to-day ?" said he. "Good day, and the same to you, " said the sheep. "We were far too well off at home, and so we are going to the wood to build us a house; for you know there is nothing like home. " "As for that," said the hare, "I have a home in every bush; but yet I have often said in winter, if I only live till summer I'll build me a house; and so I have half a mind to go with you. " "We might take you along to frighten away the dogs," said the pig, "but I don't know what you can do toward building a house." n8 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK " There is always work for willing hands," said the hare. "I have teeth to gnaw pegs, and paws to drive them into the wall, so I can very well set up to be a carpenter." Yes, he too might go with them and help to build the house. When they had gone a bit farther they met a cock. "Good day, good sirs," said the cock, "where are you going to-day, gentlemen?" "Good day, and the same to you," said the sheep. "At home we were too well off, and so we are going to the woods to build us a house." "Well," said the cock, "that is just my case. Now, if I might have leave to join such a gallant company, I also would like to go to the woods and build a house." "How can you ever help us to build a house?" said the pig. "Oh," said the cock, "I am up early and I can wake every one." "Very true, " said the pig. " Let him come with us." So they all set off to the wood to build a house. The pig cut down the timber and the THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK nc sheep drew it home; the hare was carpenter, and gnawed pegs and bolts, and hammered them into the walls and roof ; the goose pulled moss and stuffed it into the cracks; the cock crew and looked out that they did not over- sleep in the morning. And when the house was ready, and the roof lined with birch bark and covered with turf, there they lived by themselves and were well and merry. " 'Tis good to travel east and west," said the sheep, "but after all, a home is best. " Adapted from the Norwegian. DRAKESBILL Drakesbill was a very little fellow, but he had learned to be a great worker, and all that he earned he hid away for safe keeping, so that before he was grown he had a bagful of gold hidden in the chimney cupboard. But when one has gold pieces the fact is apt to leak out, and soon the king heard of DrakesbiU's great wealth. Now the king was always in need of money, so he sent for Drakesbill and asked to borrow the gold of him, assuring him that in a year's time he would pay it back. 120 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK Drakesbill was a good fellow, and he readily agreed to loan his majesty his gold. Then Drakesbill worked harder than ever, thinking that he would surely be a great man some day. A year went by, two years, but still the king had not returned Drakesbill's money, nor did he answer the letters the little fellow sent him. Finally Drakesbill said, "I shall have to go to the king and demand my money." So without delay he set off for the king's palace. The day was fine, and as he walked along, as fresh as a daisy, whom should he meet but his friend Fox returning from his nightly prowling in the barnyards. "Good morning, Drakesbill," said the fox. " Where are you bound?" "Oh, I'm going to the king to get my money back," answered Drakesbill. "Let me go with you," said the fox. "A friend in need is very convenient," said Drakesbill to himself. "All right, friend Fox," said he, "make yourself very small and creep into my pocket. " The fox did as he was bid, and away went Drakesbill as merry as a grig. THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 121 A little farther on Drakesbill came upon his friend Ladder leaning against the wall. 1 * Good morning, friend, ' ' said she. ' ' Whither away this fine spring day? " " I am going to ask the king to pay me what he owes me, " said Drakesbill. "Let me go with you, " said the ladder. "Perhaps I can be of use to you. " "One cannot have too many friends," thought Drakesbill, and aloud he said, "All right; make yourself very small and creep under my wing." The ladder did as she was bid, and Drakes- bill continued on his way. Soon he came to his good friend, the river. "Good morning, little one," said the river. "Whither are you bound?" "Oh, I am going to ask the king to pay me my money, " said Drakesbill. "Please let me go with you, " said the river. "Perhaps you will need me before your journey is over." "All right, little friend," said Drakesbill. " Make yourself very small and creep into my pocket." So the river did as she was bid, and then 122 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK Drakesbill went singing along his way. A little farther on he met the waspnest out for an airing. "Good morning, neighbor," said the wasp- nest. "Where are you going?" "I am going to ask the king to pay me what he owes me," said Drakesbill. "Let me go with you," said the waspnest. "I have never seen the king." "It is better to be on the right side of a waspnest, " thought Drakesbill. "Come, then, friend Waspnest," said he; "make yourself very small and creep into my pocket." So the waspnest made itself very small, and the wasps packed themselves closely together and stored themselves away in Drakesbill's pocket, while he continued on his way. By and by he came to the king's palace. Reaching up as high as he could, Drakesbill knocked, ratty, tat, *tat, on the door. Up jumped the king's guard. "What do you want?" said he. "I have come to see the king," replied Drakesbill. "The king is busy counting his money," THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 123 said the guard; "he cannot be bothered by little fellows like you." "But the king owes me money," said Drakesbill. "Just tell him Drakesbill is here, and I am sure he will let me in." Off went the guard with the message. "Drakesbill, indeed!" roared the king. "Show him into the poultry yard. That is His proper place." "Step this way," said the guard to Drakesbill, who was proud and happy because at last he was to meet the king. But before Drakesbill knew what had hap- pened to him, the guard had opened the door into the poultry yard and thrust him in. The fowls looked at him, and seeing he was alone and friendless, one and all began to peck him. Drakesbill feared they would kill him, when suddenly he remembered friend Fox, hidden away in his pocket. "Friend Fox," he cried, "help me, or I shall be killed!" The fox did not need a second bidding. Out he sprang, and snip, snap, off went the heads of geese, and turkeys, and ducks, until not one was left of all the crowd. 124 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK Hearing the confusion, the poultry woman and the cook and the king's guard all ran into the yard, but there was only Drakesbill, strutting about unharmed, and calling out, "Quack! quack! quack! I want my money back!" Away they ran to tell the king what had happened. "Wants his money back, does he?" roared the king in a rage. "Throw him down the well, and see if that will cool his spirits." Then the cook and the guard and the poultry woman rushed into the yard and seized Drakesbill, and down he went tumbling to the bottom of the well. Drakesbill was frightened almost to death until he remembered the ladder tucked away under his wing. "Oh, friend Ladder," cried he, "come out and help me!" Out jumped the ladder, and planting her feet firmly on the bottom of the well, she reached up her long arms to the top, and hop, hop, hop, up went Drakesbill. When the king looked out of his window and saw Drakesbill, unharmed, strutting THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 125 around the yard and still calling loudly for his money, he was more angry than before. "What!" shouted the king. "Does he defy me? Build a great fire and burn him. He cannot escape that!" So they built a great fire, but just as they were going to throw Drakesbill into the flames he remembered friend River hidden away in his pocket. "Come, River!" called the little fellow. "If you do not help me I shall perish!" Out jumped the river, and soon the water had spread over all the courtyard, and the fire was a pile of smouldering cinders. But the river did not stop at this. Into the palace the water poured, covering all the floor. The king and his guards climbed on the chairs and tables, but Drakesbill swam about in the water as happy as could be. "I want my money back, I want my money back," sang he. "Can no one stop this insolent fellow?" shouted the king, beside himself with rage. The guards were about to seize poor Drakesbill when he bethought himself of the waspnest, tucked away in his pocket. 126 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK "Come, Waspnest, " cried he, "now is the time to show your friendship for me." Out sprang the waspnest, and calling to his children, away they flew, stinging every one in sight. The king and the courtiers and the guards could not escape, try as they might, so out of the palace they ran, so fast and so far that no one ever saw them again. When the people in the streets heard the confusion and saw the king running away, they came hurrying into the palace, to see what it was all about. As Drakesbill was very tired with fluttering about, he flew up into the king's chair to rest. When the people saw him sitting there they cried, "Drakesbill is king! Drakesbill is king! Long live the king!" and they brought the crown and placed it on his head. "He does not look much like a king," whispered one idle fellow to another, but the people hushed them. "At least he will not spend all our money, " said they. So Drakesbill reigned over that country for many years, and peace and plenty blessed the land. THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 127 MR. MIACCA 1 Tommy Grimes was sometimes a good boy, and sometimes a bad boy; and when he was a bad boy, he was a very bad boy. Now his mother used to say to him: ''Tommy, Tommy, be a good boy, and don't go out of the street, or else Mr. Miacca will take you." But still when he was a bad boy he would go out of the street ; and one day, sure enough, he had scarcely got round the corner, when Mr. Miacca did catch him and popped him into a bag upside down, and took him off to his house. When Mr. Miacca got Tommy inside he pulled him out of the bag and set him down, and felt his arms and legs. "You're rather tough," says he; "but you're all I've got for supper, and you'll not taste bad boiled. But body o' me, I've forgot the herbs, and it's bitter you'll taste without herbs. Sally! Here, I say, Sally!" and he called Mrs. Miacca. So Mrs. Miacca came out of another room and said: "What d'ye want, my dear?" 1 From "English Fairy Tales." By permission of the publishers, G. P. Putnam's Sons, New York and London. 128 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK "Oh, here's a little boy for supper," said Mr. Miacca, "and I've forgot the herbs. Mind him, will ye, while I go for them. " "All right, my love," says Mrs. Miacca, and off he goes. Then Tommy Grimes said to Mrs. Miacca: 1 ' Does Mr. Miacca always have little boys for supper?" "Mostly, my dear," said Mrs. Miacca, "if little boys are bad enough, and get in his way." "And don't you have anything else but boy-meat? No pudding?" asked Tommy. "Ah, I loves pudding," says Mrs. Miacca. "But it's not often the likes of me gets pudding." "Why, my mother is making a pudding this very day," said Tommy Grimes, "and I am sure she'd give you some, if I ask her. Shall I run and get some?" "Now, that's a thoughtful boy," said Mrs. Miacca; "only don't be long, and be sure to be back for supper." So off Tommy peltered, and right glad he was to get off so cheap; and for many a long day he was as good as good could be, THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 129 and never went round the corner of the street. But he couldn't always be good; and one day he went round the corner, and as luck would have it, he had scarcely got round it when Mr. Miacca grabbed him up, popped him in his bag, and took him home. When he got him there Mr. Miacca dropped him out; and when he saw him, he said: "Ah, you're the youngster that served me and my missus such a shabby trick, leaving us without any supper. Well, you shan't do it again. I'll watch over you myself. Here, get under the sofa, and I'll set on it and watch the pot boil for you." So poor Tommy Grimes had to creep under the sofa, and Mr. Miacca sat on it and waited for the pot to boil. And they waited, and they waited, but still the pot didn't boil, till at last Mr. Miacca got tired of waiting, and he said: "Here, you under there, I'm not going to wait any longer; put out your leg, and I'll stop your giving us the slip." So Tommy put out a leg, and Mr. Miacca got a chopper, and chopped it off, and pops it in the pot. Suddenly he calls out: "Sally, my dear, I3Q THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK Sally!" and nobody answered. So he went into the next room to look out for Mrs. Miacca, and while he was there Tommy crept out from under the sofa and ran out of the door. For it was a leg of the sofa that he had put out. So Tommy Grimes ran home, and he never went round the corner again till he was old enough to go alone. Joseph Jacobs. THE STREET MUSICIANS 1 A donkey who had carried sacks to the mill for his master a great many years became so weak that he could not work for a living any longer. His master thought that he would get rid of his old servant, that he might save the cost of his food. The donkey heard of this, and made up his mind to run away. So he took the road to a great city where he had often heard the street band play. ' ' For, ' ' thought be, "I can make music as well as they." He had gone but a little way when he came to a dog stretched out in the middle of the 1 From "Classic Stories for the Little Ones." By permission of the Public School Publishing Co., Bloomington, III. THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 131 road and panting for breath, as if tired from running. "Why are you panting so, friend ?" asked the donkey. "Oh, dear!" he replied. "Now that I am old and growing weaker and weaker, and am not able to hunt any more, my master has ordered that I be killed. So I have run away, but how I am to earn a living I am sure I do not know." "Will you come with me?" said the don- key. "You see, I am going to try my luck as a street musician in the city. I think we might easily earn a living by music. You can play the bass drum and I can play the flute." "I will go," said the dog, and they both walked on together. Not long after they saw a cat sitting in the road, with a face as dismal as three days of rainy weather. "Now what has happened to you, old Whiskers?" said the donkey. "How can I be happy when I am in fear for my life? " said the cat. "I am getting old, and my teeth are only stumps. I cannot 132 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK catch mice any longer, and I like to lie behind the stove and purr. But when I found that they were going to drown me, away I ran as fast as my four legs could carry me. But now that I have come away, what am I to do?" "Go with us to the city, " said the donkey. "You often give night concerts, I know, so you can easily become a street musician." "With all my heart," said the cat, so she walked on with them. After traveling quite a long distance the three " runaways " came to a farmyard, and on the gate stood a rooster, crowing with all his might. "Why are you standing there and making such a fuss?" said the donkey. "I will tell you," replied the rooster. "I heard the cook say that there is company coming on Wednesday and she will want me to put into the soup. That evening my head will be cut off, so I shall crow at the top of my voice as long as I can. " )ti Listen, Red Comb," said the donkey. "Would you like to run away with us? We are going to the city, and you will find THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 133 something better there than to be made into soup. You have a fine voice, and we are all musicians.' ' The rooster was glad to go, and all four went on together. They could not reach the city in one day, and evening came on just as they reached a wood, so they agreed to stay there all night. The donkey and the dog lay down under a large tree, the cat stretched herself out on one of the branches, and the rooster flew to the top, where he felt quite safe. Before they slept the rooster, who from his high roost could see every way, spied far off a tiny light, and calling to his comrades told them he thought they were near a house in which a light was shining. "Then, " said the donkey, "we must rouse up and go on to this light, for no doubt we shall find a good stopping place there. " The dog said he would be glad of a little piece of meat, or a couple of bones if he could get nothing more. Very soon they were on their way to the place where the light shone. It grew larger and brighter as they came nearer to it, till 134 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK they saw that it came from the window of a small hut. The donkey, who was the tallest, went near and looked in. "What is to be seen, old Gray Horse?" said the rooster. "What do I see?" answered the donkey. "Why, a table spread with plenty to eat and drink, and robbers sitting at it and having a good time." "That ought to be our supper," said the rooster. "Yes, yes," the donkey answered, "how I wish we were inside." Then they talked together about how they should drive the robbers away. At last they made a plan that they thought would work. The donkey was to stand on his hind legs and place his forefeet on the windowsill. The dog was to stand on his back. The cat was to stand on the dog's shoulders, and the rooster promised to light upon the cat's head. As soon as they were all ready they began to play their music together. The donkey brayed, the dog barked, the cat mewed, the rooster crowed. They made such a noise that the window rattled. THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 135 The robbers, hearing the dreadful din, were terribly frightened, and ran as fast as they could to the woods. The four comrades, rushing in, hurried to the table and ate as if they had had nothing for a month. When they had finished their meal they put out the Light, and each one chose a good bed for the night. The donkey lay down at full length in the yard, the dog crouched behind the door, the cat rolled herself up on the hearth in front of the fire, while the rooster flew to the roof of the hut. They were all so tired after their long journey that they were soon fast asleep. About midnight one of the robbers, seeing that the light was out and all quiet, said to his chief: "I do not think that we had any reason to be afraid, after all." Then he called one of his robbers and sent him to the house to see if it was all right. The robber, finding everything quiet, went into the kitchen to light a match. Seeing the glaring, fiery eyes of the cat, he thought they w r ere live coals, and held a match toward them that he might light it. But Puss was frightened; she spit at him and scratched his face. This frightened the robber so terribly 136 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK that he rushed to the door, but the dog, who lay there, sprang out at him and bit him on the leg as he went by. In the yard he ran against the donkey, who gave him a savage kick, while the rooster on the roof cried out as loud as he could, " Cock- a-doodle-doo. " Then the robber ran back to his chief. "Oh! oh!" he cried, "in that house is a horrible woman, who flew at me and scratched me down the face with her long fingers. Then by the door stood a man with a knife, who stabbed me in the leg, and out in the yard lay a monster who struck me a hard blow with a huge club; and up on the roof sat the judge, who cried, 'Bring me the scoundrel here.' You may be sure I ran away as fast as I could go." The robbers never went back to the house, but got away from that place as quickly as they could. The four musicians liked their new home so well that they thought no more of going on to the city. The last we heard of them, they were still there and having happy times together. Lida Brown McMurry. THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 137 ROBIN REDBREAST Good-by, good-by to summer! For summer's nearly done; The garden smiling faintly, Cool breezes in the sun; Our thrushes now are silent, Our swallows flown away, — But Robin's here, in coat of brown, And ruddy breastknot gay. Robin, Robin Redbreast, O Robin dear! Robin sings so sweetly In the falling of the year. Bright yellow, red, and orange, The leaves come down in hosts; The trees are Indian princes, But soon they'll turn to ghosts; The scanty pears and apples Hang russet on the bough; It's autumn, autumn, autumn late, 'T will soon be winter now. Robin, Robin Redbreast, O Robin dear! For pinching days are near. 138 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK The fireside for the cricket, The wheat stack for the mouse, When trembling night winds whistle And moan all round the house. The frosty ways like iron, The branches plumed with snow, — Alas! in winter dead and dark, Where can poor Robin go? Robin, Robin Redbreast, O Robin dear! And a crumb of bread for Robin, His little heart to cheer. William Allingham. WEE ROBIN'S CHRISTMAS DAY 1 There was once an old gray pussy-cat, and she went down by the waterside, and there she saw wee Robin Redbreast, hopping on a brier. And Pussy-Cat said, " Where are you going, Wee Robin?" And Wee Robin said, "I am going away to the king, to sing him a song this good Christmas morning." 1 From "Scottish Fairy and Folk Tales," collected by Sir George Douglas. THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 139 And Pussy-Cat said, "Come here, Wee Robin, and I will let you see the bonny white ring around my neck." But Wee Robin said, "No, no, Gray Pussy; no, no. You worried the wee mousie, but you shall not worry me." So Wee Robin flew away and away, until he came to a turf wall, and there he saw a gray greedy hawk. And the gray greedy hawk said, "Where are you going, Wee Robin?" And. Wee Robin said, "I am going away to the king, to sing him a song this good Christmas morning." And the gray greedy hawk said, "Come here, Wee Robin, and I will let you see the bonny white feather in my wing." But Wee Robin said, "No, no, Gray Greedy Hawk; no, no. You pecked at the wee lin- net, but you shall not peck me." So Wee Robin flew away until he came to the side of a rock, and there he saw a sly fox sitting. And the sly fox said, "Where are you going, Wee Robin?" And Wee Robin said, "I am going away i4<> THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK to the king to sing him a song this good Christmas morning." And the sly fox said, "Come here, Wee Robin, and I will let yon see the bonny white spot on the tip of my tail." But Wee Robin said, "No, no, Sly Fox; no, no. You worried the wee lamb, but you shall not worry me." Wee Robin flew away until he came to a bonnie burnside, and there he saw a wee boy sitting, and the wee boy said, "Where are you going, Wee Robin?" And the Wee Robin said, "I am going away to the king, to sing him a song this good Christmas morning." And the wee boy said, "Come here, Wee Robin, and I will give you some nice crumbs out of my pocket." But Wee Robin said, "No, no, Wee Boy; no, no. You threw stones at the chick-a-dee, but you shall not throw stones at me." So Wee Robin flew away and away, until he came to the king, and there he sat on a window sill and sang to the king a bonny song. And the king said to the queen, "What THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 141 shall we give to Wee Robin for singing us this bonny song?" And the queen said to the king, "I think we will give him the wee wren for his wife." So Wee Robin and the wee wren were married, and all the court danced at the wedding. Then he flew away home to his own waterside, and hopped on a brier. Adapted. SIR ROBIN Rollicking Robin is here again. What does he care for the April rain? Care for it? Glad of it. Does n't he know That the April rain carries off the snow, And coaxes out leaves to shadow his nest, And washes his pretty red Easter vest, And makes the juice of the cherry sweet, For his hungry little robins to eat? "Ha! ha! ha!" hear the jolly bird laugh. "That is n't the best of the story, by half!" Lucy Larcom. i 4 2 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK THE BIG RED APPLE 1 Bobby was a little boy and he had a grandpa. One day Bobby's grandpa sat by the fire while Bobby lay on the hearth rug, looking at a picture book. "Ho, ho!" yawned grandpa, "I wish I had a big red apple! I could show you how to roast it, Bobby." Bobby jumped up as quick as a flash. "I'll get you one," he said, and he picked up his hat and ran out of the house as fast as he could go. He knew where he had seen an apple tree away down the road — a tree all bright with big red apples. Bobby ran on by the side of the road, through the drift of fallen leaves, all red and yellow and brown. The leaves made a pleasant noise under his feet. At last he came to the big apple tree, but though Bobby looked and looked there was not an apple to be seen — not an apple on the tree nor an apple on the ground. "Oh!" cried Bobby, "where have they all gone?" 1 From ''For the Children's Hour." By permission of Milton Bradley Co., Springfield, Mass. THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 143 Then he heard a rustling all through the dry leaves on the tree. "I haven't an apple left, my dear. You'll have to wait till another year." Bobby was surprised. "But where have they all gone?" he asked again. The apple tree only sighed. So the little boy turned away and started home across the fields. Pretty soon he met a pussy cat. "Oh, Pussy," he said, "do you know what they have done with the big red apples?" Pussy looked up at him and then began rubbing against his legs, saying: "Mew, mew, me-ew! I haven't a big red apple for you." So Bobby went on, and at last he met a friendly dog. The dog stopped and wagged his tail, so the little boy said to him: "Oh, Doggie, can you tell me what they have done with the big red apples?" The doggie kept on wagging his tail, and barked. "Bow, wow, wow! If I knew, I'd surely tell you now." So the little boy went on until he came to a kind old cow looking over the fence. 144 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK "Oh, Mooey Cow," said Bobby, "will you tell me what has become of the big red apples?" Mooey cow rubbed her nose against him, and said: "Moo! moo-oo! I'd like a big red apple too." The little boy laughed, and he walked on till he came to the edge of the wood, and there was a big, gray squirrel. "Hello, Gray Squirrel," said Bobby, "can you tell me what has become of the big red apples?" The squirrel whisked about and looked at Bobby. 1 ' The farmer has hidden them all away, to eat on a pleasant winter's day, " he chattered. Then the squirrel ran to the foot of a chest- nut tree and began to fill his little pockets with shiny nuts to carry to his own store- house, but Bobby said, "Oh, thank you," and ran up the hill to the farmer's house as fast as he could go. The farmer was standing in the door, and he smiled when he saw Bobby. "Good morning, good morning, my little THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 145 man, " he said, "and what can I do for you?" "Please," said Bobby, "I want a big red apple." The farmer laughed. "Come with me," he said, "and you shall pick one out for yourself. " So Bobby and the farmer walked out to the great barn, and there Bobby saw a lot of barrels standing in a row, and every barrel was full of big red apples. "Oh, what a lot ! " said Bobby. "Why did you pick them all?" "We didn't want to leave them for Jack Frost, did we?" said the farmer. "Does Jack Frost like apples?" asked Bobby. "He likes to pinch them," said the farmer, "but we like to eat them; so we gather them up for winter." Bobby began to look about the barn. Near the barrels of red apples was another row of barrels all filled with green apples, and farther on was a great pile of golden pumpkins, and near that was a heap of green and yellow squashes, and another of turnips, and then piles of yellow corn. 146 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK "Are you keeping all these things for win- ter?" asked Bobby. "Yes," said the farmer, "we've been gathering in the harvest, all good things that the summer has given us." "And do the squirrels gather in a harvest, too?" asked Bobby. "I reckon they do," said the farmer. "Then that was how he knew," said Bobby. Soon the little boy's eyes began to shine. "Won't you have lots of good things for Thanksgiving! " he said. "Pumpkin pie, and apple pie, and everything!" "Well," said the farmer, "I guess there is plenty to be thankful for right here. Did you say you wanted a red apple, sonny?" Bobby walked up to the barrel and picked out the biggest red apple he could find. "Thank you, Mr. Farmer," he said. And then he ran home to give the apple to his grandpa. "Why, why!" said grandpa, "wherever did you find it?" "Oh," said Bobby, "I went to the apple tree, but it didn't have any. Then I asked THE STORY TELLER'S BOOR 147 the cat where the biggest red apples were, but she didn't know. I asked the dog, and he didn't know; and then I asked the cow, and she didn't know; but then I asked the squirrel, and he knew, because he gathers a harvest himself. So he told me to go to the farmer. And I went to the farmer and asked him for a big red apple, and he gave me this great big one!" "Well, well," said grandpa, when Bobby- stopped out of breath. "Now find me a bit of string." Bobby found the string, and grandpa tied one end of it to the stem of the apple. He fastened the other end of the string to the mantel shelf, and there the apple hung over the fire. It turned and twisted, and twisted and turned, while grandpa and Bobby watched it; and the juice sizzled out, and the apple grew softer and softer, and, by and by, it was all roasted. Then Bobby fetched a plate and two spoons, and he and grandpa sat before the fire and ate the big red apple. Kate Whiting Patch. [48 Till'; STORY TELLER'S BOOK BLUNDER Blunder was going to the Wishing-Cate, to wish for a pair of Shetland ponies, and a little coach, like Tom Thumb's. And of course you can have your wish, if you once get there. But the thing is, to find it; for it is not, as you imagine, a great gate, with a tall marble pillar on each side, and a sign over the top, like this, Wishing- Gate, — but just an old stile, made of three sticks. Put up two fingers, cross them on the top with another finger, and you have it exactly, — the way it looks, I mean, — a worm- eaten stile, in a meadow; and as there are plenty of old stiles in meadows, how are you to know which is the one? Blunder's fairy godmother knew, but then she could not tell him, for that was not according to fairy rules and regulations. She could only direct him to follow the road, and ask the way of the first owl he met ; and over and over she charged him, for Blunder was a very careless little boy, and seldom THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 149 found anything, "Be sure you don't miss him, — be sure you don't pass him by." And so far Blunder had come on very well, for the road was straight; but at the turn it forked. Should he go through the wood, or turn to the right? There was an owl nodding in a tall oak tree, the first owl Blunder had seen; but he was a little afraid to wake him up, for Blunder's fairy godmother had told him that this was a great philosopher, who sat up all night to study the habits of frogs and mice, and knew everything but what went on in the daylight, under his nose; and he could think of nothing better to say to this great philosopher than: "Good Mr. Owl, will you please show me the way to the Wishing- Gate?" "Eh! what's that?" cried the owl, starting out of his nap. "Have you brought me a frog?" "No," said Blunder, "I did not know that you would like one. Can you tell me the way to the Wishing-Gate?" 1 ' Wishing-Gate ! Wishing-Gate ! ' ' hooted the owl, very angry. "Winks and naps! l5o THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK how dare you disturb me for such a thing as that? Do you take me for a milestone? Follow your nose, sir, follow your nose!" — and, ruffling up his feathers, the owl was asleep again in a moment. But how could Blunder follow his nose? His nose would turn to the right, or take him through the woods, whichever w T ay his legs went, "and what was the use of asking the owl," thought Blunder, "if this was all?" While he hesitated, a chipmunk came scurrying down the path, and, seeing Blunder, stopped short with a little squeak. "Good Mrs. Chipmunk," said Blunder, "can you tell me the way to the Wishing- Gate?" "I can't, indeed," answered the chipmunk, politely. "What with getting in nuts, and the care of a young family, I have so little time to visit anything! But if you will follow the brook, you will find an old water sprite under a slanting stone, over which the water pours all day with a noise like wabble! wabble! who, I have no doubt, can tell you all about it. You will know him, for he does nothing but grumble about THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 151 the good old times when a brook would have dried up before it would have turned a mill wheel." So Blunder went on up the brook, and, seeing nothing of the water sprite, or the slanting stone, was just saying to himself, "I am sure I don't know where he is, — I can't find it," when he spied a frog sitting on a wet stone. "Mr. Frog," asked Blunder, "can you tell me the way to the Wishing- Gate?" "I cannot," said the frog. "I am very sorry, but the fact is, I am an artist. Young as I am, my voice is already remarked at our concerts, and I devote myself so entirely to my profession of music, that I have no time to acquire general information. But in a pine tree beyond, you will find an old crow, who, I am quite sure, can show you the way, as he is a traveler, and a bird of an inquiring turn of mind." "I don't know where the pine is, — I am sure I can never find him," answered Blunder, discontentedly; but still he went on up the brook, till, hot and tired, and out of patience at seeing neither crow nor pine, he 152 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK sat down under a great tree to rest. There he heard tiny voices squabbling. "Get out! Go away, I tell you! It has been knock! knock! knock! at my door all day, till I am tired out. First a wasp, and then a bee, and then another wasp, and then another bee, and now you. Go away! I won't let another one in to-day." * 'But I want my honey." "And I want my nap." "I will come in." "You shall not." "You are a miserly old elf." "And you are a brute of a bee." And looking about him, Blunder spied a bee, quarreling with a morning-glory elf, who was shutting up the morning-glory in his face. "Elf, do you know which is the way to the Wishing-Gate?" asked Blunder. "No," said the elf, "I don't know any- thing about geography. I was always too delicate to study. But if you will keep on in this path, you will meet the Dream-man, coming down from fairyland, with his bags of dreams on his shoulder; and if anybody can THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 153 tell you about the Wishing- Gate, he can." "But how can I find him?" asked Blunder, more and more impatient. "I don't know, I am sure," answered the elf, "unless you should look for him." So there was no help for it but to go on; and presently Blunder passed the Dream- man, asleep under a witch-hazel, with his bags of good and bad dreams laid over him to keep him from fluttering away. But Blunder had a habit of not using his eyes; for at home, when told to find any- thing, he always said, "I don't know where it is," or, "I can't find it," and then his mother or sister went straight and found it for him. So he passed the Dream-man without seeing him, and went on till he stumbled on Jack-o' Lantern. ' ' Can you show me the way to the Wishing- Gate?" said Blunder. "Certainly, with pleasure," answered Jack, and, catching up his lantern, set out at once. Blunder followed close, but, in watching the lantern, he forgot to look to his feet, and fell into a hole filled with black mud. "T say! the Wishing-Gate is not down 154 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK there," called out Jack, whisking off among the tree tops. "But I can't come up there," whimpered Blunder. "That is not my fault, then," answered Jack, merrily, dancing out of sight. Oh, a very angry little boy was Blunder, when he clambered out of the hole. " I don't know where it is," he said, crying; "I can't find it, and I'll go straight home." Just then he stepped on an old, moss- grown, rotten stump; and it happening, un- luckily, that this rotten stump was a wcod goblin's chimney, Blunder fell through, head- long, in among the pots and pans, in which the goblin's cook was cooking the goblin's supper. II The old goblin, who was asleep upstairs, started up in a fright at the tremendous clash and clatter, and finding that his house was not tumbling about his ears, as he thought at first, stumped down to the kitchen to see what was the matter. The cook heard him coming, and looked about her in a fright to hide Blunder. THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 155 1 ' Quick ! ' ' cried she. ' ' If my master catches you, he will have you in a pie. In the next room stands a pair of shoes. Jump into them, and they will take you up the chimney." Off flew Blunder, burst open the door, and tore frantically about the room, in one corner of which stood the shoes; but of course he could not see them, because he was not in the habit of using his eyes. "I can't find them! Oh, I can't find them!" sobbed poor little Blunder, running back to the cook. "Run into the closet," said the cook. Blunder made a dash at the window, but — "I don't know where it is," he called out. Clump! clump! That was the goblin, half- way down the stairs. ' ' Goodness gracious mercy me ! ' ' exclaimed cook. "He is coming. The boy will be eaten, in spite of me. Jump into the meal chest." "I don't see it," squeaked Blunder, rush- ing toward the fireplace. "Where is it?" Clump! clump! That was the goblin at the foot of the stairs, and coming toward the kitchen door. 156 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK "There is an invisible cloak hanging on that peg. Get into that," cried cook, quite beside herself. But Blunder could no more see the cloak than he could see the shoes, the closet, and the meal chest; and no doubt the goblin, whose hand was on the latch, would have found him prancing around the kitchen, and crying out, "I can't find it," but, for- tunately for himself, Blunder caught his foot in the invisible cloak, and tumbled down, pulling the cloak over him. There he lay, hardly daring to breathe. "What was all that noise about?" asked the goblin, gruffly, coming into the kitchen. "Only my pans, master," answered the cook; and as he could see nothing amiss, the old goblin went grumbling upstairs again, while the shoes took Blunder up the chimney, and landed him in a meadow, safe enough, but so miserable! He was cross, he was disap- pointed, he was hungry. It was dark, he did not know the way home, and, seeing an old stile, he climbed up, and sat down on the top of it, for he was too tired to stir. Just then came along THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 157 the South Wind, with his pockets crammed full of showers, and, as he happened to be going Blunder's way, he took Blunder home; of which the boy was glad enough, only he would have liked it better if the Wind had not laughed all the way. For what would you think, if you were w r alking along a road with a fat old gentleman, who went chuckling to himself, and slapping his knees, and poking himself, till he was purple in the face, when he would burst out in a great windy roar of laughter every other minute? "What are you laughing at?" asked Blun- der, at last. "At two things that I saw in my travels," answered the Wind; "a hen, that died of starvation, sitting on an empty peck measure that stood in front of a bushel of grain; and a little boy who sat on the top of the Wishing-Gate, and came home because he could not find it." "What? what's that?" cried Blunder; but just then he found himself at home. There sat his fairy godmother by the fire, her mouse-skin cloak hung up on a peg, and toe- ing off a spider' s-silk stocking an eighth of an 158 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK inch long; and though everybody else cried, "What luck?" and "Where is the Wishing- Gate?" she sat mum. "I don't know where it is," answered Blunder. ' I could n't find it" ; — and thereon he told the story of his troubles. "Poor boy!" said his mother, kissing him, while his sister ran to bring him some bread and milk. "Yes, that is all very fine," cried his godmother, pulling out her needles, and rolling up her ball of silk; "but now hear my story. "There was once a little boy who must needs go to the Wishing-Gate, and his fairy godmother showed him the road as far as the turn, and told him to ask the first owl he met what to do then. "But this little boy seldom used his eyes, so he passed the first owl, and waked up the wrong owl; so he passed the water sprite, and found only a frog; so he sat down under the pine tree, and never saw the crow; so he passed the Dream-man, and ran after Jack-o' Lantern; so he tumbled down the gob- lin's chimney, and could n't find the shoes and the closet and the chest and the cloak; THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 159 and so he sat on the top of the Wishing-Gate till the South Wind brought him home, and never knew it. Ugh! Bah!" And away went the fairy godmother up the chimney, in such deep disgust that she did not even stop for her mouse-skin cloak. Louise E. Chollet. A FAIRY IN ARMOR He put his acorn helmet on; It was plumed of the silk of the thistle down ; The corselet plate that guarded his breast Was once the wild bee's golden vest; His cloak, of a thousand mingled dyes, Was formed of the wings of butterflies; His shield was the shell of a lady-bug green, Studs of gold on a ground of green; And the quivering lance which he brandished bright Was the sting of a wasp he had slain in fight. Swift he bestrode his firefly steed ; He bared his blade of the bent-grass blue ; He drove his spurs of the cockle-seed, And away like a glance of thought he flew, To skim the heavens, and follow far The fiery trail of the rocket-star. Joseph Rodman Drake. 1 60 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK THE MAGPIE'S NEST 1 Once upon a time, when pigs spoke rhyme, And monkeys chewed tobacco, And hens took snuff to make them tough, And ducks went quack, quack, quack, O! All the birdsof the air~came to the magpie and asked her to teach them how to build nests. For the magpie is the cleverest bird of all at building nests. So she put all the birds round her and began to show them how to do it. First of all she took some mud and made a sort of round cake with it. • "Oh, that's how it's done, " said the thrush ; and away it flew, and so that's how thrushes build their nests. Then the magpie took some twigs and arranged them round in the mud. "Now I know all about it," said the black- bird, and off he flew, and that's how the blackbirds make their nests to this very day. Then the magpie put another layer of mud over the twigs. "Oh, that's quite obvious, M said the wise owl, and away it flew; and owls have never made better nests since. 1 From "English Fairy Tales." By permission of the publishers, G. P. Putnam's Sons, New York and London. THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 161 After this the magpie took some twigs and twined them round the outside. "The very thing!" said the sparrow, and off he went ; so sparrows make rather slovenly nests to this day. Then Madge Magpie took some feathers and stuff, and lined the nest very comfortably. "That suits me," cried the starling, and off it flew; and very comfortable nests have starlings. So it went on, every bird taking away some knowledge of how to build nests, but none of them waiting to the end. Meanwhile Madge Magpie went on working and working with- out looking up till the only bird that remained was the turtle-dove, and that hadn't paid any attention all along, but only kept on saying its silly cry: "Take two, Taffy, take two-o-o-o. " At last the magpie heard this just as she was putting a twig across. So she said: "One's enough." But the turtle-dove kept on saying : ' ' Take two, Taffy, take two-o-o. " Then the magpie got angry and said: "One's enough, I tell you." 1 62 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK Still the turtle-dove cried: "Take two, Taffy, take two-o-o. " At last, and at last, the magpie looked up and saw nobody near her but the silly turtle- dove, and then she got rarely angry and flew away, and refused to tell the birds how to build nests again. And that is why different birds build their nests differently. Joseph Jacobs. THE HOP- ABOUT MAN 1 Wee-Wun was a little gnome who lived in the Bye-bye Meadow, in a fine new house which he loved. To live in the Bye-bye Meadow was sometimes a dangerous thing, for all the big people lived there. Wee-Wun might have lived on the other common with the other gnomes and fairies if he had liked; but he did not. He liked better to be among the big people on the Bye-bye Meadow. And perhaps if he had not been such a care- less fellow he might not have got into so much trouble there; but he was as careless as he could be. One day Wee-Wun was flying across the 1 From "Little Folks' Magazine," By permission ofCassell 6* Co., publishers. 10 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 163 Bye-bye Meadow, with his cap at the back of his head, and his pockets full of blue blow-away seeds, when he saw lying upon the ground two little shoes of blue and silver, with upturned toes. "Here is a find!" cried he, and he bent down over the little shoes with round eyes. There they were, and they said nothing about how they had come there, but lay sadly on their sides, as silent as could be. "I shall certainly take them home to my fine house," said Wee-Wun the gnome, "for they must be lonely lying here. They shall stand upon my mantel shelf, and every morning I shall say, 'Good morning, little blue shoes/ and every night I shall say, 'Good night/ and we shall all be as happy as can be." So he went to put the little shoes into his pockets, but he found they were already full of blue blow-away seeds. Then Wee-Wun took the blue blow-away seeds, and cast them over the wall into the Stir-about Wife's garden. And he put the little shoes into his pocket, and flew away. The garden of the Stir-about Wife is full i6 4 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK of golden dandelions. That is because the Stir-about Wife likes best to brew golden spells that will make folk happy, and of course dandelions are the flowers you use for golden spells. But the very next day after Wee-Wun had passed, when she came into her garden to gather every twentieth dandelion she could hardly see a dandelion because of the blow- aways that were growing everywhere, and casting their fluff into the dandelions' eyes. When the Stir-about Wife saw this mournful sight she wept, because her beautiful spell, which she was about to finish, was quite spoiled. And after a little while she went into her house and made another spell in- stead. On the morrow Wee-Wun the gnome came flying over the Bye-bye Meadow, just as careless as ever. He stopped for a moment by the Stir-about Wife's garden to look at the spot where he had found the little blue shoes, to see if there were another pair there. And after he had seen that no one had dropped another pair of little blue shoes, he hung over the Stir-about Wife's wall and looked at THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 165 her garden, and when he saw the blue blow-aways he laughed so that he fell upon the ground. "That is a new kind of dandelion," said he, and he picked himself up, laughing still. Then he saw that upon the ground where he had fallen there lay a large seed that shone in the sun. It was as blue as the little blue shoes, and Wee-Wun had never seen any seed like it before. He took it in his hand, and how it twinkled and shone! "I shall plant this in my garden," said Wee-Wun, "and I shall have a plant which will have sunbeams for flowers." So he dropped it into his pocket and flew away home. That evening he made a little hole, and when he had dropped the blue seed into it he patted the earth down. "Grow quickly, little seed," said he. Then he thought of the Stir-about Wife's garden, and he began to laugh, and he laughed now and again the whole night through. But when he awakened in the morning, alack! he laughed no more, for his fine home was so dark that he could see not a pace in front of him. 166 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK "This is very odd, very odd, indeed!" said Wee-Wun the gnome, and he rubbed his eyes very hard. But this was no dream, and no matter how hard he rubbed, he could not rub it away. Then he heard upon the floor a clatter and a rustle, and then a stepping noise, — one, two; one, two — and that was the little blue shoes that were marching round and round over the floor very steadily. And as they marched they sang this song: 4 ' Ring-a-ding-dill , r ing-a-ding-dill , The Hop-about Man comes over the hill. Why is he coming, and what will he see? Rickety, rackety, — one, two, three." And they sang it over and over again. 44 Well, this is a fine time to sing, when it is as dark as can be!" cried Wee-Wun. But the little shoes took no notice at all. So Wee-Wun went outside to his garden, and then he saw that the whole world was not dark, as he had supposed, but only his little home. For in the spot where he had sown the blue seed had sprung up a huge plant which covered over the window of Wee-Wun's fine house, and reached far above its roof. THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 167 Wee-Wun began to weep, for he did not see why this thing had come to him. And after he had wept awhile he went close to the fearful plant and walked round it, and looked up and down. And then he said, "Why, it is a blue blow-away!" And so it was, but far, far larger than any Wee-Wun had ever seen in his life before. And it had grown so high and as big as that in just one night. "What will it be like to-morrow?' ' thought Wee-Wun, and he began to weep again. But the blue blow-away took no notice of his tears, and the little shoes inside the house went on singing; so Wee-Wun had to stir his wits, and consider what was to be done. And when he had considered awhile, he set off for the house of the Green Ogre, and he was shaking in his shoes. The Green Ogre was planting peas, one by one. When he saw Wee-Wun come along, with tears still on his cheeks and shaking in his shoes, he said: " My little gnome, you had better keep away, lest I plant you in mistake for a pea." But Wee-Wun said: 1 68 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK "Oh, dear Green Ogre, wouldn't you like a nice blue blow-away for your garden? I have one which is quite big enough for you; it is taller than my little house. You have never seen a blow-away so fine." "And are you weeping, my Wee-Wun, because you have such a fine blue blow- away?" asked the Green Ogre, and he began to laugh. But Wee-Wun said: "I am weeping to see such a fine garden as yours without a blue blow-away in it. That is a sad sight." "There is something in that," said the Green Ogre, and he set down his peas, and thought. Then he said: "Very well, I will come and look at your blue blow-away." And he set off at once. Now when the Green Ogre saw the blue blow-away in Wee-Wun's garden he thought it was certainly the best he had ever seen, and much too fine for a little gnome like Wee-Wun. So he dug it up in a great hurry and carried it away. "There, that was managed very easily," said Wee-Wun the gnome joyously to himself, THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 169 and he looked at the hole where the blue blow-away had been, and laughed. Then he went into his fine home, but that was no longer empty, for in the seat by the fireside sat a little man in a blue smock and feather cap. And he looked quite happy and at home. And above his head on the mantle shelf were the little blue shoes, as quiet as could be. "This is a' nice thing/' said Wee-Wun, opening his eyes wide. "Who are you that you have come into my little house where I like to sit all alone?" And the little man replied at once: "I am the Hop-about Man, and since you have let the Green Ogre carry away the blue blow-away in which I lived, I have come to live with you." "But my fine house is not big enough to hold two people," cried Wee-Wun, and he was in a way. "It is big enough to hold twelve tigers," said the Hop-about Man, "so it can easily hold two little gnomes. As for me, here I am, and here I mean to stay." And not another word would he say. 170 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK At this Wee-Wun was in a terrible way, as you may think. But there was the Hop- about Man, and he did not seem to care, not one bit. So Wee-Wun went on his way, and when he had made a platter of porridge for his breakfast, the Hop-about Man said: "Ah, that is my breakfast, I see, 11 and he ate it up in a twink. So Wee-Wun had to make another platterful, and alack, he was careless, and let that porridge burn, and he could not eat it, though he tried hard. After- wards he went out to fetch wood for his fire, and when he had fetched it, he threw it into a corner, and he left the door wide open, so that a draught fell upon the Hop-about Man. But the Hop-about Man said nothing. Then Wee-Wun went out to dig in his garden, and he dug there the whole day long, and when he came in in the evening, there was the Hop-about Man sitting in his chair. When Wee-Wun looked at his blue smock and his feather cap he saw that the Hop-about Man looked just like a blue blow-away growing in the chair at Wee-Wun' s fireside. But when Wee-Wun the gnome came in the THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 171 Hop-about Man flew out of his chair, and he flew all around the room, singing this song: ' 'Ring-a-ding-dill, ring-a-ding-dill, Let all careless things hop about if they will." Alack! he had no sooner sung this song than the door which Wee-Wun had left open jumped off its hinges and ran about the floor, and the wood which he had thrown into the corner flew out and rushed about too. The Hop-about Man's platter, which Wee- Wun had forgotten to wash, flew up to the ceiling, and the wooden spoon spun round like a top on the floor, and all the chairs and tables Wee-Wun had left awry began to dance. ''Certainly my fine house will come down about my ears," cried poor Wee-Wun. Then he felt a tug at his hair, and that was his cap, which he had put on inside out, and which was anxious to be off and join in the fun. And his spade, which he had left lying on the ground outside, came running in at the place where the door had been, stirring everything as it came. That was a muddle, and Wee-Wun began to weep. "Oh, dear Hop-about Man," he cried, "do tell everything to be quiet again, please, 172 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK for I can hear the walls of my fine house shaking!" But the Hop-about Man, who was again sitting in his chair, replied: "Things will be quiet again when you have put all careless things straight.' ' So Wee-Wun set to work, and he wept ever so fast. You see it is difficult to put careless things straight when they are running about all the time, and you have to catch them first. But at last Wee-Wun set the door on its hinges, and put the wood in the wood cellar, and washed the Hop-about Man's platter and spoon, and set straight all the chairs and tables, and put the spade in the place where it ought to be, and he was so tired then he could hardly move another step. But the Hop-about Man did not notice him at all, and when Wee-Wun cried out to the little blue shoes: "See how hard I am working," they were quite silent. And you do not know how silent blue shoes can be. The Hop-about Man was falling asleep in his chair when all was finished, and Wee- Wun again shed tears. THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 173 "Oh, Hop-about Man," he cried, "are you never going away?" And the Hop-about Man replied: "Certainly I am very comfortable here, with half of this fine house for my own, and I can only walk away if I have a pair of little blue shoes to walk in, and I can only go when you have set all careless things straight." Poor Wee-Wun! He took the little blue shoes in a hurry, and his tears were dropping all the time. "Good-by, little blue shoes," he said, but the Hop-about Man did not seem to notice. And when Wee-Wun gave them to him he put them upon his feet, but he did not stir, not an inch. Then Wee-Wun sighed a long sigh, and he flew over the Bye-bye Meadow till he reached the garden of the Stir-about Wife, which is bound about by a wall. And there all night he weeded, pulling up blue blow-aways by the score. But when in the morning he went back to his fine house, the Hop-about Man was gone. Agnes Grazier Herbertson. 174 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK THE FOX AND THE ROOSTER Such a noise as there was in the barnyard one fine morning! Chanticleer, the old yellow rooster, crowed cock-a-doodle-doo-oo-oo, the hens cackled, and the ducks went quack, quack, quack! A sly fox living in the woods not far away heard Chanticleer crowing cock-a-doodle-doo- oo-oo so loud and so proud. He said to him- self, ' ' What a fine breakfast Chanticleer would make. I '11 run over there and see if I can't play a smart trick on him this morning.' ' So he crawled into the barnyard and hid in the grass. By and by Chanticleer happened to look that way and saw the sly old fox hiding in the grass. He was so afraid that he stopped crowing and started to run away. "Don't run away, Chanticleer. Don't be afraid of me. I came into the barnyard just to hear you crow. I knew your father, and he could crow, cock-a-doodle-doo-oo-oo, bet- ter than any rooster I ever heard, except you. You look like your father, Chanticleer. You are as handsome as he was, and your voice is just as loud and clear. THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 175 "When your father crowed cock-a-doodle- doo, in his loudest, sweetest voice, he always stood on his tiptoes, stretched his neck, and shut his eyes. Do you stand on your tip- toes and shut your eyes when you crow your loudest and sweetest? "No rooster in this barnyard, or any other, can crow as beautifully as you, Chanticleer. Let me hear you crow now, just as your father did." "Well, well," thought Chanticleer, "he's a nice old fox. I like him. I am not afraid of him at all. I'm going to crow my very loudest and clearest, and see what he will say." So Chanticleer stood on his tiptoes, stretched his neck just as long as he could, shut his eyes, and said " Cock-a-doodle — " But he never finished that crow — for just as soon as his eyes were shut the fox caught him by the neck and ran off as fast as he could run. "Fox! fox! fox!" cried the black hens, the white hens, and the ducks. "Fox! fox!" cried the farmer. "Fox! fox!" 176 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK The hens cackled and cackled, the ducks quacked and quacked, and the farmer's dog barked and barked as they all ran after the fox. My, such a noise as they made ! But the fox kept on running. Chanticleer was so afraid! He knew the sly old fox would eat him for his breakfast in about a minute if he did n't think of some way to save himself. So he said, "What a noise those hens and ducks are making! They can never catch you. They need n't try; you run too fast for them. "Why don't you say, 'Go back, cackling hens! Go back, quacking ducks! You can't catch me! I 'm going to eat this rooster for my breakfast, and you can't stop me'?" The fox was pleased to hear Chanticleer say this, and thought it would be fun to laugh at the hens and ducks. So he called back to them, "Go back, cackling hens, quacking ducks, and barking dog! You can't catch me!" And the very minute he opened his mouth away flew the old yellow rooster into a tall tree. THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 177 Then Mr. Sly Fox saw that Chanticleer had been too clever for him, and he had to go hungry all day long. TIT FOR TAT 1 There once lived a Camel and a Jackal who were great friends. One day the Jackal said to the Camel, "I know that there is a fine field of sugar cane on the other side of the river. If you will take me across, I '11 show you the place. This plan will suit me as well as you. You will enjoy eating the sugar cane, and I am sure to find many crabs, bones, and bits of fish by the river side, on which to make a good dinner." The Camel consented, and swam across the river, taking the Jackal, who could not swim, on his back. When they reached the other side, the Camel went to eat the sugar cane, and the Jackal ran up and down the river bank, devouring all the crabs, bits of fish, and bones he could find. But being so much smaller an animal, he had made an excellent meal before the Camel iFrom "Old Deccan Days" 12 178 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK had eaten more than two or three mouth- fuls; and no sooner had he finished his dinner than he ran round and round the sugar-cane field, yelping and howling with all his might. The villagers heard him, and thought, "There is a Jackal among the sugar canes; he will be scratching holes in the ground, and spoiling the roots of the plants." And they went down to the place to drive him away. But when they got there they found to their surprise not only a Jackal, but a Camel who was eating the sugar canes! This made them very angry, and they caught the poor Camel, and drove him from the field, and beat him until he was nearly dead. When they had gone, the Jackal said to the Camel, "We had better go home." And the Camel said, "Very well; then jump upon my back, as you did before." So the Jackal jumped upon the Camel's back, and the Camel began to recross the river. When they had got well into the water, the Camel said, "This is a pretty way in which you have treated me, friend Jackal. No sooner had you finished your own THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 179 dinner than you must go yelping about the place loud enough to arouse the whole vil- lage, and bring all the villagers down to beat me black and blue, and turn me out of the field before I had eaten two mouthfuls! What in the world did you make such a noise for?" "I don't know," said the Jackal. "It is a custom I have. I always like to sing a little after dinner." The Camel waded on through the river. The water reached up to his knees — then above them — up, up, up, higher and higher, until he was obliged to swim. Then turning to the Jackal, he said, "I feel very anxious to roll." "Oh, pray don't; why do you wish to do so?" asked the Jackal. "I don't know," answered the Camel. "It is a custom I have. I always like to have a little roll after dinner." So saying, he rolled over in the water, shaking the Jackal off as he did so. And the Jackal was drowned, but the Camel swam safely ashore. Mary Frere. 1 80 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK A GOOD THANKSGIVING Said old Gentleman Gay, "On a Thanks- giving Day, If you want a good time, then give some- thing away." So he sent a fat turkey to Shoemaker Price, And the shoemaker said, "What a big bird! how nice ! And, since a good dinner's before me, I ought To give poor Widow Lee the small chicken I bought." "This fine chicken, oh, see!" said the pleased Widow Lee, "And the kindness that sent it, how precious to me! I would like to make some one as happy as I — I'll give Washwoman Biddy my big pump- kin pie." "And oh, sure," Biddy said, "'tis the queen of all pies ! Just to look at its yellow face gladdens my eyes! Now it's my turn, I think; and a sweet ginger cake THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK For the motherless Finigan children I '11 bake." "A sweet cake, all our own! Tis too good to be true!" Said the Finigan children, Rose, Denny, and Hugh; "It smells sweet of spice, and we'll carry a slice To poor little Lame Jake — who has nothing that's nice." "Oh, I thank you, and thank you!" said little Lame Jake; "Oh, what beautiful, beautiful, beautiful cake! And oh, such a big slice! I will save all the crumbs, And will give 'em to each little sparrow that comes!" And the sparrows they twittered, as if they would say, Like old Gentleman Gay, "On a Thanks- giving Day, If you want a good time, then give something away!" Marian Douglas. 1 82 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK PRAISE GOD Praise God for wheat, so white and sweet, Of which to make our bread! Praise God for yellow corn, with which His waiting world is fed! Praise God for fish and flesh and fowl He gave to men for food! Praise God for every creature which He made and called it good! Praise God for winter's store of ice, Praise God for summer's heat! Praise God for fruit trees bearing seed, "To you it is for meat!" Praise God for all the bounty By which the world is fed! Praise God, ye children all, to whom He gives your daily bread! ANDERS' NEW CAP Once upon a time there was a little boy, called Anders, who had a new cap. And a prettier cap you never could see, for mother herself had knit it; and nobody could make anything quite as nice as mother could. It THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 183 was altogether red, except a small part in the middle which was green, for the red yarn had given out; and the tassel was blue. His brothers and sisters walked about looking at him, but Anders cared nothing about that. He put his hands in his pockets and went out for a walk, for he did not begrudge anybody's seeing how fine he was. The first person he met was a farmhand walking beside a load of peat and smacking at his horse. He made a bow so deep that his back came near to breaking, and Anders trotted proudly by. At the turn of the road he ran up against Lars, the tanner's boy. He was such a big boy that he wore high boots and carried a jack- knife. He gaped and gazed at the cap, and he could not keep from fingering the blue tassel. "Let's swap caps," he said, "and I will give you my jack-knife to boot." Now, this knife was a splendid one, though half the blade was gone and the handle was a little cracked; and Anders knew that one is almost a man as soon as one has a jack- knife. But still it did not come up to the new cap which mother had made. 1 8 4 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK "Oh, no, I could not do that," he said. And then he said good-by to Lars with a nod, and went on. Soon after this Anders met a very old, old woman, who curtsied until her skirts looked like a balloon. She said that he was so fine that he might go to the king's ball. "Yes, why not?" thought Anders. "Seeing that I am so fine, I may as well go and visit the king." And so he did. In the palace yards stood two soldiers with shining helmets, and with guns over their shoulders; and when Anders came both the guns were leveled at him. "Where are you going?" asked one of the soldiers. "I am going to the king's ball," answered Anders. "No, no," said the other soldier, putting his foot forward, "nobody is allowed there without a uniform." But just at this instant the princess came tripping across the yard. She was dressed in white silk, with bows of gold ribbon. When she saw Anders and the soldiers, she walked over to them. THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 185 "Oh,"' she said, "he has a very fine cap on his head, and that will do as well as a uniform." She took Anders' hand and walked with him up the broad marble stairs, where soldiers were posted at every third step, and through magnificent halls where gentlemen and ladies in silk and velvet stood bowing wherever he went. For, as like as not, they must have thought him a prince when they saw his fine cap. At the farther end of the largest hall a table was set with golden cups and golden plates in long rows. On huge silver platters were pyramids of tarts and cakes. The princess sat down under a blue canopy with bouquets of roses on it; and she let Anders sit in a golden chair by her side. "But you must not eat with your cap on your head," she said, and was going to take it off. "Oh, yes, I can eat just as well," said Anders, and held on to his cap, for if they should take it away from him he did not feel sure that he would get it back again. "Well, well, give it to me," said the princess, "and I will give you a kiss." 186 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK The princess was certainly beautiful, and he would have dearly liked to be kissed by her, but the cap which mother had made he could not give up on any condition. He only shook his head. "Well, but now," said the princess; and she filled his pockets with cakes, and put her own heavy gold chain around his neck, and bent down and kissed him. But he only moved farther back in his chair, and did not take his hands from his head. Then the doors were thrown open and the king entered, with many gentlemen in glit- tering uniforms and plumed hats. And the king himself wore an ermine-bordered purple mantle which trailed behind him, and he had a large gold crown on his white hair. He smiled when he saw Anders in the gilt chair. "That is a very fine cap you have," he said. "So it is," said Anders, "and it is made of mother's best yarn, and she has knit it her- self, and every one wants to get it away from me. But surely you would like to change caps THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 187 with me," said the king, and raised his large heavy gold crown from his head. Anders did not answer. He sat as before, and held on to his red cap, which every one was so anxious to get. But when the king came nearer to him, with his gold crown in his hands, then he grew frightened as never before, for a king can do as he likes. With one jump Anders got out of his chair. He darted like an arrow through all the halls, down all the stairs, across the yard. He ran so fast the princess' necklace fell off his neck and all the cakes jumped out of his pockets. But he had his cap. He still held on to it with both his hands as he ran into his mother's cottage. And his mother took him up in her lap and he told her all his adventures, and how everybody wanted his cap. And all his brothers and sisters stood around and listened with their mouths open. But when his big brother heard that he had refused to give his cap for the king's golden crown, he said that Anders was stupid. Just think what splendid things one might get in exchange for the crown; and Anders could have had a still finer cap. 1 88 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK Anders' face grew red. That he had not thought of. He cuddled up to his mother and asked: "Mother, was I stupid?" But his mother hugged him close. "No, my little son," she said. "If you were dressed in silk and gold from top to toe, you could not look any nicer than in your little red cap." Then Anders felt brave again. He knew well enough that mother's cap was the best cap in all the world. Adapted from "Swedish Fairy Tales." WHO STOLE THE BIRD'S NEST? "To whit! to whit! to whee! Will you listen to me? Who stole four eggs I laid, And the nice nest I made?" "Not I," said the cow. "Moo-oo! Such a thing I'd never do. I gave you a wisp of hay, But I did n't take your nest away. Not I," said the cow. "Moo-oo! Such a thing I'd never do." THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 189 ' 'To whit! to whit! to whee! Will you listen to me? Who stole four eggs I laid, And the nice nest I made?" "Bob-o-link! bob-o-link! Now what do you think? Who stole a nest away From the plum tree to-day?" "Not I," said the dog. ''Bow-wow! I wouldn't be so mean, anyhow! I gave the hairs the nest to make, But the nest I did not take. "Not I," said the dog. "Bow-wow! I'm not so mean, anyhow." "To whit! to whit! to whee! Will you listen to me? Who stole four eggs I laid, And the nice nest I made?" "Bob-o-link! bob-o-link! Now what do you think? Who stole a nest away, From the plum tree to-day?" i 9 o THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 1 ' Coo-coo ! coo-coo ! coo-coo ! Let me speak a word or two! Who stole that pretty nest From little Yellowbreast?' , "Not I," said the sheep, "Oh, no! I wouldn't treat a little bird so. I gave the wool the nest to line, But the nest was none of mine. "Baa! baa!" said the sheep. "Oh, no! I wouldn't treat a little bird so!" "To whit! to whit! to whee! Will you listen to me? Who stole four eggs I laid, And the nice nest I made?" "Bob-o-link! bob-o-link! Now what do you think? Who stole a nest away From the plum tree to-day?" 1 ' Coo-coo ! coo-coo ! coo-coo ! Let me speak a word or two! Who stole the pretty nest From little Yellowbreast?" THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 191 "Caw! caw!" cried the crow, "I should like to know What thief took away A bird's nest to-day?" " Cluck! cluck!" said the hen, "Don't ask me again! Why I haven't a chick Would do such a trick. "We all gave a feather, And she wove them together. I'd scorn to intrude On her and her brood/ Cluck! cluck!" said the hen, "Don't ask me again!" 1 1 Chirr-a- whirr ! Chirr-a- whirr ! All the birds make a stir! Let us find out his name, And all cry 'For shame!'" "I would not rob a bird," Said little Mary Green. "I think I never heard Of anything so mean." i 9 2 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK "It is very cruel, too," Said little Alice Neal, 1 ' I wonder if he knew How sad the bird would feel." A little boy hung down his head, And went and hid behind the bed, For he stole that pretty nest From poor little Yellowbreast. And he felt so full of shame, He didn't like to tell his name. Lydia Maria Child. THE STRAW OX 1 There was once upon a time an old man and an old woman. The old man worked in the fields as a pitch-burner, while the old woman sat at home and spun flax. They were so poor that they could save nothing at all; all their earnings went in bare food, and when that was gone there was nothing left. At last the old woman had a good idea: " Look now, husband," cried she, "make me a straw ox, and smear it all over with tar." "Why, you foolish woman!" said he, 1 From "Cossack Fairy Tales." By permission of the publishers, A. L. Burt Company, New York. THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 193 "what's the good of an ox of that sort?" " Never mind," said she, "you just make it. I know what I am about." What was the poor man to do? He set to work and made the ox of straw, and smeared it all over with tar. The night passed away, and at early dawn the old woman took her distaff, and drove the straw ox out into the steppe to graze, and she herself sat down behind a hillock, and began spinning her flax, and cried: "Graze away, little ox, while I spin my flax. Graze away, little ox, while I spin my flax! " And while she spun, her head drooped down and she began to doze, and while she was dozing, from behind the dark wood and from the back of the huge pines a bear came rush- ing out upon the ox and said: "Who are you? Speak, and tell me!" And the ox said : "A three-year-old heifer am I, made of straw and smeared with tar." "Oh!" said the bear, "stuffed with straw and trimmed with tar, are you? Then give me of your straw and tar, that I may patch up my ragged fur again!" 194 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK ''Take some," said the ox, and the bear fell upon him and began to tear away at the tar. He tore and tore, and buried his teeth in it till he found he couldn't let go again. He tugged and he tugged, but it was no good, and the ox dragged him gradually off, good- ness knows where. Then the old woman awoke, and there was no ox to be seen. "Alas! old fool that I am!" cried she, "perchance it has gone home." Then she quickly caught up her distaff and spinning board, threw them over her shoulders, and hastened off home, and she saw that the ox had ^dragged the bear up to the fence, and in she went to her old man. "Dad, dad," she cried, "look, look! The ox has brought us a bear. Come out and kill it!" Then the old man jumped up, tore off the bear, tied him up, and threw him in the cellar. Next morning, between dark and dawn, the old woman took her distaff and drove the ox into the steppe to graze. She herself sat down by a mound, began spinning, and said: "Graze, graze away, little ox, while I spin THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 195 my flax! Graze, graze away, little ox, while I spin my flax!" And while she spun, her head drooped down and she dozed. And, lo! from behind the dark wood, from the back of the huge pines, a gray wolf came rushing out upon the ox and said: "Who are you? Come, tell me!" "I am a three-year-old heifer, stuffed with straw and trimmed with tar," said the ox. "Oh! trimmed with tar, are you? Then give me of your tar to tar my sides, that the dogs and -the sons of dogs tear me not!" "Take some," said the ox. And with that the wolf fell upon him and tried to tear the tar off. He tugged and tugged, and tore with his teeth, but could get none off. Then he tried to let go, and couldn't; tug and worry as he might, it was no good. When the old woman woke, there was no heifer in sight. ' ' Maybe my heifer has gone home ! ' ' she cried. "I'll go home and see." When she got there she was astonished, for by the paling stood the ox with the wolf still tugging at it. She ran and told her old man, and her old man came and threw the wolf into the cellar also. 196 THE STORY" TELLER'S BOOK On the third day the old woman again drove her ox into the pastures to graze, and sat down by a mound and dozed off. Then a fox came running up. "Who are you?" it asked the ox. "I'm a three-year-old heifer, stuffed with straw and daubed with tar." "Then give me some of your tar to smear my sides with, when those dogs and sons of dogs tear my hide! " "Take some," said the ox. Then the fox fastened her teeth in him and couldn't draw them out again. The old woman told her old man, and he took and cast the fox into the cellar in the same way. And after that they caught Pussy Swiftfoot ! likewise. vSo when he had got them all safely the old man sat down on a bench before the cellar and began sharpening a knife. And the bear said to him: "Tell me, daddy, what are you sharpening your knife for ? ' ' "To flay your skin off, that I may make a leather jacket for myself and a pelisse for my old woman." 1 The hare. ^ THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 197 "Oh! don't flay me, daddy dear! Rather let me go, and I '11 bring you a lot of honey." " Very well, see you do it," and he unbound and let the bear go. Then he sat down on the bench and again began sharpening his knife. And the wolf asked him: "Daddy, what are you sharpening your knife for?" " To flay off your skin, that I may make me a warm cap against the winter." "Oh! Don't flay me, daddy dear, and I'll bring you a whole herd of little sheep." "Well, see that you do it," and he let the wolf go. Then he sat down, and began sharpening his knife again. The fox put out her little snout, and asked him: "Be so kind, dear daddy, and tell me why you are sharpening your knife!" "Little foxes," said the old man, "have nice skins that do capitally for collars and trimmings, and I want to skin you!" "Oh! Don't take my skin away, daddy dear, and I will bring you hens and geese." "Very well, see that you do it!" and he let the fox go. 1 98 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK The hare now alone remained, and the old man began sharpening his knife on the hare's account. "Why do you do that?" asked Puss, and he replied: " Little hares have nice little, soft, warm skins, which will make me nice gloves and mittens against the winter!" "Oh! daddy dear! Don't flay me, and I'll bring you kale and good cauliflower, if only you let me go!" Then he let the hare go also. Then they went to bed: but very early in the morning, when it was neither dusk nor dawn, there was a noise in the doorway like "Durrrrrr!" "Daddy!" cried the old woman, "there's some one scratching at the door: go and see who it is!" The old man went out, and there was the bear carrying a whole hive full of honey. The old man took the honey from the bear; but no sooner did he lie down again than there was another "Durrrrr!" at the door. The old man looked out and saw the wolf driving a whole flock of sheep into the THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 199 courtyard. Close on his heels came the fox, driving before him the geese and hens, and all manner of fowls; and last of all came the hare, bringing cabbage and kale, and all manner of good food. And the old man was glad, and the old woman was glad. And the old man sold the sheep and oxen, and got so rich that he needed nothing more. As for the straw-stuffed ox, it stood in the sun till it fell to pieces. R. Nesbit Bain. NURSERY SONG As I walked over the hill one day, I listened, and heard a mother sheep say, "In all the green world there is nothing so sweet As my little lamb, with his nimble feet; With his eye so bright, And his wool so white, Oh, he is my darling, my heart's delight!" And the mother sheep and her little one Side by side lay down in the sun; And they went to sleep on the hillside warm, While my little lambie lies here on my arm. 200 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK I went to the kitchen, and what did I see But the old gray cat with her kittens three! I heard her whispering soft; said she, "My kittens, with tails so cunningly curled, Are the prettiest things that can be in the world. The bird on the tree, And the old ewe, she, May love their babies exceedingly; But I love my kittens there, Under the rocking chair. I love my kittens with all my might, I love them at morning, noon, and night. Now I '11 take up my kitties, the kitties I love, And we '11 lie down together beneath the warm stove." Let the kittens sleep under the stove so warm, While my little darling lies here on my arm. I went to the yard, and I saw the old hen Go clucking about with her chickens ten; She clucked and she scratched and she bustled away, And what do you think I heard the hen say? I heard her say, "The sun never did shine On anything like to these chickens of mine. 12 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK You may hunt the full moon and the stars, if you please, But you will not find ten such chickens as these. My dear, downy darlings, my sweet little things, Come, nestle now cozily under my wings." So the hen said, And the chickens all sped As fast as they could to their nice feather bed. And there let them sleep, in their feathers so warm, While my little chick lies here on my arm. Mrs. Carter. THE STARS IN THE SKY 1 Once on a time and twice on a time, and all times together as ever I heard tell of, there was a tiny lassie who would weep all day to have the stars in the sky to play with ; she wouldn't have this, and she wouldn't have that, but it was always the stars she would have. So one fine day off she walked, till by and by she came to a mill dam. "Goode'en to ye," says she; "I'm seeking 1 From " Magic Casements." By permission of the publishers, Doubleday Page 6* Company New York. 202 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK the stars in the sky to play with. Have you seen any?" "Oh, yes, my bonny lassie," said the mill dam. "They shine in my own face o' nights till I can't sleep for them. Jump in, and perhaps you'll find one." So she jumped in, and swam about and swam about, but ne'er a one could she see. So she went on till she came to a brooklet. "Good e'en to ye, Brooklet, Brooklet," says she; "I'm seeking the stars in the sky to play with. Have you seen any? " "Yes, indeed, my bonny lassie," said the brooklet. "They glint on my banks at night. Paddle about, and maybe you'll find one." So she paddled and she paddled and she paddled, but ne'er a one did she find. So on she went till she came to the Good Folk. "Good e'en to ye, Good Folk," says she; "I'm looking for the stars in the sky to play with. Have ye seen e'er a one?" "Why, yes, my bonny lassie," said the Good Folk. "They shine on the grass here o' nights. Dance with us, and maybe you'll find one." And she danced and she danced and she THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK'' 203 danced, but ne'er a one did she see. So down she sat; I suppose she wept. "Oh, dearie me, oh, dearie me. I've swam and I've paddled and I've danced, and if you'll not help me I shall never find the stars in the sky to play with. " But the Good Folk whispered together, and one of them came up to her and took her by the hand and said: "If you won't go home to your mother, go forward, go forward; mind you take the right road. Ask Four Feet to carry you to No Feet at All, and tell No Feet at All to carry you to the stairs without steps, and if you can climb that — " "Oh, shall I be among the stars in the sky then?" cried the lassie, "If you'll not be, then you'll be elsewhere, " said the Good Folk, and set to dancing again. So on she went again with a light heart, and by and by she came to a saddled horse, tied to a tree. "Goode'en to ye, Beast," said she; "I'm seeking the stars in the sky to play with. Will you give me a lift, for all my bones are an-aching. " "Nay," said the horse, "I know naught of 204 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK the stars in the sky, and I 'm here to do the bid- ding of the Good Folk, and not my own will. " "Well," said she, "it's from the Good Folk I come, and they bade me tell Four Feet to carry me to No Feet at All." "That's another story," said he; "jump up and ride with me. " So they rode and they rode and they rode, till they got out of the forest and found them- selves at the edge of the sea. And on the water in front of them was a wide, glistening path running straight out toward a beautiful thing that rose out of the water and went up into the sky, and was all the colors in the world, blue and red and green, and wonderful to look at. "Now get you down," said the horse; "I've brought ye to the end of the land, and that 'sas much as Four Feet can do. I must away home to my own folk." "But," said the lassie, "where's No Feet at All, and where's the stair without steps?" "I know not," said the horse, "it's none of my business, neither. So good e 'en to ye, my bonny lassie"; and off he went. So the lassie stood still and looked at the THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK water, till a strange kind of fish came swim- ming up to her feet. Good e'en to ye, big Fish," says she; "I'm looking for the stars in the sky, and for the stairs that climb up to them. Will ye show me the way?" "Nay," said the fish; "I can't unless you bring me word from the Good Folk." • "Yes, indeed, " said she. "They said Four Feet would bring me to No Feet at All, and No Feet at All would carry me to the stairs without steps." "Ah, well," said the fish; "that's all right then. Get on my back and hold fast. " And off he went, kerplash! into the water, along the silver path toward the bright arch. And the nearer they came the brighter the sheen of it, till she had to shade her eyes from the light of it. And as they came to the foot of it she saw it was a broad, bright road, sloping up and away into the sky, and at the far, far end of it she could see wee shining things dancing about. "Now," said the fish, "here you are, and yon's the stair; climb up, if you can, but hold 206 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK on fast. I'll warrant you find the stair easier at home than by such a way; 'twas ne'er meant for lassies' feet to travel"; and off he splashed through the water. So she clomb and she clomb and she clomb, but ne'er a step higher did she get; the light was before her and around her, and the water behind her, and the more she struggled the more she was forced down into the dark and the cold, and the more she clomb the deeper she fell. But she clomb and she clomb, till she got dizzy in the light and shivered with the cold, and dazed with the fear; but still she clomb, till at last, quite dazed and silly-like, she let clean go, and sank down — down — down. And bang she came on to the hard boards, and found herself sitting, weeping and wail- ing, by the bedside at home all alone. Kate Douglas Wiggin and Nora Smith. THE FAIRIES OF THE CALDON LOW "And where have you been, my Mary, And where have you been from me?" " I've been to the top of the Caldon Low, The midsummer-night to see!" THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 207 "And what did you see, my Mary, All up on the Caldon Low?" "I saw the glad sunshine come down, And I saw the merry winds blow." "And what did you hear, my Mary, All up on the Caldon Low?" "I heard the drops of the waters made, And the ears of the green corn fill." "Oh! tell me all, my Mary, All, all that ever you know; For you must have seen the fairies Last night on the Caldon Low." "Then take me on your knee, mother; And listen, mother of mine. A hundred fairies danced last night, And the harpers they were nine. "And their harp-strings rung so merrily To their dancing feet so small ; But oh! the words of their talking Were merrier far than all." "And what were the words, my Mary, That then you heard them say?" 208 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK "I'll tell you all, my mother; But let me have my way. "Some of them played with the water, And rolled it down the hill; 'And this,' they said, 'shall speedily turn The poor old miller's mill: " 'For there has been no water Ever since the first of May; And a busy man will the miller be At dawning of the day. ' ' ' Oh ! the miller, how he will laugh When he sees the mill dam rise! The jolly old miller, how he will laugh, Till the tears fill both his eyes!' "And some they seized the little winds That sounded over the hill; And each put a horn into his mouth, And blew both loud and shrill: " ' And there,' they said, ' the merry winds go, Away from every horn; And they shall clear the mildew dank From the blind old widow's com. THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 209 " 'Oh! the poor blind widow, Though she has been blind so long, She'll be blithe enough when the mildew's gone, And the corn stands tall and strong.' "And some they brought the brown lintseed And flung it down from the Low; 'And this,' they said, 'by the sunrise, In the weaver's croft shall grow. " 'Oh! the poor lame weaver, How he will laugh outright, When he sees his dwindling flax field All full of flowers by night!' "And then out spoke a brownie, With a long beard on his chin ; 'I have spun up all the tow,' said he, 'And I want some more to spin. " 'I've spun a piece of hempen cloth, And I w 7 ant to spin another; A little sheet for Mary's bed, And an apron for her mother.' "With that I could not help but laugh, And I laughed out loud and free; 210 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK And then on top of the Caldon Low There was no one left but me. "And all on the top of the Caldon Low The mists were cold and gray, And nothing I saw but the mossy stones That round about me lay. "But coming down from the hilltop, I heard afar below How busy the jolly miller was And how the wheel did go. "And I peeped into the widow's field, And sure enough, were seen The yellow ears of the mildewed corn, All standing stout and green. "And down to the weaver's croft I stole, To see if the flax were sprung; But I met the weaver at his gate, With the good news on his tongue. "Now this is all I heard, mother, And all that I did see; So, pr'ythee, make my bed, mother, For I'm tired as I can be." Mary Howitt. THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK FINDING A DARK PLACE Once there was a dark place, a very dark place, and all the birds and bees and butter- flies were talking about it. A bird said, "I will go and see if it is a dark place." So he flew to it, and came back, saying, "Yes, it is a dark place." Then a bee said, "Buzz, buzzzz! I '11 go and find the dark place." And when he came back he said, "Oh, my, what a dark place I found!" Then a butterfly flew to find it, and when he came back he said, "Yes, it is a dark, dark place." Then the wind said he would go and find it, and he puffed out his cheeks (this way) and blew himself along. When he came back he said, "Yes, it is the very darkest place I ever saw." So then the sun said, "I 11 go and find the dark place," and when he came back he said, "I couldn't find a dark place, and there is n't any dark place anywhere." Why could n't the sun find a dark place? 212 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK MABEL ON MIDSUMMER DAY PART I "Arise, my maiden, Mabel," The mother said, "arise, For the golden sun of Midsummer Is shining in the skies. "Arise, my little maiden, For thou must speed away To wait upon thy grandmother, This livelong summer day. "And thou must carry with thee This wheaten cake so fine, This new-made pat of butter, This little flask of wine. "And tell the dear old body This day I cannot come, For the goodman went out yestermorn, And he is not come home. "And more than this, poor Amy Upon my knee doth lie; I fear me with this fever pain The little child will die! THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 213 "And thou canst help thy grandmother; The table thou canst spread, Canst feed the little dog and bird, And thou canst make her bed. "And thou canst fetch the water From the lady- well hard by; And thou canst gather from the wood The fagots brown and dry. "Canst go down to the lonesome glen, To milk the mother ewe; This is the work, my Mabel, That thou wilt have to do. "But listen now, my Mabel; This is Midsummer Day, When all the fairy people From elf -land come away. "And when thou art in lonesome glen, Keep by the running burn, And do not pluck the strawberry flower, Nor break the lady fern. "But think not of the fairy folk Lest mischief should befall; 214 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK Think only of poor Amy, And how thou lov'st us all. "Yet keep good heart, my Mabel, If thou the fairies see, And give them kindly answer If they should speak to thee. "And when into the fir wood Thou go'st for fagots brown, Do not, like idle children, Go wandering up and down. "But fill thy little apron, My child, with earnest speed; And that thou break no living bough Within the wood, take heed. "For they are spiteful brownies Who in the wood abide, So be thou careful of this thing, Lest evil should betide. "But think not, little Mabel, Whil' st thou art in the wood, Of dwarfish, wilful brownies, But of the Father good. THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 215 "And when thou goest to the spring To fetch the water thence, Do not disturb the little stream, Lest this should give offense. "For the queen of all the fairies, She loves that water bright; I've seen her drinking there myself On many a summer night. "But she's a gracious lady, And her thou need'st not fear; Only disturb thou not the stream, Nor spill the water clear." "Now all this will I heed, mother; Will no word disobey, And wait upon the grandmother This livelong summer day." PART II Away tripped little Mabel, With the wheaten cake so fine, With the new-made pat of butter, And the little flask of wine. And long before the sun was hot And morning mists had cleared, 2\6 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK Beside the good old grandmother The willing child appeared. And all her mother's message She told with right good will, How that the father was away And the little child was ill. And then she swept the hearth up clean, And then the table spread, And next she fed the dog and bird, And then she made the bed. "And go now/' said the grandmother, "Ten paces down the dell, And bring in water for the day, — Thou know'st the lady-well." The first time that good Mabel went, Nothing at all saw she Except a bird, a sky-blue bird, That sat upon a tree. The next time that good Mabel went, There sat a lady bright Beside the well, — a lady small, All clothed in green and white. THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK A curtsey low made Mabel, And then she stooped to fill Her pitcher at the sparkling spring, But no drop did she spill. "Thou art a handy maiden," The fairy lady said; "Thou hast not spilled a drqp, nor yet The fair spring troubled! "And for this thing which thou hast done, Yet may'st not understand, I give to thee a better gift Than houses or than land. "Thou shalt do well whate'er thou dost, As thou hast done this day; Shalt have the will and power to please, And shalt be loved alway." Thus having said she passed from sight ; And naught could Mabel see But the little bird, the sky-blue bird, Upon the leafy tree. "And now, go," said the grandmother, "And fetch in fagots dry; 2i 8 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK All in the neighboring fir wood Beneath the trees they lie." Away went kind, good Mabel, Into the fir wood near, Where all the ground was dry and brown And the grass grew thin and sere. She did not wander up and down, Nor yet a live branch pull, But steadily of the fallen boughs She picked her apron full. And when the wild-wood brownies Came sliding to her mind, She drove them thence, as she was told, With home thoughts sweet and kind. But all that while, the brownies Within the fir wood still, They watched her how she picked the wood And strove to do no ill. "And oh! but she is small and neat," Said one; " 'twere shame to spite A creature so demure and meek, A creature harmless quite!" THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 219 "Look only," said another, "At her little gown of blue; At her kerchief pinned about her head, And at her little shoe!" "Oh! but she is a comely child," Said a third; "and we will lay A good-luck penny in her path, A boon for her this day — Seeing she broke no living wood, No live thing did affray! " With that the smallest penny Of the finest silver ore, Upon the dry and slippery path, Lay Mabel's feet before. With joy she picked the penny up, The fairy penny good; And with her fagots dry and brown Went wondering from the wood. "Now she has that," the brownies said, "Let flax be ever so dear, 'Twill buy her clothes of the very best, For many and many a year! " 220 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK "And go now," said the grandmother, "Since falling is the dew, Go down into the lonesome glen, And milk the mother ewe." All down into the lonesome glen, Through copses thick and wild, Through moist, rank grass, by trickling stream, Went on the willing child. And when she came to lonesome glen, She kept beside the burn, And neither plucked the strawberry flower Nor broke the lady fern. And while she milked the mother ewe Within the lonesome glen, She wished that little Amy Were strong and well again. And soon as she had thought this thought, She heard a coming sound As if a thousand fairy folk Were gathering all around. And then she heard a little voice, Shrill as the midge's wing, THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 221 That spake aloud, "A human child Is here — yet mark this thing, ! "The lady fern is all unbroke, The strawberry flower unta'en! What shall be done for her who still From mischief can refrain?" "Give her a fairy cake! " said one; "Grant her a wish! " said three; "The latest wish that she hath wished," Said all, "whate'er it be! " Kind Mabel heard the words they spake. And from the lonesome glen Unto the good old grandmother Went gladly back again. Thus happened it to Mabel On that Midsummer Day; And these three fairy blessings She took with her away. ' Tis good to make all duty sweet, To be alert and kind; ' Tis good, like little Mabel, To have a willing mind. Mary Howitt. 222 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK OEYVIND AND MARIT 1 I Oeyvind was his name. A low, barren cliff overhung the house in which he was born ; fir and birch looked down on the roof, and wild cherry strewed flowers over it. Upon this roof there walked about a little goat, which belonged to Oeyvind. He was kept there that he might not go astray; and Oeyvind carried leaves and grass up to him. One fine day the goat leaped down, and away to the cliff; he went straight up, and came where he never had been before. Oeyvind did not see him when he came out after dinner, and thought immediately of the fox. He grew hot all over, looked around about, and called, ' ' Killy-killy-killy-goat ! ' ' " Bay-ay-ay, " said the goat, from the brow of the hill, as he cocked his head on one side and looked down. But beside the goat there kneeled a little girl. "Is it yours — this goat? " she asked. Oeyvind stood with eyes and mouth wide open, thrust both hands into the breeches he had on, and asked, "Who are you?" 1 From J. G. Whillier's "Child Life in Prose." By permission of the pub- lishers, Houghton Mifflin Company. THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 223 "I am Marit, mother's little one, father's riddle, the elf in the house, granddaughter of Ole Nordistuen of the Heide farms, four years old in the autumn, two days after the frost nights, I!" "Are you really?" he said, and drew a long breath, which he had not dared to do so long as she was speaking. "Is it yours, this goat?" asked the girl again. "Ye-es," he said, and looked up. "I have taken such a fancy to the goat. You will not give it to me?" "No, that I won't." She lay kicking her legs, and looking down at him, and then she said, "But if I give you a butter-cake for the goat, can I have him then?" Oeyvind came of poor people, and had eaten butter-cake only once in his life; that was when grandpa came there, and anything like it he had never eaten before or since. He looked up at the girl. "Let me see the butter-cake first, " said he. She was not long about it, and took out a large cake, which she held in her hand. 224 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK "Here it is," she said, and threw it down. "Ow, it went to pieces," said the boy. He gathered up every bit with the utmost care; he could not help tasting the very smallest, and that was so good he had to taste another, and, before he knew it himself, he had eaten up the whole cake. "Now the goat is mine," said the girl. The boy stopped with the last bit in his mouth, the girl lay and laughed, and the goat stood by her side, with white breast and dark brown hair, looking sideways down. " Could you not wait a little while? " begged the boy; his heart began to beat. Then the girl laughed still more, and got up quickly on her knees. " No, the goat is mine, " she said, and threw her arms round its neck, loosened one of her garters, and fastened it round. Oeyvind looked up. She got up, and began pulling at the goat. It would not follow, but twisted its neck downwards to where Oeyvind stood. "Bay-ay-ay," it said. But she took hold of its hair with one hand, pulled the string with the other, and said gently, "Come, goat, and you shall go into THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 225 the room and eat out of mother's dish and my apron." And then she sang: "Come, boy's goat, Come, mother's calf, Come, mewing cat In snow-white shoes. Come, yellow ducks, Come out of your hiding place; Come, little chickens, Who can hardly go; Come, my doves With soft feathers; See, the grass is wet, But the sun does you good; And early, early is it in summer, But call for the autumn, and it will come." There stood the boy. He had taken care of the goat since the winter before, when it was born, and he had never imagined he could lose it; but now it was done in a moment, and he would never see it again. His mother came up humming from the beach, with wooden pans which she had scoured; she saw the boy sitting with his legs crossed under him on the grass, crying and she went up to him. 226 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK "What are you crying about?" "Oh, the goat, the goat!" "Yes; where is the goat?" asked his mother, looking up at the roof. "It will never come back again," said the boy. "Dear me! How could that happen?" He would not confess immediately. "Has the fox taken it?" "Ah, if it only were the fox!" "Are you crazy? " said his mother. "What has become of the goat?" "Oh-h-h, I happened to — to — to sell it for a cake!" As soon as lie had uttered the word, he understood what it was to sell the goat for a cake; he had not thought of it before. His mother said: "What do you suppose the little goat thinks of you, when you could sell him for a cake?" And the boy thought about it, and felt sure that he could never again be happy in this world, and not even in heaven, he thought, afterwards. He felt so sorry that he promised himself never again to do anything wrong, THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 227 never to cut the thread on the spinning wheel, nor let the goats out, nor go down to the sea alone. He fell asleep where he lay, and dreamed about the goat, that he had gone to heaven; our Lord sat there with a great beard, as in the catechism, and the goat stood eating the leaves off a shining tree; but Oeyvind sat alone on the roof, and could not come up. Suddenly there came something wet close up to his ear, and he started up. " Bay-ay- ay !" it said; and it was the goat, who had come back again. "What! have you got back?" He jumped up, took it by the two forelegs, and danced with it as if it were a brother; he pulled its beard, and he was just going in to his mother with it, when he heard some one behind him, and, looking, saw the girl sitting on the greensward by his side. Now he understood it all, and let go the goat. "Is it you who have come with it?" She sat tearing the grass up with her hands, and said: "They would not let me keep it; grand- father is sitting up there, waiting." 228 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK While the boy stood looking at her, he heard a sharp voice from the road above call out, "Now!" Then she remembered what she was to do ; she rose, went over to Oeyvind, put one of her muddy hands into his, and, turning her face away, said: "I beg your pardon!" But then her courage was all gone; she threw herself over the goat, and wept. "I think you had better keep the goat," said Oeyvind, looking the other way. "Come, make haste!" said grandpapa, up on the hill; and Marit rose, and walked with reluctant feet upwards. "You are not forgetting your garter?" Oeyvind called after her. She turned around, and looked first at the garter and then at him. At last she came to a great resolution, and said, in a choked voice: "You may keep that. " He went over to her, and, taking her hand, said : "Thank you!" "Oh, nothing to thank for!" she answered, but drew a long sigh, and walked on. THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 229 He sat down on the grass again. The goat walked about near him, but he was no longer so pleased with it as before. II The goat was fastened to the wall; but Oeyvind walked about, looking up at the cliff. His mother came out and sat down by his side; he wanted to hear stories about what was far away, for now the goat no longer satisfied him. So she told him how once everything could talk: the mountain talked to the stream, and the stream to the river, the river to the sea, and the sea to the sky; but then he asked if the sky did not talk to any one; and the sky talked to the clouds, the clouds to the trees, the trees to the grass, the grass to the flies, the flies to the animals, the animals to the children, the children to the grown-up people; and so it went on, until it had gone round, and no one could tell where it had begun. Oeyvind looked at the mountain, the trees, the sky, and had never really seen them before. The cat came out at that moment, and lay down on the stone before the door in the sunshine. 23Q THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK "What does the cat say?" asked Oeyvind, pointing. His mother sang: "At evening softly shines the sun, The cat lies lazy on the stone. Two small mice, Cream, thick and nice, Four bits of fish, I stole behind a dish, And am so lazy and tired, Because so well I have fared, says the cat." But then came the cock, with all the hens. "What does the cock say?" asked Oeyvind, clapping his hands together. His mother sang: "The mother hen her wings doth sink, The cock stands on one leg to think: That gray goose Steers high her course; But sure am I that never she As clever as a cock can be. Run in, you hens, keep under the roof to-day, For the sun has got leave to stay away, says the cock." But the little birds were sitting on the ridgepole, singing. "What do the birds say?" asked Oeyvind, laughing. THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 231 "Dear Lord, how pleasant is life, For those who have neither toil nor strife, say the birds.' ' And she told him what they all said, down to the ant who crawled in the moss, and the worm who worked in the bark. That same summer, one day, his mother came in and said to him, " To-morrow school begins and -then you are going there with me. Oeyvind had heard that school was a place where many children played together, and he had no objection. Indeed, he was much pleased, and he was so anxious to get there, he walked faster than his mother up over the hills. When he came in there sat as many chil- dren around a table as he had ever seen at church. Others were sitting around the walls. They all looked up as Oeyvind and his mother entered, and as he was going to find a seat they all wanted to make room for him. He looked around a long time with his cap in his hand, and just as he was going to sit down he saw close beside him, sitting by the hearthstone, Marit of the many 232 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK names. She had covered her face with both hands, and sat peeping at him through her fingers. "I shall sit here/' said Oeyvind quickly, seating himself at her side, and then she laughed and he laughed too. "Is it always like this here?" he whispered to Marit. "Yes, just like this; I have a goat now," she said. "Have you?" "Yes; but it is not so pretty as yours." "Why don't you come oftener up on the cliff?" said he. "Grandpapa is afraid I shall fall over." "But it is not so very high." "Grandpapa won't let me, for all that." "Mother knows so many songs," said he. "Grandpapa does too, you can believe." "Yes, but he does not know what mother does." "Grandpapa knows one about a dance. Would you like to hear it ? " "Yes, very much." "Well, then you must come farther over here, and I will tell it to you." THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 233 He changed his place, and then she recited a little piece of a song three or four times over so that the little boy learned it, and that was the first he learned at school. Then the children sang, and Oeyvind stood with Marit by the door. All the children stood with folded hands and sang. Oeyvind and Marit also folded their hands, but they could not sing. And that was the first day at school. BjORNE BjORNESON. THE FAIRIES 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 ; 14 234 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK Some in the reeds Of the black mountain lake, With frogs for their watchdogs, 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. THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 235 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! William Allingham. 236 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK THE HALF-CHICK 1 Once upon a time there was a handsome black Spanish hen who had a brood of chick- ens. They were all fine, plump little birds except the youngest, who was quite unlike his brothers and sisters. This one looked just as if he had been cut in two. He had only one leg, and one wing, and one eye, and half a head, and half a beak. His mother shook her head sadly as she looked at him and said : "My youngest born is only a half -chick. " And she called him Medio Pollito, which is Spanish for half-chick. Now, though Medio Pollito was such an odd little fellow, he had a roving spirit in spite of his one leg. He was always running away, and when his mother called him to return to the coop he pretended that he could not hear, because he had only one ear. When she took the whole family out for a walk in the fields, Medio Pollito would hop away by himself and hide in the corn. As he grew older he grew more self-willed and dis- obedient, and was often very rude to his 1 From the Andrew Lang "Green Fairy Book," Longmans, Green &• Co., New York. THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 237 mother and disagreeable to the other chickens. One day he had been out far longer than usual in the fields. On his return he strutted up to his mother with the little hop and kick which was his way of walking, and, cocking his one eye at her in a very bold way, he said : "Mother, I am tired of life in this dull farmyard. I'm off to Madrid to see the king." "To Madrid, Medio Pollito! ,, exclaimed his mother. "Why, you silly chick, you would be tired out before you had gone half the distance. No, no, stay at home with your mother, and some day when you are bigger we will go for a little journey together. ' ' But Medio Pollito had made up his mind, and off he would go. Scarcely waiting to say good-by to his family, away he stumped down the highroad that led to Madrid. "Be sure that you are kind and civil to every one you meet," called his mother, running after him; but he was in such a hurry to be off that he did not wait to answer her or even to look back. A little later in the day, as he was taking a short cut through a field, he passed a stream. 238 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK Now the stream was all choked up and over- grown with weeds and water plants, so that its waters could not flow freely. "Oh! Medio Pollito," it cried as the half-chick hopped along its banks, "do come and help me by clearing away these weeds." "Help you, indeed!" exclaimed Medio Pollito, tossing his head and shaking the few feathers in his tail. "Do you think I have nothing to do but to waste my time on such trifles? Help yourself, and don't trouble busy travelers. I am off to Madrid to see the king," and hoppity-kick, hoppity-kick, away stumped Medio Pollito. A little later he came to a fire that had been left by some gypsies in a wood. It was burning very low and would soon be out. "Oh! Medio Pollito," cried the fire in a weak, wavering voice as the half-chick ap- proached, "in a few minutes I shall go quite out unless you put some sticks and dry leaves upon me. Do help me, or I shall die!" "Help you, indeed!" answered Medio Pol- lito. "I have other things to do. Gather sticks for yourself and don't trouble me. I am off to Madrid to see the king," and THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 239 hoppity-kick, hoppity-kick, away stumped Medio Pollito. The next morning, as he was getting near Madrid, he passed a large chestnut tree, in whose branches the wind was caught and entangled. "Oh! Medio Pollito," called the wind, "do hop up here and help me to get free of these branches. I cannot come away, and it is so uncomfortable." "It is your own fault for going there," answered Medio Pollito. "I can't waste all my morning stopping here to help you. Just shake yourself off, and don't hinder me, for I am off to Madrid to see the king," and hoppity-kick, hoppity-kick, away stumped Medio Pollito in great glee, for the towers and roofs of Madrid were now in sight. When he entered the town he saw before him a great, splendid house, with soldiers standing before the gates. This he knew must be the king's palace, and he determined to hop up to the front gate and wait there until the king came out. But as he was hopping past one of the back windows the king's cook saw him. 2 4 o THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK "Here is the very thing I want," he exclaimed, "for the king has just sent a message to say that he must have chicken broth for his dinner." Opening the window, he stretched out his arm, caught Medio Pollito, and popped him into the broth pot that was standing near the fire. Oh! how wet and clammy the water felt as it went over Medio Pollito's head, making his feathers cling to him. "Water! water!" he cried in his despair, "do have pity upon me, and do not wet me like this." "Ah! Medio Pollito," replied the water, "you would not help me when I was a little stream away in the field. Now I cannot help you." Then the fire began to burn and scald Medio Pollito, and he danced and hopped from one side of the pot to the other, trying to get away from the heat and crying out in pain: "Fire! fire! do not scorch me like this; you can't think how it hurts." "Ah! Medio Pollito," answered the fire, "you would not help me when I was dying THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 241 away in the wood. Now I cannot help you." At last, just when the pain was so great that Medio Pollito thought he must die, the cook lifted up the lid of the pot to see if the broth was ready for the king's dinner. "Look here!" he cried in horror, "this chicken is quite useless. It is burned to a cinder. I can't send it up to the royal table." And, opening the window, he threw Medio Pollito out into the street. But the wind caught him up and whirled him through the air so quickly that Medio Pollito could scarcely breathe, and his heart beat against his side till he thought it would break. '"Oh, wind!" at last he gasped out, "if you hurry me along like this you will kill me. Do let me rest a moment, or — " But he was so breathless that he could not finish his sentence. "Ah! Medio Pollito," replied the wind, "when I was caught in the branches of the chestnut tree you would not help me. So now I cannot help you." And he swirled Medio Pollito over the roofs of the houses till they reached the 242 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK highest church in the town, and there he left him, fastened to the top of the steeple. And there stands Medio Pollito to this day. And if you go to Madrid and walk through the streets till you come to the highest church, you will see Medio Pollito perched on his one leg on the steeple, with his one wing drooping at his side, and gazing sadly out of his one eye over the town. Adapted. THE DISCONTENTED TREE A little tree stood in the midst of a forest. Instead of leaves, it was covered with fine, sharp needles, which pricked the fingers if one sought to gather them. One day the little tree said, in a complain- ing way, "All of my comrades have beautiful leaves, and I have only needles. No one comes near me; all pass me by. If I could have my wish, I would have leaves of pure gold." When night came the little tree slept. On waking early in the morning, behold, it was clad in leaves of shining gold! Oh, what a splendid appearance it made! How it glis- tened in the sun! THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 243 Then the little tree said : " Now I am proud. No other tree in the wood has golden leaves. " But as evening drew nigh an old man, with a long beard, came walking through the wood, carrying a heavy sack on his shoul- ders. When he saw the tree, with its brilliant, glittering foliage, he quickly plucked the golden leaves, one by one, thrust them into his sack, and hastened away, leaving the tree empty and shorn. Then the poor little tree was overcome with grief and vexation. "The golden leaves have only been a trouble to me. How ashamed I shall be before the other trees! If I could only have another wish, I would wish for leaves of pure glass." The little tree slept again; and again, on waking, behold, another surprise! All the branches were rilled with lovely glass leaves! How they danced in the sunbeams! "Ah!" said the little tree, "now I am happy! No tree in the woods glitters as I do!" But soon there arose a great storm, with a mighty wind, which came rushing through the forest, and when it had passed, there lay 244 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK the glass leaves shattered and broken upon the grass. Then the little tree said, sorrowfully: "See, now, there lie my beautiful leaves in the dust, and the other trees with their green leaves stand unharmed! If I could wish, I would have green leaves." Again the tree slept, and in the morning it was clothed in green. Then the little tree laughed aloud and said: "Now I have leaves like the others, and have no cause for shame!" There came along just then an old goat, looking for food for her young. She saw the little tree, and in a twinkling stripped it of all its leaves. Once more the poor little tree stood for- lorn, with its empty branches, and said: "I will wish for no more leaves, neither green, yellow, nor red. If I had only my needles back, I would not complain." Sorrowfully the little tree went to sleep, and sorrowfully it waked. Then it saw itself in the bright sunshine, and laughed, and laughed, and all the trees laughed with it; for in one night it had received again all its THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 245 needles. Now at last it was content, and indulged no longer in foolish wishes. THE THREE LITTLE CHRISTMAS TREES THAT GREW ON THE HILL 1 Once there were three fir trees growing on a hill. One was tall and beautiful, with wide branches; the second tree was not quite so tall, but it was growing larger every day; the third was only a little tree, but it was sturdy and strong, and it hoped some day to be as tall as its brothers. The summer had gone and the maples and oaks and birches had lost their leaves long ago. Now the ground was white with snow and the fir trees were hoping that Santa Claus would soon come and take them away to be Christmas trees. One day a little bird came hopping and fluttering along over the snow, for it had hurt its wing and could not fly. " Oh, please, big fir tree," said the little bird, "may I rest here in your branches? I am very tired, and I 'm afraid I shall freeze out here in the snow." 1 From " The Three Little Christmas Trees,'' by Mary McDowell. 246 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK "No," said the fir tree, "I can't have any little birds in my branches. I am going to be a Christmas tree." And it drew its branches proudly away from the shivering little bird. The little bird hopped away to the second tree and said: "Oh, please, dear tree, may I rest in ycur branches? My wing is hurt. I cannot fly, and I have come a long way over the snow." "No," said the tree, "I cannot have any little birds in my branches. I am going to be a Christmas tree." So the little bird hopped away very slowly to the smallest tree. It was almost afraid to ask again, but the night was coming, so the little bird said very softly, "Please, little tree, may I rest in your branches? I am so cold and tired, I don't think I can go any farther." "Oh, yes," said the little tree, "creep up here close to my trunk and I will cover you as best I can with my branches. I am so glad to have you here." The little tree stood straight and still in the moonlight, trying its best to shield the little bird from the wind. THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 247 Far away came the sound of silvery bells, which grew nearer and nearer until there came into view a sleigh drawn by reindeer. Straight up the hill it came, past the two big trees and on till it came to where the little tree stood. Out jumped the driver, all clad in fur. "This is the most beautiful tree in all the wood," said he. "I must have it for my Christmas tree," and he took it up gently, so that not even the little bird was wakened. "And this little bird will be some little child's Christmas present." And into his sleigh he jumped and away they flew over the sparkling snow. Adapted. THE SNOW BIRD'S SONG The ground was all covered with snow one day, And two little sisters were busy at play, When a snow bird was sitting close by on a tree, And merrily singing his chick-a-de-dee, Chick-a-de-dee, chick-a-de-dee, And merrily singing his chick-a-de-dee. 248 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK He had not been singing his tune very long Ere Emily heard him, so loud was his song; "Oh, sister, look out of the window," said she; "Here's a dear little bird singing chick-a-de- dee, Chick-a-de-dee, chick-a-de-dee, And merrily singing his chick-a-de-dee. "Oh, mother, do get him some stockings and shoes, And a nice little frock, and a hat, if he choose; I wish he 'd come into the parlor and see How warm we would make him, poor chick- a-de-dee, Chick-a-de-dee, chick-a-de-dee, And merrily singing his chick-a-de-dee." "There is One, my dear child, though I cannot tell who, Has clothed me already, and warm enough too. Good morning! Oh, who are as happy as we?" And away he went singing his chick-a-de-dee, Chick-a-de-dee, chick-a-de-dee, And away he went singing his chick-a- de-dee. F. C. Woodworth. THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 249 THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS 'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house Not a creature was stirring — not even a mouse ; The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, In the hope that St. Nicholas soon would be there. The children were nestled all snug in their beds, While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads; And Mamma in her kerchief, and I in my cap, Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap; When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter. Away to the window I flew like a flash, Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash. The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow 15 250 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK Gave the luster of midday to objects below — When what to my wondering eyes should appear But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny rein- deer, With a little old driver, so lively and quick, I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick. More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, And he whistled and shouted and called them by name : "Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer! now, Vixen ! On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Dunder and Blixen! To the top of the porch, to the top of the wall ! Now, dash away ! dash away ! dash away all ! ' ' As dry leaves before the wild hurricane fly, When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky, So up to the housetop the coursers they flew, With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too. And then in a twinkling I heard on the roof The prancing and pawing of each tiny hoof. THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 251 As I drew in my head, and was turning around, Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound. He was dressed all in fur from his head to his foot, And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot; A bundle of toys he had flung on his back, And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack. His eyes — how they twinkled! his dimples — how merry! His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry; His droll little mouth was drawn up in a bow, And his beard on his chin was as white as the snow; The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath. He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf, And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself. 252 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK A wink of his eye and a twist of his head Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread. He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, And filled all the stockings — then turned with a jerk ; And laying his finger aside of his nose, And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose. He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, And away they all flew like the down of a thistle ; But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight : " Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!" Clement C. Moore. SNOW-WHITE AND ROSE-RED A poor woman once lived in a cottage with a garden in front of it in which grew two rose trees, one bearing white roses and the other red. She had two little daughters who were THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 253 like the two rose trees; one was called Snow- White and the other Rose-Red. Snow- White was a x uieter and more gentle than Rose-Red. Rose-Red loved to be out of doors, and was always dancing and singing. Snow- White stayed at home with her mother, and helped her with the housework or read with her. But they were the sweetest and best children in the world, always happy and industrious. They loved each other very dearly, and Snow- White would say, "Rose-Red, we will always be together," and Rose-Red would reply, " Always, Snow- White." Whatever they had they shared with each other. They often went into the woods, gathering berries, but no beast of the forest ever hurt them. Instead, they had friends among them all. The rabbits hopped beside them, the squirrels talked to them from over their heads, the deer grazed beside them, the hare would eat out of their hands, and the birds sang to them as they passed, and never rlew away, for the children never frightened or hurt any creature, and no evil ever befell them. If they remained late in the woods, and night overtook them, they lay down on 254 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK the moss and slept until morning, and their mother knew they were quite safe. Snow- White and Rose-Red kept their moth- er's cottage so pretty and clean that it would have made any one happy to see it. In sum- mer Rose-Red looked after the house, and every morning before her mother awoke she placed a red rose and a white rose by her mother's bedside. In winter Snow- White lighted the fire and put on the kettle, which shone in the light like gold. In the evening the mother would say, "Snow- White, close the shutters," and then she would tell them many stories while the little girls sat by the fire and listened and spun. A little lamb belonged to Rose-Red and a little dove to Snow- White. The lamb would lie beside them, and the dove perch behind them with its head under its wing. One evening, as they were sitting cozily together, they heard a sound as of some one knocking or pushing the door. "Rose-Red," said her mother, "open the door quickly. It may be a traveler who has lost his way." Rose-Red hastened to open the door, and THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 255 what should she see but a rough, shaggy bear pushing his black head through the doorway. Rose-Red was frightened and sprang back, while the lamb ran to her, bleating, the dove flapped its wings and flew to its perch, and Snow- White ran to her mother. But the bear spoke to them and said, "Do not be afraid. I shall not hurt you. I am only a poor, cold bear, and I want to get warm by your fire." "Poor Bear," said the mother, "come in and lie down by the fire, but don't burn your fur." Then she spoke to the children and told them not to fear, for the bear would not harm them. So Snow- White and Rose-Red came to the fire too, and the lamb and the dove came back with them. The bear asked the children to get the snow out of his fur, so they brought brooms and had great fun brushing him until he was dry. Then Bruin lay down by the fire and growled with happiness. Soon the children began to play with him, rolling him about, and tugging and pulling his thick fur and his ears. The bear was as good-natured as possible, 256 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK and liked it all, but if they played too long or pulled his fur too hard he would say, "Oh, Snow-White and Rose-Red, do not beat your poor bear dead." When it was time to say good night the mother said, "Now, good Bear, sleep by the fire. This house will shelter you from cold and storm." As soon as the morning came the children opened the door and the bear trotted away over the snow into the wood. After this the bear came every evening and lay by the fire, and let the children play with him, and they never fastened the door until after their good black friend had arrived. When spring came, and all was growing green in the forest, one morning the bear said to Snow- White, "I must go away now, and will not return until the summer is gone." "Where are you doing, dear Bear?" asked Snow- White. "I must go to the woods and protect my treasure from the dwarfs. When the earth is frozen in winter the dwarfs must remain underground, but now that the sun is warm, and the earth is soft, and all other things are THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 257 pushing upward, they find their way upward too. All they can find they will carry off to their caves, and what is once taken is not easily recovered." Snow- White was sad over their good friend's departure, but she unbarred the door for him. As he was going out he caught his fur in the latch and tore away a bit of his coat, and through the hole that was made, Snow- White thought she saw something glittering like gold; but the bear trotted off quickly and soon disappeared among the trees, and she could not be sure she had really seen it. Not long after this the children were in the forest collecting wood for their fire. Presently they came to a big tree trunk which was lying on the ground, and near it in the long grass they saw something moving and jumping. As they drew closer they saw a tiny brown man with a little wizened face and a beard a yard long. The end of this beard was caught in a cleft of the tree trunk, and the little man kept jumping about like a dog tied by a chain, for he did not know how to free himself. He glared at the children with his red eyes 258 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK and screamed, "Why do you stand there? Why don't you help me?" "What were you doing, little man?" asked Rose-Red. "You stupid bit of curiosity," said the dwarf, "I wanted to split the tree to get some chips for my kitchen fire, and just as all was going well my wedge flew out, and the crack closed so quickly it caught my beautiful white beard. Now I am stuck fast and can't get away, and you stand there and do noth- ing. Oh, you silly things!" and so he screamed and scolded. The children used all their strength, but the beard was wedged in so firmly they could not get it out. "I will bring some one to help us," said Rose-Red. "Blockhead!" snapped the dwarf. "Why should you do that? There are too many of you already. Can't you think of some- thing better than that?" "You are so impatient," said Snow- White. "But I have thought of something," and taking out her scissors, she cut the end of his beard. THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 259 As soon as the dwarf was free he turned around and, dancing with rage, scolded Snow- White soundly for cutting off his beard, and then, seizing a bag of gold that was beside him in the grass, he disappeared without so much as looking at the children again. A few days after this, Snow- White and Rose-Red went to the river to get some fish for dinner. As they came near the stream they saw something which looked like an enormous grasshopper hopping about on the bank as if it were going to jump into the water. They ran forward, and there was the little brown dwarf again. "What are you doing?" cried Rose-Red. "Surely you are not going to jump into the water?" "Stupid!" cried the dwarf. "Don't you see the fish that is dragging me in?" The little man had been sitting on the bank, fishing, when unfortunately the wind had entangled his beard in the line. Just then a big fish had taken his hook and he could not get free to draw the line out of the water. The fish was so big he was fast pulling the little dwarf into the stream. 26o THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK Rose-Red and Snow- White caught hold of him, and did all they could to disentangle his beard from the line, but in vain. It was twisted in a hopeless knot. So Snow- White again pulled her scissors from her pocket and cut the beard free. When the dwarf saw what she was doing he screamed, "You toadstools! How dare you touch my beard? It was not enough that you shortened it before, but now, for- sooth, you must cut off the best part of it. I can't appear like this before my own people! I wish you had had the manners to leave one alone!" Turning, he picked up a bag of pearls hidden among the rushes beside him, and quickly disappeared behind a big stone. Soon after this it happened that the mother sent the two girls to town to buy some thread, pins and needles, and a bit of ribbon for her. Their way led over a big heath, scattered with huge rocks. As they were crossing this heath they saw a great bird over their heads, circling in the air but always coming lower, until it settled on a rock near by. Almost at once they heard a sharp, piercing cry, and running forward, saw the great bird slowly THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 261 rising, carrying the old dwarf in his claws. Quickly they seized the little fellow, and struggled so long with the eagle that at last he let go. His talons, however, had been fastened in the old man's beard and, in free- ing him, much of it had still remained in the bird's claws. When the dwarf had recovered from his fear he sat down, screaming, "Oh, my beard, my beard ! My power is gone ! ' ' There he sat with his head in his hands, screaming, and then the girls noticed that all around them were strewn shining jewels and golden nuggets, which he had been counting in that lonely place when the eagle had pounced upon him. The evening sun shone on the stones, and they looked so beautiful the children stood quite still, gazing at them. Presently the dwarf looked up and saw them, and cried, "What are you standing there gaping for, you clumsy mugs?" and his face became scarlet with rage. He stooped to gather up his jewels, and was about to go off, with these angry words, when a sudden growl was heard and a black bear trotted out of the wood. 262 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK The dwarf jumped up in a great fright to run away, but he had not time, for the bear was upon him. Then he cried in terror, "Dear Bear, spare me! You may have all my treasure! Spare me ! Look at these wicked girls ! Take them instead!" But with one blow the bear felled the evil little creature, and that was the end of him. Then the bear called to Snow-White and Rose-Red, who were running away, and said,' "Do not be afraid. I am your friend." As he spoke, they recognized his voice, and what was their surprise, as they looked at him, to see his bear skin suddenly fall off. Now he stood before them a beautiful young prince, dressed in scarlet and gold. "I am a king's son," he said, "but was doomed by that little dwarf, my enemy, who had stolen my treasure, to wander in these woods as a wild bear until his death should set me free. His power was gone when he lost his beard, and you have helped to give me my liberty." Snow-White married the prince and Rose- Red married his brother, and they divided THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 263 between them the great treasure the dwarf had gathered in his cave. The mother lived happily with her children for many years, and the two rose trees that had stood beside her little cottage were planted below her window in front of the palace, and every year they blossomed with the sweetest and fairest of white and red roses. Wilhelm and Jacob Grimm. ONE -EYE, TWO -EYES, AND TPIREE-EYES There were once three sisters who, although they were of one blood, differed greatly from* one another. The youngest, because she had only one eye, and that in the middle of her forehead, was called little One-Eye; the second had two eyes, just like every one else, and was called little Two-Eyes; and the eldest sister had three eyes, so every one called her little Three-Eyes. Little One-Eye and little Three-Eyes were very proud because they were not like other people, and they would have nothing to do with their little sister, Two-Eyes. She must wear the clothes which they had discarded, 264 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK and eat the scraps of food that were left when they had finished. So little Two- Eyes was very often hungry and cold, and she shed many bitter tears while watching her goat in the pasture. One day, as she sat weeping on the hillside, she heard a kind voice say, " Why are you so sorrowful, little Two-Eyes?" On looking up she saw a woman standing beside her. "Why should I not weep," said little Two-Eyes, "when my sisters are so un- kind to me, and I am hungry all the day long?" " Dry your eyes, my child," said the woman, "and when you are hungry say to your goat: 'Little goat, bleat; Little table, be spread!' and you shall, have food to your liking. When you have eaten all you wish, say to the goat: 'Little goat, bleat; Little table, away ! ' and it will disappear." And so saying, the woman went her way. "There is no time like the present," said little Two-Eyes. "I will call for the table now." So little Two-Eyes called, THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 265 "Little goat, bleat; Little table, be spread!" and instantly there rose from the ground a little table covered with a white cloth, and with plenty of food spread on it. Little Two-Eyes said grace, and ate until she was satisfied. Then she repeated, as the woman had told her, "Little goat, bleat; Little table, away!" and the table disappeared as quickly as it had come. That night when little Two-Eyes came home she did not touch the broken food that had been set aside for her, and every night it was the same, until her sisters said, "What is the matter with little Two-Eyes that she does not eat her food? Is she so much better than we, that what we leave is not good enough for her?" The next day the sisters determined that they must find out where little Two-Eyes got her food. They decided that little One- Eye should go with her sister to tend the goat, and should watch all that happened. But Two-Eyes knew their thoughts and, 266 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK taking little One-Eye by the hand, she drove the goat into the long grass. She bade little One-Eye, who was hot and tired from her long walk, lie down beside her, and she began to sing, "Are you awake, little One-Eye? Are you asleep, little One-Eye? Awake? Asleep?" until One-Eye became more and more drowsy, her one eye closed, and she fell fast asleep. Then once more Two-Eyes called, "Little goat, bleat; Little table, be spread!" and ate her dinner as before. That night when they returned little One- Eye could tell her sister nothing of what had happened. "For," said she, " little Two- Eyes sang to me, and I fell asleep." "I will go to the pasture to-morrow," said little Three-Eyes, "and I will keep better watch." In the morning she went to little Two- Eyes and said, "I will go with you to the pasture to-day, and see that the goat has proper care." "Very well," said little Two-Eyes, and she THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 267 led her sister by the hand as she had done the day before. She drove the goat into the tall grass and, sitting down beside her sister, she began to sing, "Are you asleep, little Three-Eyes? Are you awake, little Two-Eyes?" Now she should have said, " Are you awake, little Three-Eyes?" for the two eyes went to sleep but the third eye did not, though Three-Eyes closed the lid, like the others. Though she appeared to be sleeping, she saw all that was going on. When she thought her sister had gone to sleep little Two-Eyes called, "Little goat, bleat; Little table, be spread!" and ate and drank as before. When she had finished she called, "Little goat, bleat; Little table, away!" and it sank out of sight. Then, calling little Three-Eyes, she said, "Wake up, little Three-Eyes. While you are sleeping the goat might wander all over the world!" 268 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK Little Three-Eyes opened her eyes, and followed her sister home. Running to One- Eye, she said, "I know why little Two-Eyes will not eat the food we give her. When we came to the pasture she sang a song to put me to sleep, but only two of my eyes slept. With the other I watched all that happened. When she thought I was asleep, little Two- Eyes called, "Little goat, bleat; Little table, be spread!" and up rose a little table from the ground, covered with a white cloth, and all manner of rich food was served, much better than the poor fare we have. No wonder little Two-Eyes will not eat the food we give her!/' Then the sisters were very angry, and said, "We will see if little Two-Eyes shall fare so much better than we!" And they went out and killed the goat. Little Two-Eyes begged them to spare her little goat, but when they would not, she ran away to the pasture, and, throwing herself down in the grass, she cried bitterly. As she lay there she heard a kind voice, saying, "Why do you weep, my child?" Looking THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 269 up she saw the same good friend who had helped her before. "And. why should I not weep, when they have killed my little goat?" said Two-Eyes, hiding her face again. "Dry your eyes," said her friend. "Go home, and ask your sisters to give you the heart of your goat. Bury this in the garden in front of the house, but take care that no one sees you, and it shall be well with you." Little Two-Eyes ran home to her sisters and said, "Please give me the heart of my goat, that I may have it for my own." "Oh, if that is all you want, you may have it," said the sisters. Two-Eyes took the heart of the goat and after nightfall buried it in the garden as she had been told. In the morning, when the other sisters ran to the garden, there stood a beautiful tree covered with silver leaves and golden fruit. Little One-Eye and little Three-Eyes were delighted with it, and claimed it as their own. "I will climb up," said little One-Eye, "and gather some of the beautiful fruit." But try as she might, not one of the golden 270 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK apples could she pick. As soon as her hand reached for them, the branch sprang away from her. "Let me try," said Three-Eyes. "I am sure, with my three eyes to help me, I can gather the apples." But it was the same with her as with her sister — the apples al- ways hung just beyond her reach, until at last she was obliged to come down, empty handed. Then little Two-Eyes climbed the tree, and soon had her hands full of the beautiful fruit. This made her sisters all the more angry, but they said, "No one will know that we cannot pick the fruit, and our tree will always be admired." While the three sisters were standing under the tree, a prince came riding along the high- way. One-Eye and Three-Eyes pushed Two- Eyes under a cask which was lying near, and thrust after her the golden apples with which she had been playing. "What a beautiful tree this is!" said the prince as he drew near. ' To whom does it belong?" "It is our tree!" said One-Eye and Three- Eyes in the same breath. THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 271 "Whoever will give me one of the golden apples shall have granted whatever favor he may ask of me," said the prince. At this, One-Eye and Three-Eyes climbed into the tree, but for all their efforts not an apple nor a leaf could they pick. "If the tree is yours," said the prince, "it is strange you cannot pick the fruit!" When she heard this, Two-Eyes rolled one of the golden apples out from under the cask. "Who is under the cask?" said the prince. "Oh, it is only our sister, Two-Eyes," said the sisters. "She is such a common little thing that we hid her when we saw you coming." "Let her come out," said the prince. Then little Two-Eyes crept out. "Will you give me one of your beautiful apples?" said the prince. "That I will," said little Two-Eyes, and, climbing into the tree, she quickly broke off a branch and gave it to him. As he took it from her he looked into her face, and seeing how sweet and gentle she was he said, "Grant me a favor, little Two-Eyes. Come ^with me to my palace, and there 272 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK my father and my mother will care for you. " Then little Two-Eyes gave the prince her hand, and he lifted her to his horse and rode away to his father's castle. There she grew so fair and gracious that every one loved her, but most of all the prince. One day there was a grand wedding in the castle, when little Two-Eyes married the prince, and they lived there very happily all their days. Wilhelm and Jacob Grimm. THE HUT IN THE FOREST There was once a poor woodcutter who lived with his wife and his three daughters on the edge of a great forest. One morning when the woodcutter started out for his work he said to his wife, "In order that I may not lose any time from my work, you may send my dinner to me by our eldest daughter. I will scatter some grain along the path that she may know the way I have taken." So when the sun was high in the heavens the maiden set out, carrying her father's dinner. But she had not gone far into the THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 273 forest before she lost her way, for the spar- rows and the thrushes had long since picked up the grain her father had scattered. She wandered on and on, until the sun had set and the long shadows stretched across her path. The owls hooted, and the girl began to be afraid in the darkness. At last she saw a light shining through the trees, and she said, " Surely some one must live there who will let me come in for the night, and I can find my way home in the morning.' ' She ran forward until she came to a little hut, from whose window the light was streaming. The girl knocked at the door, and a voice called, "Come in." When she opened the door she saw an old man sitting at a table, his head resting on his hand and his white beard falling almost to his feet. By the fire were gathered a cock, a hen, and a brindled cow. The girl told the old man her story and begged for a night's shelter. The old man turned to his three friends, and said, ' Pretty hen, pretty cock, And pretty brindled cow, What say you?" 274 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK They said "Cluck," and nodded their heads in assent. "Here is abundance," said the old man. "You may stay, and welcome, if you will prepare our evening meal." This the maid was very glad to do. She cooked the food and spread the table, and then drew up her chair opposite the old man and ate until she was satisfied. When she had cleared away the meal she said, "Now where can I find a place to sleep?" The animals replied, "You have eaten, You have drunk; You have had no thought for us, So find out for yourself where you can sleep." "Go upstairs to the loft," said the old man, "and you will find a bed. Shake it up and put fresh linen on it. You may sleep there." So the maid did as she was bid, and when she had made the bed she laid herself down and soon fell asleep. After awhile the old man came with his candle, looked at the girl as she lay sleeping, and, shaking his head in sorrow, he touched the bed and it disappeared. THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 275 Late that night the woodcutter returned to his house. He reproached his wife that she had let him go hungry all the day long. "I am not to blame," said the wife. "Our daughter started with your dinner in plenty of time. She must have lost her way in the forest; but surely she will return in the morning." The next day the woodcutter said his sec- ond daughter must bring him his noonday meal. ' ' I will scatter lentils, ' ' said he. ' ' They will be more readily seen than the grain." At noontime the second daughter started out, carrying her father's dinner; but the birds of the air had long before eaten the lentils, and there remained nothing to show the girl which path her father had taken. She strayed farther and farther into the wood, until the sun had set, and there were only the night sounds to be heard and the light of the twinkling stars to guide her. So the poor girl wandered on, until she saw the light streaming through the window of the hut. She knocked, and was admitted as her sister had been. The old man asked his animals as before, 276 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK "Pretty hen, pretty cock, And pretty brindled cow, What say you?" The animals said "Cluck," and all happened as before. The girl prepared the meal and ate and drank; but she gave no thought to the animals. When she asked for a place to sleep, they said, "You have eaten, And you have drunk, And have given no thought to us; Still, you may pass the night here." When she had gone to sleep the old man came and looked at her, and, shaking his head sadly, he touched the bed and it disappeared as before. On the third morning the woodcutter told his wife that his youngest daughter must bring him his dinner. But the mother pro- tested. " Shall I lose my last child, too?" said she. But the father replied, "She is a good child, and wiser than her sisters. Surely she can find her way. I will scatter peas this morning. They are so large she will have no difficulty in following them." THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 277 So the youngest daughter set off at mid- day as her sisters had done. But the wood pigeons had eaten the peas before the sun was an hour high. The girl looked anxiously to either side, but no trace of her father could she see. At length the sun set, and darkness came down over the forest. The child stumbled on until she saw the light streaming from the hut. Knocking at the door, and following the command to enter, she begged very courteously to be allowed to remain. The old man turned to his companions, and said, "Pretty hen, pretty cock, And pretty brindled cow, What say you?" The animals replied as before, " Cluck.' ' The child smoothed the feathers of the cock and hen, and stroked the brindled cow on her forehead, then set to work to prepare the evening meal. When she had set it, smoking hot, before the old man, she said, "Oh, you poor hungry creatures, you must be cared for, too." So she scattered corn for the cock and hen, and brought in a great armful of hay for the 278 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK brindled cow, and a pailful of water that they all might drink. Having done this, she sat down and ate what the old man had left for her. After a time the cock and the hen tucked their heads under their wings and the brindled cow closed her eyes. "Shall we not take our rest, too?" said the maiden. The old man asked as before, "Pretty hen, pretty cock, Pretty brindled cow, What say you to that?" "Cluck, cluck," they replied sleepily, as though they would say, "You have eaten with us, You have drunk with us; We wish you a very good night." Then the maiden went up the stairs, shook up the feather bed and placed clean linen upon it, and after saying her prayers she lay down and was soon fast asleep. In the middle of the night the maiden was awakened by a terrific upheaval. It seemed to her that the foundations were shaking and the timbers were rent apart. The roof seemed THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 279 to crash in over her head. Then all was quiet, and as the girl was unharmed she soon fell asleep again. In the morning, when she opened her eyes, she gazed around her in wonder. The old hut had disappeared, and she lay in the bed chamber of a palace. Golden flowers blos- somed on the silken draperies, a crimson canopy hung over her head, and the bed coverings were of the softest down. The little maid thought it must be a dream; but presently there entered three servants to receive her orders for the day. " Please leave me," said the maiden. "I must dress quickly and prepare the kind old man's breakfast. And then I must feed the cock and the hen and the brindled cow." When she was dressed she ran quickly down the great stairway and out into the sunshine to see if she was really awake. But there behind her she saw the beautiful palace with its towers pointing to the blue sky. As she looked, from the palace door came a noble young prince, dressed all in white and gold. He looked so brave and gentle 280 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK that she wished to look at him always. He came toward her and, taking her hand, he said, "I am a king's son, who was changed by a cruel magician and compelled to live in the hut in the forest, with my three servants, who were given the forms of the cock, the hen, and the brindled cow, until a maiden should come who would be as thoughtful for the poor dumb beasts as she was of me. Last night at midnight the spell was ended, and the hut has once more become my royal palace." So saying, the prince took her hand, and, calling his attendants, told them to bring the woodcutter and his wife to the palace to be present at the wedding feast. "But where are my two sisters?" asked the maiden. "They are locked in the cellar," replied the prince, "where they shall remain until to-morrow morning. Then they will be taken into the forest, where they must work for the charcoal burners until they have learned to be kinder to the poor dumb creatures about them." Wilhelm and Jacob Grimm THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 281 THE GREEDY SHEPHERD Once upon a time there lived in the south country two brothers, whose business it was to keep sheep on a great grassy plain, which was bounded on the one side by a forest and on the other by a chain of high hills. No one lived on that plain but shepherds, who dwelt in low cottages thatched with heath, and watched their sheep so carefully that no lamb was ever lost, nor had one of the shep- herds ever traveled beyond the foot of the hills and the skirts of the forest. There were none among them more careful than these two brothers, one of whom was called Clutch, and the other Kind. Though brethren born, two men of distant countries could not be more unlike in disposition. Clutch thought of nothing in this world but how to catch and keep some profit for him- self, while Kind would have shared his last morsel with a hungry dog. This covetous mind made Clutch keep all his father's sheep when the old man was dead and gone, be- cause he was the elder brother, allowing Kind 282 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK nothing but the place of a servant to help him in looking after them. Kind wouldn't quarrel with his brother for the sake of the sheep, so he helped him to keep them, and Clutch had all his own way. This made him agreeable. For some time the brothers lived peaceably in their father's cottage, which stood low and lonely under the shadow of a great sycamore tree, and kept their flock with pipe and crook on the grassy plain, till new troubles arose through Clutch's covetousness. On that plain there was neither town, nor city, nor market place, where people might sell or buy, but the shepherds cared little for trade. The wool of their flocks made them clothes; their milk gave them butter and cheese. At feast times every family killed a lamb or so; their fields yielded them wheat for bread. The forest supplied them with firewood for winter; and every midsummer, which is the sheep-shearing time, traders from a certain far-off city came through it by an ancient way to purchase all the wool the shepherds could spare, and give them in ex- change either goods or money. One midsummer it so happened that these THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 283 traders praised the wool of Clutch's flock above all they found on the plain, and gave him the highest price for it. That was an unlucky happening for the sheep: from thenceforth Clutch thought he could never get enough wool off them. At the shearing time nobody clipped so close, and, in spite of all Kind could do or say, he left the poor sheep as bare as if they had been shaven ; and as soon as the wool grew long enough to keep them warm, he was ready with the shears again — no matter how chilly might be the days or how near the winter. Kind didn't like these doings, and many a debate they caused between him and his brother. Clutch always tried to persuade him that close clip- ping was good for the sheep, and Kind always strove to make him think he had got all the wool — so they were never done with disputes. Still Clutch sold the wool, and stored up his profits, and one midsummer after another passed. The shepherds began to think him a rich man, and close clipping might hav£ become the fashion, but for a strange thing which happened to his flock. The wool had grown well that summer. 284 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK He had taken two crops off them, and was thinking of a third, — though the misty morn- ings of autumn were come, and the cold evenings made the shepherds put on their winter cloaks, — when first the lambs, and then the ewes, began to stray away; and search as the brothers would, none of them was ever found again. Clutch blamed Kind with being careless, and watched with all his might. Kind knew it was not his fault, but he looked sharper than ever. Still the stray- ing went on. The flocks grew smaller every day, and all the brothers could find out was, that the closest clipped were the first to go; and, count the flock when they might, some were sure to be missed at the folding. Kind grew tired of watching, and Clutch lost his sleep with vexation. The other shepherds, over whom he had boasted of his wool and his profits, were not sorry to see pride having a fall. Most of them pitied Kind, but all of them agreed that they had marvelous ill luck, and kept as far from them as they could for fear of sharing it. Still the flock melted away as the months wore on. Storms and cold weather never stopped THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 285 them from straying, and when the spring came back nothing remained with Clutch and Kind but three old ewes, the quietest and lamest of their whole flock. They were watching these ewes one evening in the primrose time, when Clutch, who had never kept his eyes off them that day, said — 1 ' Brother, there is wool to be had on their backs." "It is too little to keep them warm," said Kind. "The east wind still blows some- times"; but Clutch was off to the cottage for the bag and shears. Kind was grieved to see his brother so covetous, and to divert his mind he looked up at the great hills: it was a sort of comfort to him, ever since their losses began, to look at them evening and morning. Now their far-off heights were growing crimson with the setting sun, but as he looked, three creatures like sheep scoured up a cleft in one of them as fleet as any deer: and when Kind turned, he saw his brother coming with the bag and shears, but not a single ewe was to be seen. Clutch's first question was, what had become of them; and when Kind told him what he 286 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK saw, the elder brother scolded him with might and main for ever lifting his eyes off them. "Much good the hills and the sunset do us," said he, "now that we have not a' single sheep. The other shepherds will hardly give us room among them at shearing time or harvest; but for my part, I '11 not stay on this plain to be despised for poverty. If you like to come with me, and be guided by my advice, we shall get service somewhere. I have heard my father say that there were great shep- herds living in old times beyond the hills; let us go and see if they will take us for sheep boys." Kind would rather have stayed and tilled his father's wheat field, hard by the cot- tage; but since his elder brother would go, he resolved to bear him company. Accordingly, next morning Clutch took his bag and shears, Kind took his crook and pipe, and away they went over the plain and up the hills. All who saw them thought that they had lost their senses, for no shepherd had gone there for a hundred years, and nothing was to be seen but wide moorlands, full of rugged rocks, and sloping up, it seemed, to the very sky. THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 287 Kind persuaded his brother to take the direc- tion the sheep had taken, but the ground was so rough and steep that after two hours' climbing they would gladly have turned back, if it had not been that their sheep were gone, and the shepherds would laugh at them. II By noon they came to the stony cleft up which the three old ewes had scoured like deer; but both were tired, and sat down to rest. Their feet were sore, and their hearts were heavy; but as they sat there, there came a sound of music down the hills, as if a thousand shepherds had been playing on their tops. Clutch and Kind had never heard such music before. As they listened, the soreness passed from their feet, and the heaviness from their hearts; and getting up, they fol- lowed the sound up the cleft, and over a wide heath, covered with purple bloom; till at sun- set they came to the hilltop, and saw a broad pasture, where violets grew thick among the grass, and thousands of snow-white sheep were feeding, while an old man sat in the midst of them, playing on his pipe. He wore 288 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK a long coat, the color of the holly leaves; his hair hung to his waist, and his beard to his knees; but both were as white as snow, and he had the countenance of one who had led a quiet life, and knew no cares nor losses. "Good father," said Kind, for his elder brother hung back and was afraid, "tell us what land is this, and where we can find service; for my brother and I are shep- herds, and can well keep flocks from stray- ing, though we have lost our own," "These are the hill pastures," said the old man, "and I am the ancient shepherd. My flocks never stray, but I have employ- ment for you. Which of you can shear best?" "Good father," said Clutch, taking cour- age, "I am the closest shearer in all the plain country; you would not find as much wool as would make a thread on a sheep when I have done with it." "You are the man for my business," replied the old shepherd. "When the moon rises, I will call the flock you have to shear. Till then sit down and rest, and take your supper out of my wallet." THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 289 Clutch and Kind gladly sat down by him among the violets, and opening a leathern bag which hung by his side, the old man gave them cakes and cheese, and a horn cup to drink from a stream hard by. The brothers felt fit for any work after that meal; and Clutch rejoiced in his own mind at the chance he had got for showing his skill with the shears. " Kind will see how useful it is to cut close," he thought to himself; but they sat with the old man, telling him the news of the plain, till the sun went down and the moon rose, and all the snow-white sheep gathered and laid themselves down behind him. Then he took his pipe and played a merry tune, when immediately there was heard a great howling, and up the hills came a troop of shaggy wolves, with hair so long that their eyes could scarcely be seen. Clutch would have fled for fear, but the wolves stopped, and the old man said to him: "Rise, and shear — this flock of mine have too much wool on them." Clutch had never shorn wolves before, yet he could n't think of losing the good service, and went forward with a stout heart; but the 19 290 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK first of the wolves showed its teeth, and all the rest raised such a howl the moment he came near them, that Clutch was glad to throw down his shears, and run behind the old man for safety. "Good father," cried he, "I will shear sheep, but not wolves." "They must be shorn," said the old man, "or you go back to the plains, and they after you; but whichever of you can shear chem will get the whole flock." On hearing this, Clutch began to exclaim on his hard fortune, and his brother who had brought him there to be hunted and devoured by wolves; but Kind, thinking that things could be no worse, caught up the shears he had thrown away in his fright, and went boldly up to the nearest wolf. To his great surprise the wild creature seemed to know him, and stood quietly to be shorn, while the rest of the flock gathered round as if wait- ing their turn. Kind clipped neatly, but not too close, as he had wished his brother to do with the sheep, and heaped up the hair on one side. When he had done with one, another came forward, and Kind went on THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 291 shearing by the bright moonlight till the whole flock were shorn. Then the old man said: "Ye have done well. Take the wool and the flock for your wages, return with them to the plain, and if you please, take this little-worth brother of yours for a boy to keep them." Kind did not much like keeping wolves, but before he could make answer, they had all changed into the very sheep which had strayed away so strangely. All of them had grown fatter and thicker of fleece, and the hair he had cut off lay by his side, a heap of wool so fine that its like had never been seen on the plain. Clutch gathered it up in his empty bag, and glad was he to go back to the plain with his brother; for the old man sent them away with the flock, saying no man must see the dawn of day on that pasture but himself, for it was the ground of the fairies. So Clutch and Kind went home with great gladness. All the shepherds came to hear their wonderful story, and ever after liked to 292 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK keep near them because they had such good luck. They keep the sheep together till this day, but Clutch has grown less greedy, and Kind alone uses the shears. Frances Browne. THE MILLER OF THE DEE There dwelt a miller, hale and bold, Beside the river Dee; He worked and sang from morn till night — No lark more blithe than he ; And this the burden of his song Forever used to be: "I envy nobody — no, not I — And nobody envies me!" "Thou 'rt wrong, my friend," said good King Hal, "As wrong as wrong can be; For could my heart be light as thine, I'd gladly change with thee. And tell me now, what makes thee sing, With voice so loud and free, While I am sad, though I 'm a king, Beside the river Dee?" THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 293 The miller smiled and doffed his cap, "I earn my bread," quoth he; "I love my wife, I love my friend, I love my children three; I owe no penny I cannot pay, I thank the river Dee That turns the mill that grinds the corn That feeds my babes and me." "Good friend," said Hal, and sighed the while, "Farewell, and happy be; But say no more, if thou 'dst be true, That no one envies thee; Thy mealy cap is worth my crown, Thy mill my kingdom's fee; Such men as thou are England's boast, O miller of the Dee!" Charles Mackay. THE TSAREVNA FROG 1 In an old, old Russian tsarstvo, I do not know when, there lived a sovereign prince with the princess his wife. They had three sons, all of them young, and such brave lFrom " Folk Tales from the Russian," by Madame De Blutnenthal. Pub- lished by Rand McNally &• Company, Chicago and New York. 294 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK fellows that no pen could describe them. The youngest had- the name of Ivan Tsarevitch. One day their father said to his sons: " My dear boys, take each of you an arrow, draw your strong bow and let your arrow fly; in whatever court it falls, in that court there will be a wife for you." The arrow of the oldest Tsarevitch fell on a boyar-house just in front of the terem where women live; the arrow of the second Tsarevitch flew to the red porch of a rich merchant, and on the porch there stood a sweet girl, the merchant's daughter. The youngest, the brave Tsarevitch Ivan, had the ill luck to send his arrow into the midst of a swamp, where it was caught by a croak- ing frog. Ivan Tsarevitch came to his father : ' ' How can I marry the frog?" complained the son. "Is she my equal? Certainly she is not." "Never mind," replied his father, "you have to marry the frog, for such is evidently your destiny." Thus the brothers were married: the old- est to a young boyarishnia, a nobleman's child; the second to the merchant's beautiful THE vSTORY TELLER'S BOOK 295 daughter, and the youngest, Tsarevitch Ivan, to a croaking frog. After a while the sovereign prince called his three sons and said to them: "Have each of your wives bake a loaf of bread by to-morrow morning." Ivan returned home. There was no smile on his face, and his brow was clouded. "C-r-o-a-k! C-r-o-a-k! Dear husband of mine, Tsarevitch Ivan, why so sad?" gently asked the frog. "Was there anything disagreeable in the palace?" "Disagreeable indeed," answered Ivan Tsarevitch; "the Tsar, my father, wants you to bake a loaf of white bread by to-morrow." "Do not worry, Tsarevitch. Go to bed; the morning hour is a better adviser than the dark evening." The Tsarevitch, taking his wife's advice, went to sleep. Then the frog threw off her frogskin and turned into a beautiful, sweet girl, Vassilissa by name. She now stepped out on the porch and called aloud: "Nurses and waitresses, come to me at once and prepare a loaf of white bread for to-morrow morning, a loaf exactly like those 296 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK I used to eat in my royal father's palace." In the morning Tsarevitch Ivan awoke with the crowing cocks, and you know the cocks and chickens are never late. Yet the loaf was already made, and so fine it was that nobody could even describe it, for only in fairyland one finds such marvelous loaves. It was adorned all about with pretty figures, with towns and fortresses on each side, and within it was white as snow and light as a feather. The Tsar father was pleased and the Tsare- vitch received his special thanks. "Now there is another task," said the Tsar smilingly. "Have each of your wives weave a rug by to-morrow." Tsarevitch Ivan came back to his home. There was no smile on his face, and his brow was clouded. 1 1 C-r-o-a-k ! C-r-o-a-k ! Dear Tsarevitch Ivan, my husband and master, why so troubled again? Was not father pleased?" "How can I be otherwise? The Tsar, my father, has ordered a rug by to-morrow." " Do not worry, Tsarevitch. Go to bed; go to sleep. The morning hour will bring help." THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 297 Again the frog turned into Vassilissa, the wise maiden, and again she called aloud: "Dear nurses and. faithful waitresses, come to me for new work. Weave a silk rug like the one I used to sit upon in the palace of the king, my father." Once said, quickly done. When the cocks began their early "cock-a-doodle-doo," Tsar- evitch Ivan awoke, and lo! there lay the most beautiful silk rug before him, a rug that no one could begin to describe. Threads of silver and gold were interwoven among bright- colored silken ones, and the rug was too beautiful for anything but to admire. The Tsar father was pleased, thanked his son Ivan, and issued a new order. He now wished to see the three wives of his handsome sons, and they were to present their brides on the next day. The Tsarevitch Ivan returned home. Cloudy was his brow, more cloudy than before. "C-r-o-a-k! C-r-o-a-k! Tsarevitch, my dear husband and master, why so sad? Hast thou heard anything unpleasant at the palace?" "Unpleasant enough, indeed! My father, 298 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK the Tsar, ordered all of us to present our wives to him. Now tell me, how could I dare go with thee?" 4 'It is not so bad after all, and could be much worse," answered the frog, gently croaking. "Thou shalt go alone and I will follow thee. When thou hearest a noise, a great noise, do not be afraid; simply say: 'There is my miserable froggy coming in her miserable box.'" The two elder brothers arrived first with their wives, beautiful, bright, and cheerful, and dressed in rich garments. Both the happy bridegrooms made fun of the Tsare- vitch Ivan. "Why alone, brother?" they laughingly said to him. "Why didst thou not bring thy wife along with thee? Was there no rag to cover her? Where couldst thou have gotten such a beauty? We are ready to wager that in all the swamps in the dominion of our father it would be hard to find another one like her." And they laughed and laughed. Lo! what a noise! The palace trembled, the guests were all frightened. Tsarevitch Ivan alone remained quiet and said: THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 299 "No danger; it is my froggy coming in her box." To the red porch came flying a golden car- riage drawn by six splendid white horses, and Vassilissa, beautiful beyond all description, gently reached her hand to her husband. He led her with him to the heavy oak tables, which were covered with snow-white linen and loaded with many wonderful dishes such as are known and eaten only in the land of fairies and never anywhere else. The guests were eating and chatting gayly. Vassilissa drank some wine, and what was left in the tumbler she poured into her left sleeve. She ate some of the fried swan, and the bones she threw into her right sleeve. The wives of the two elder brothers watched her and did exactly the same. When the long, hearty dinner was over, the guests began dancing and singing. The beautiful Vassilissa came forward, as bright as a star, bowed to her sovereign, bowed to the honorable guests, and danced with her husband, the happy Tsarevitch Ivan. While dancing, Vassilissa waved her left sleeve and a pretty lake appeared in the midst 300 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK of the hall and cooled the air. She waved her right sleeve and white swans swam on the water. The Tsar, the guests, the servants, even the gray cat sitting in the corner, all were amazed and wondered at the beauti- ful Vassilissa. Her two sisters-in-law alone envied her. When their turn came to dance, they also waved their left sleeves as Vassilissa had done, and, oh, wonder! they sprinkled wine all around. They waved their right sleeves, and instead of swans the bones flew in the face of the Tsar father. The Tsar grew very angry and bade them leave the palace. In the meantime Ivan Tsarevitch watched a moment to slip away unseen. He ran home, found the frogskin, and burned it in the fire. Vassilissa, when she came back, searched for the skin, and when she could not find it, her beautiful face grew sad and her bright eyes filled with tears. She said to Tsarevitch Ivan, her husband: "Oh, dear Tsarevitch, what hast thou done? There was but a short time left for me to wear the ugly frogskin. The moment was near when we could have been happy THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 301 together forever. Now I must bid thee good-by. Look for me in a far-away country to which no one knows the road, at the palace of Kostshei the Deathless"; and Vassilissa turned into a white swan and flew away through the window. Tsarevitch Ivan wept bitterly. Then he prayed to the almighty God, and making the sign of the cross northward, southward, east- ward, and westward, he went on a mysterious journey. No one knows how long his journey was, but one day he met an old, old man. He bowed to the old man, who said: "Good day, brave fellow. What art thou searching for, and whither art thou going?" Tsarevitch Ivan answered sincerely, telling all about his misfortune without hiding any- thing. "And why didst thou burn the frogskin? It was wrong to do so. Listen now to me. Vassilissa was born wiser than her own father, and as he envied his daughter's wisdom he condemned her to be a frog for three long years. But I pity thee and want to help thee. Here is a magic ball. In whatever 302 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK direction this ball rolls, follow without fear." Ivan Tsarevitch thanked the good old man, and followed his new guide, the ball. Long, very long, was his road. One day in a wide, flowery field he met a bear, a big Russian bear. Ivan Tsarevitch took his bow and was ready to shoot the bear. "Do not kill me, kind Tsarevitch," said the bear. "Who knows but that I may be useful to thee?" And Ivan did not shoot the bear. Above in the sunny air there flew a duck, a lovely white duck. Again the Tsarevitch drew his bow to shoot it. But the duck said to him: "Do not kill me, good Tsarevitch. I certainly shall be useful to thee some day." And this time he obeyed the command of the duck and passed by. Continuing his way he saw a blinking hare. The Tsarevitch prepared an arrow to shoot it, but the gray, blinking hare said: "Do not kill me, brave Tsarevitch. I shall prove myself grateful to thee in a very short time." The Tsarevitch did not shoot the hare, but passed by. He walked farther and far- ther after the rolling ball, and came to the THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 303 deep blue sea. On the sand there lay a fish. I do not remember the name of the fish, but it was a big fish, almost dying on the dry sand. "O Tsarevitch Ivan!" prayed the fish, "have mercy upon me and push me back into the cool sea." The Tsarevitch did so, and walked along the shore. The ball, rolling all the time, brought Ivan to a hut, a queer, tiny hut standing on tiny hen's feet. 1 ' Izboushka ! Izboushka ! ' ' — for so in Rus- sia do they name small huts — "Izboushka, I want thee to turn thy front to me," cried Ivan, and lo! the tiny hut turned its front at once. Ivan stepped in and saw a witch, one of the ugliest witches he could imagine. 1 1 Ho ! Ivan Tsarevitch ! What brings thee here?" was his greeting from the witch. "Oh, thou old mischief!" shouted Ivan with anger. "Is it the way in holy Russia to ask questions before the tired guest gets something to eat, something to drink, and some hot water to wash the dust off?" Baba Yaga, the witch, gave the Tsarevitch plenty to eat and drink, besides hot water to 304 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK wash the dust off. Tsarevitch Ivan felt refreshed. Soon he became talkative, and related the wonderful story of his marriage. He told how he had lost his dear wife, and that his only desire was to find her. "I know all about it," answered the witch. "She is now at the palace of Kostshei the Deathless, and thou must understand that Kostshei is terrible. He watches her day and night and no one can ever conquer him. His death depends on a magic needle. That needle is within a hare; that hare is within a large trunk; that trunk is hidden in the branches of an old oak tree; and that oak tree is watched by Kostshei as closely as Vassilissa herself, which means closer than any treasure he has." Then the witch told Ivan Tsarevitch how and where to find the oak tree. Ivan hastily went to the place. But when he perceived the oak tree he was much discouraged, not knowing what to do or how to begin the work. Lo and behold! that old acquaintance of his, the Russian bear, came running along, approached the tree, uprooted it, and the trunk fell and broke. A hare jumped out THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 305 of the trunk and began to run fast; but another hare, Ivan's friend, came running after, caught it and tore it to pieces. Out of the hare there flew a duck, a gray one which flew very high and was almost invisi- ble, but the beautiful white duck followed the bird and struck its gray enemy, which lost an egg. That egg fell into the deep sea. Ivan meanwhile was anxiously watching his faithful friends helping him. But when the egg disappeared in the blue waters he could not help weeping. All of a sudden a big fish came swimming up, the same fish he had saved, and brought the egg in his mouth. How happy Ivan was when he took it ! He broke it and found the needle inside, the magic needle upon which everything depended. At the same moment Kostshei lost his strength and power forever. Ivan Tsare- vitch entered his vast dominions, killed him with the magic needle, and in one of the palaces found his own dear wife, his beautiful Vassilissa. He took her home and they were very happy ever after. Retold. Madame De Blumenthal. 306 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK THE SPRING WALK We had a pleasant walk to-day, Over the meadows and far away, Across the bridge by the water mill, By the woodside, and up the hill; And if you listen to what I say, I'll tell you what we saw to-day. Amid a hedge, where the first leaves Were peeping from their sheaths so shy, We saw four eggs within a nest, And they were blue as the summer's sky. An elder branch dipp'd in the brook, We wondered why it moved, and found A silken-hair 'd, smooth water rat Nibbling and swimming round and round. Where daisies open'd to the sun, In a broad meadow, green and white, The lambs were racing eagerly — We never saw a prettier sight. We saw upon the shady banks Long rows of golden flowers shine, And first mistook for buttercups The star-shaped yellow celandine. THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 307 Anemones and primroses, And the blue violets of spring, We found whilst listening by a hedge To hear a merry plowman sing. And from the earth the plow turn'd up There came a sweet refreshing smell, Such as the lily of the vale Sends forth from many a woodland dell. We saw the yellow wallflower wave Upon a moldering castle wall, And then we watch 'd the busy rooks Among the ancient elm trees tall. And leaning from the old stone bridge, Below we saw our shadows lie, And through the gloomy arches watch'd The swift and fearless swallows fly. We heard the speckle-breasted lark As it sang somewhere out of sight, And we tried to find it, but the sky Was fill'd with clouds of dazzling light. We saw young rabbits near the wood, And heard a pheasant's wing go "whir"; And then we saw a squirrel leap From an old oak tree to a fir. 308 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK We came back by the village fields, A pleasant walk it was across 'em, For all behind the houses lay The orchards red and white with blossom. Were I to tell you all we saw, I'm sure that it would take me hours; For the whole landscape was alive With bees, and birds, and buds, and flowers. Thomas Miller. THE LANGUAGE OF THE BIRDS 1 Somewhere, in a town in holy Russia, there lived a rich merchant with his wife. He had an only son, a dear, bright, and brave boy called Ivan. One lovely day Ivan sat at the dinner table with his parents. Near the window in the same room hung a cage, and a nightingale, a sweet- voiced, gray bird, was imprisoned within. The sweet nightingale be- gan to sing its wonderful song with trills and high silvery tones. The merchant listened and listened to the song and said: "How I wish that I could understand the meaning of the different songs of all the i From "Folk Tales from the Russian," by Madame De Blumenthal. Pub- lished by Rand McNally &• Company, Chicago and New York. THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 309 birds! I would give half my wealth to the man, if only there were such a man, who could make plain to me all the different songs of the different birds." Ivan took notice of these words and no matter where he went, no matter where he was, no matter what he did, he always thought of how he could learn the language of the birds. Some time after this the merchant's son happened to be hunting in a forest. The winds rose, the sky became clouded, the lightning flashed, the thunder roared loudly, and the rain fell in torrents. Ivan soon came near a large tree and saw a big nest in the branches. Four small birds were in the nest; they were quite alone, and neither father nor mother was there to protect them from the cold and wet. The good Ivan pitied them, climbed the tree, and covered the little ones with his " kaftan," a long- skirted coat which the Russian peasants and merchants usually wear. The thunder storm passed by and a big bird came flying and sat down on a branch near the nest and spoke very kindly to Ivan. 3 io THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK "Ivan, I thank thee; thou hast protected my little children from the cold and rain and I wish to do something for thee. Tell me what thou dost wish." Ivan answered: "I am not in need; I have everything for my comfort. But teach me the birds' language." "Stay with me three days and thou shalt know all about it." Ivan remained in the forest three days. He understood well the teaching of the big bird and returned home more clever than before. One beautiful day soon after this Ivan sat with his parents when the nightin- gale was singing in his cage. His song was so sad, however, so very sad, that the mer- chant and his wife also became sad, and their son, their good Ivan, who listened very attentively, was even more affected, and the tears came running down his cheeks. "What is the matter?" asked his parents; "what art thou weeping about, dear son?" "Dear parents," answered the son, "it is because I understand the meaning of the nightingale's song, and because this meaning is so sad for all of us." THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 311 "What then is the meaning? Te]l us the whole truth; do not hide it from us," said the father and mother. "Oh, how sad it sounds!" replied the son. "How much better would it be never to have been born!" "Do not frighten us," said the parents, alarmed. "If thou dost really understand the meaning of the song, tell us at once." "Do you not hear for yourselves? The nightingale says: 'The time will come when Ivan, the merchant's son, shall become Ivan, the king's son, and his own father shall serve him as a simple servant.'" The merchant and his wife felt troubled and began to distrust their son, their good Ivan. So one night they gave him a drowsy drink, and when he had fallen asleep they took him to a boat on the wide sea, spread the white sails, and pushed the boat from the shore. For a long time the boat danced on the waves and finally it came near a large mer- chant vessel, which struck against it with such a shock that Ivan awoke. The crew on the large vessel saw Ivan and pitied him. 312 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK So they decided to take him along with them and did so. High, very high, above in the sky they perceived cranes. Ivan said to the sailors: "Be careful; I hear the birds predicting a storm. Let us enter a harbor or we shall suffer great danger and damage. All the sails will be torn and all the masts will be broken." But no one paid any attention and they went farther on. In a short time the storm arose, the wind tore the vessel almost to pieces, and they had a very hard time to repair all the damage. When they were through with their work they heard many wild swans flying above them and talking very loud among themselves. "What are they talking about?" inquired the men, this time with interest. "Be careful," advised Ivan. "I hear and distinctly understand them to say that the pirates, the terrible sea robbers, are near. If we do not enter a harbor at once they will imprison and kill us." The crew quickly obeyed this advice and as soon as the vessel entered the harbor the THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 313 pirate boats passed by and the merchants saw them capture several unprepared vessels. When the danger was over, the sailors with Ivan went farther, still farther. Finally the vessel anchored near a town, large and unknown to the merchants. A king ruled in that town who was very much annoyed by three black crows. These three crows were all the time perching near the window of the king's chamber. No one knew how to get rid of them and no one could kill them. The king ordered notices to be placed at all crossings and on all prominent buildings, saying that whoever was able to relieve the king from the noisy birds would be rewarded by obtaining the youngest korolevna, the king's daughter, for a wife; but the one who should have the daring to undertake but not succeed in delivering the palace from the crows would have his head cut off. Ivan attentively read the announcement, once, twice, and once more. Finally he made the sign of the cross and went to the palace. He said to the servants: "Open the window and let me listen to the birds." 3H THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK The servants obeyed and Ivan listened for a while. Then he said: "Show me to your sovereign king." When he reached the room where the king sat on a high, rich chair, he bowed and said: "There are three crows, a father crow, a mother crow, and a son crow. The trouble is that they desire to obtain thy royal deci- sion as to whether the son crow must follow his father crow or his mother crow." The king answered: "The son crow must follow the father crow." As soon as the king announced his royal decision the crow father with the crow son went one way and the crow mother dis- appeared the other way, and no one has heard the noisy birds since. The king gave one half of his kingdom and his youngest korolevna to Ivan, and a happy life began for him. In the meantime his father, the rich mer- chant, lost his wife and by and by his fortune also. There was no one left to take care of him, and the old man went begging under the windows of charitable people. He went THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 315 from one window to another, from one village to another, from one town to another, and one bright day he came to the palace where Ivan lived, begging humbly for charity. Ivan saw him and recognized him, ordered him to come inside, and gave him food to eat and also supplied him with good clothes, asking questions: "Dear old man, what can I do for thee?" he said. "If thou art so very good," answered the poor father, without knowing that he was speaking to his own son, "let me remain here and serve thee among thy faithful servants." " Dear, dear father! " exclaimed Ivan, "thou didst doubt the true song of the nightingale, and now thou seest that our fate was to meet according to the predictions of long ago." The old man was frightened and knelt before his son, but his Ivan remained the same good son as before, took his father lovingly into his arms, and together they wept over their sorrow. Several days passed by and the old father 3 i6 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK felt courage to ask his son, the korolevitch: "Tell me, my son, how was it that thou didst not perish in the boat?" Ivan Korolevitch laughed gayly. "I presume," he answered, "that it was not my fate to perish at the bottom of the wide sea, but my fate was to marry the korolevna, my beautiful wife, and to sweeten the old age of my dear father." Madame De Blumenthal. THE CONSTANT TIN SOLDIER .There were once nve-and-twenty tin sol- diers — all brothers, for they had all been born of one old tin spoon. They shouldered their muskets and looked straight before them. They wore splendid uniforms of red and blue. When the lid was taken off the box in which they lay, the first words they heard in the world were, "Tin Soldiers!" This was said by a little boy who clapped his hands with joy because l From "Andersen's Best Fairy Tales," translated by Alice Corbin Hender- son. Published by Rand McNally 6* Company, Chicago and New York. THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 317 the soldiers had been given to him for his birthday. Each soldier was exactly like the others, except one that had but one leg because he had been born last and there had not been enough tin to finish him. But he stood as well upon his one leg as the others did upon their two. And this is the one sol- dier that did anything at all worth talking about. Of all the other toys that stood on the table on which the Tin Soldier had been placed, the one that attracted most attention was a castle made of cardboard. Through its little windows one could see straight into the many rooms. Outside of the castle little trees stood about a small lake that was made of looking-glass. Swans of wax swam on this lake, and, looking downward, saw their reflections in the clear water. But, pretty as this was, the prettiest thing of all was a little lady standing in the open door of the cardboard castle. She, too, was cut out of paper; and she wore a dress of the purest gauze. A little narrow ribbon was worn over her shoulders like a scarf, and in 3i 8 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK the middle of this ribbon was a shining tinsel rose. The little lady stretched out both her arms, for she was a dancer, and then lifted one foot so high in the air that the soldier could not see it at all, and so thought that she, like himself, had only one leg! "That would be just the wife for me," thought the Tin Soldier, "if only she were not too grand! "She lives in a castle, and I have only a box, and there are five-and-twenty of us in that. It would be no place for her! Still, I must try to make friends with her." So he hid himself safely behind a snuffbox, where he could easily watch the dainty Little Dancer who stood on one leg without losing her balance. Late in the evening all the other soldiers were put in their box and the people of the house went to bed. Then the toys began to play. They made visits, fought battles, and gave parties. The tin soldiers wanted to join the games; they rattled and rattled in their box, but could not get the lid off. The nutcracker turned THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 319 handsprings, and the pencil drew figures on the slate. There was so much noise that the Canary woke up and began to talk poetry. Only the Tin Soldier and the Little Dancer did not move from their places. She stood straight up on the point of one toe, and held up her arms; and he was just as steady as ever upon his one leg. He never turned his eyes away from her. Twelve o'clock struck and — pop! up flew the lid of the snuffbox! There was no snuff in it at all! There was only a little black goblin, a sort of a Jack-in-the-Box. "Tin Soldier!" said the Goblin, "don't stare at things that don't concern you!" But the Tin Soldier gave no sign of hearing him. "Just you wait then till to-morrow!" said the Goblin. II And in the morning, when the children got up, one of them put the Tin Soldier on the window sill. Now whether it was the goblin or the wind that did it we don't know; 320 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK but true it is that all at once the window flew open and the Tin Soldier fell, headforemost, all the way down from the third story to the street below. It was a terrible fall! The Tin Soldier turned over and over in the air, and when at last he landed, his bayonet stuck between the paving stones and his one leg was straight up in the air! The maidservant and the little boy ran down at once to look for the Tin Soldier. But, although they almost trod upon him, they could not see him anywhere. If the Tin Soldier had once called out "Here I am!" they would have found him. But the Tin Soldier, being in uniform, did not think it proper to shout for help. Suddenly it began to rain. Each drop fell faster than the last, and soon the water poured down in a steady stream. When the rain was over at last, two street boys came along. "Just look!" cried one. "There's a Tin Soldier! He shall go for a sail!" So they made a boat out of a newspaper and put the Tin Soldier in the middle of it. THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 321 He sailed away down the gutter, while the two street boys ran along, clapping their hands. Goodness, how the waves did roll in that gutter, and how fast the stream ran! The paper boat rocked up and down, and up and down, and sometimes whirled around in such a hurry that the Tin Soldier trembled. But he stood steady and never moved a muscle. He looked straight before him and held tight to his musket. All at once the boat shot into a long drain tunnel, and it became as dark as it had been in his box at home. "Where am I going now?" thought the Tin Soldier. "Oh, yes, of course it's the Goblin's doing! But if the Little Dancer only sat here beside me, it might be twice as dark for all I should care!" At this moment a big water rat who lived in the tunnel called out to the Tin Soldier, 1 ' Have you a pass ? Give me your passport ! ' ' But the Tin Soldier kept still and clung all the tighter to his musket. The paper boat rushed on and on, and the big water rat swam after it. Whew! how he 21 322 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK gnashed his teeth and shouted to the bits of stick and stone: "Stop him! Stop him! He hasn't paid toll! He hasn't shown his passport!" But the tide became stronger and stronger. The Tin Soldier could see the bright daylight where the tunnel ended. Then he heard a roaring sound that well might have frightened a braver man. Think! Just where the drain ended, the stream ran into a big canal! That was as dangerous for the Tin Soldier as going over a great waterfall would be for us. But he was so near the end that he could not stop. The boat dashed over the edge of the drain into the deep canal. The Tin Soldier held himself as stiff as he could. No one could say that he moved an eyelid. The boat swirled round, and round, and round. At last it filled up to the brim with water; it must sink. The Tin Soldier stood up to his neck in water. The boat sank deeper and deeper. The paper kept dropping to pieces. At last, as the water went over the Tin Soldier's THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 323 head, he thought of the pretty, pretty Little Dancer whom he was never to see again. In his ears rang the words of the song, "Farewell, farewell, thou warrior brave, For thou shalt die to-day." At last the paper boat gave way entirely and the Tin Soldier fell through — but just at that moment he was snapped up by a big fish ! Ill Oh, how dark it was inside that fish! It was even darker than it had been in the tun- nel. It was very narrow, too. But the Tin Soldier was as sturdy as ever, and lay at full length, shouldering hrs musket. Suddenly the fish rushed about hither and thither. It made the most frantic move- ments. But at last it lay perfectly still for a long, long time. Then all at once something flashed through the darkness like lightning. The Tin Soldier was once more in broad daylight, and a voice cried aloud: "The Tin Soldier!" 324 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK The fish had been caught, carried to mar- ket, sold, and brought into the kitchen, where the cook cut it open with a knife. She picked up the soldier around the waist with her finger and thumb and carried him into the parlor, where every one wanted to see the famous person who had traveled about inside of a fish. But the Tin Soldier was not at all proud. They sat him up on the table, and there — no! How could it be? The Tin Soldier found himself in the very same room that he had been in before! He saw the rame children. The same toys stood upon the table. And there was the same cardboard castle with the Little Dancer standing in the open door! She was still standing on one leg with the other one held away up in the air. The Tin Soldier was so touched by all this that he could hardly keep from weeping tin tears. But a soldier must not cry! He looked at her and she looked at him, and neither said a word! Then one of the little boys took the Tin Soldier and without rhyme or reason flung THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 325 him into the fire. No doubt the Goblin in the snuffbox was to blame for that! The Tin Soldier stood there in the blazing light. He felt a heat that was terrible; but whether it came from the fire or from the love in his heart, he did not know. All the colors had faded out of his uni- form; but whether that had been caused by the dangers he had been through or by his grief, no one could say. He looked at the Little Dancer ; she looked at him. He felt that he was melting; but he held himself straight and stiff and shouldered his gun bravely. Then, suddenly, the door blew open, the wind caught the Little Dancer, and she flew straight into the fire to the Tin Soldier — flashed up in a flame, and was gone! Then, indeed, the Tin Soldier melted down into a lump ; and when the maidservant took out the ashes next day she found him in the shape of a little tin heart. And of the Little Dancer nothing re- mained but the tinsel rose, and that was burned as black as a coal. Hans Christian Andersen. 326 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK MR. AND MRS. SPIKKY SPARROW I On a little piece of wood Mr. Spikky Sparrow stood: Mrs. Sparrow sat close by, A-making of an insect pie For her little children five, In the nest and all alive; Singing with a cheerful smile, To amuse them all the while, "T wikky wikky wikky wee, Wikky bikky twikky tee, Spikky bikky bee!" II Mrs. Spikky Sparrow said, "Spikky, darling! in my head Many thoughts of trouble come, Like to flies upon a plum. All last night, among the trees, I heard you cough, I heard you sneeze; And thought I, 'It 's come to that Because he does not wear a hat!' Chippy wippy sikky tee, Bikky wikky tikky mee, Spikky chippy wee! THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 327 III "Not that yon are growing old; But the nights are growing cold. No one stays out all night long Without a hat: I'm sure it 's wrong!" Mr. Spikky said, "How kind, Dear, you are, to speak your mind! All your life I wish you luck! You are, you are, a lovely duck! Witchy witchy witchy wee, Twitchy witchy witchy bee, Tikky tikky tee! IV "I was also sad and thinking, When one day I saw you winking, And I heard you sniffle-snuffle, And I saw your feathers ruffle: To myself I sadly said, 'She 's neuralgia in her head! That dear head has nothing on it! Ought she not to wear a bonnet?' Witchy kitchy kitchy wee, Spikky wikky mikky bee, Chippy wippy chee! 328 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK V 1 ' Let us both fly up to town : There I '11 buy you such a gown ! Which, completely in the fashion, You shall tie a sky-blue sash on; And a pair of slippers neat To fit your darling little feet, So that you will look and feel Quite galloobious and genteel, Jikky wikky bikky see, Chikky bikky wikky bee, Twicky witchy wee!" VI So they both to London went, Alighting on the Monument; Whence they flew down swiftly — pop! Into Moses* wholesale shop: There they bought a hat and bonnet, And a gown w T ith spots upon it, A satin sash of Cloxam blue, And a pair of slippers too. Zikky wikky mikky bee, Witchy witchy mitchy kee, Sikky tikky wee! THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 329 VII Then, when so completely dressed Back they flew, and reached their nest. Their children cried, "O ma and pa! How truly beautiful you are!" Said they, "We trust that cold or pain We shall never feel again; While, perched on tree or house or steeple, We now shall look like other people. Witchy witchy witchy wee, Twikky mikky bikky bee, Zikky sikky tee!" Edward Lear. CONTENTED JOHN One honest John Tomkins, a hedger and ditcher, Although he was poor, did not want to be richer ; For all such vain wishes in him were prevented By a fortunate habit of being contented. Though cold was the weather, or dear was the food, John was never found in a murmuring mood ; 330 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK For this he was constantly heard to declare, — What he could not prevent he would cheer- fully bear. "For why should I grumble and murmur?" he said; 11 If I cannot get meat, T can surely get bread; And, though fretting may make my calamities deeper, It can never cause bread and cheese to be cheaper." If John was afflicted with sickness or pain, He wished himself better, but did not com- plain ; Nor lie and fret in despondence and sorrow, But said that he hoped to be better to-morrow. If any one wronged him or treated him ill, Why, John was good-natured and sociable still; For he said that revenging the injury done Would be making two rogues when there need be but one. And thus honest John, though his station was humble, THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 331 Passed through this sad world without even a grumble; And I wish that some folks, who are greater and richer, Would copy John Tomkins, the hedger and ditcher. Jane Taylor. TUBAL CAIN Old Tubal Cain was a man of might, In the days when Earth was young; By the fierce red light of his furnace bright, The strokes of his hammer rung; And he lifted high his brawny hand, O'er the iron glowing clear, Till the sparks rushed out in scarlet showers, As he fashioned the sword and spear. And he sang, ' ' Hurrah for my handiwork ! Hurrah for the spear and the sword! Hurrah for the hand that shall wield them well, For he shall be king and lord." To Tubal Cain came many a one, As he wrought by his roaring fire, 332 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK And each one prayed for a strong steel blade As the crown of his desire; And he made them weapons sharp and strong, Till they shouted loud for glee, And gave him gifts of pearl and gold, And spoils of the forest free. And they sang, "Hurrah for Tubal Cain, Who hath given us strength anew! Hurrah for the smith! hurrah for the fire, And hurrah for the metal true!" But a sudden change came o'er his heart, Ere the setting of the sun, And Tubal Cain was filled with pain For the evil he had done. He saw that men, with rage and hate, Made war upon their kind, That the land was red with the blood they shed, In their lust for carnage blind. And he said, "Alas! that ever I made, Or that skill of mine should plan, The spear and the sword for men whose joy Is to slay their fellow-man!" And for many a day old Tubal Cain Sat brooding o'er his woe; THE vSTORY TELLER'S BOOK 333 And his hand forebore to smite the ore, And his furnace smoldered low. But he rose at last with a cheerful face, And a bright, courageous eye, And bared his strong right arm for work, While the quick flames mounted high. And he sang, " Hurrah for my handicraft!" And the red sparks lit the air; "Not alone for the blade was the bright steel made," And he fashioned the first plowshare. And men, taught wisdom from the past, In friendship joined their hands, Hung the sword in the hall, the spear on the wall, And plowed the willing lands; And sang, " Hurrah for Tubal Cain! Our stanch good friend is he; And for the plowshare and the plow, To him our praise shall be. But while oppression lifts its head, Or a tyrant would be lord, Though we may thank him for the plow, We'll not forget the sword!" Charles Mackay. 334 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK SNYEGURKA 1 There was once upon a time a peasant named Ivan, who had a wife named Mary. They had been married many years, and loved one another, but they had no children, and this caused them so much sorrow that they could find no pleasure but in watching the children of their neighbors. What could they do? Heaven had willed it so. Things in this world do not go as we wish, but as Heaven ordains. One day, in the winter, the children played about in the road and the two old folk looked on, sitting in the window seat. At last the children began to make a beautiful snow figure. Ivan and Mary looked on, enjoying it. All of a sudden Ivan said, "Wife, suppose we make a snow figure?" Mary was ready. "Why not?" said she. "We might as well amuse ourselves a little. But what is the use of making a big figure? Better make a snow-child, since God has not given us a liv- ing one." i From "Russian Folk Lore and Legends" THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 335 " You are right, " said Ivan, and he took his hat and went out into the garden with his wife. So they set to work to make a snow-child. They fashioned a little body, little hands, and little feet, and when all that was done they rolled a snowball and shaped it into a head. "Heaven bless you!" cried a passer-by. "Thanks," replied Ivan. "The help of Heaven is always good," said Mary. "What are you doing?" asked the stranger. "Look," said Ivan. "We are making a snow-girl," said Mary. On the ball of snow which stood for a head they made the nose and the chin. Then they put two little holes for the eyes. As Ivan finished the work, oh, wonderful, the figure became alive ! He felt a warm breath come from its lips. Ivan drew back, and looked. The child had sparkling eyes, and there was a smile upon its lips. "What is this? " cried Ivan, making the sign of the cross. The snow figure bent its head as if it were alive, and stirred its little arms and legs in the snow as if it were a real child. 336 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK "Ivan! Ivan!" cried Mary, trembling with joy. "Heaven has heard our prayers!" and she threw herself on the child, and covered her with kisses. The snow fell away from the little girl like the shell from a chicken. "Ah, my dear Snyegurka!" cried Mary, embracing the long-wished-for and unexpected child, and she carried her off into the cottage. Ivan had much to do to recover himself, he was so surprised, and Mary was foolish with joy. Snyegurka grew hour by hour, and became more and more beautiful. Ivan and Mary were overjoyed, and their hut was full of life and merriment. The village girls were always there, playing with Snyegurka, dressing her, chattering with her, singing songs to her, teaching her all they knew. Snyegurka was very clever; she noticed everything, and learned things quickly. During that winter she grew as big as a three-year-old child. She understood things, and when she spoke her voice was so sweet that one could have listened to it forever. She was amiable, obedient, and affectionate. Her skin was white, her hair THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 337 the color of flax, and her eyes deep blue; her cheeks, however, had no rosy flush in them, for she had no blood, but she was so good and so amiable that every one loved her. "You see," said Mary, "what joy Heaven has given us in our old age." "Heaven be thanked," responded Ivan. At last the winter was ended, and the spring sun shone down and warmed the earth. The snow melted, the green grass sprang up in the fields, and the lark sang high up in the sky. The village girls went singing, ' ' Sweet spring, how did you come to us ? How did you come ? Did you come on a plow or on a harrow ?" Snyegurka, however, became very sad. "What is the matter with you, my dear child?" said Mary, drawing her to her and caressing her. "Are you not well? You are not merry. Has an evil eye glanced on you?" "No," answered Snyegurka, "it is noth- ing, mother. I am quite well." The last snow of the winter had melted and disappeared. Flowers sprang up in all 22 338 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK the gardens and fields. In the woods the nightingale and all the birds sang, and all the world seemed very happy, save Snye- gurka, who became more and more sad. She would run away from her companions and hide herself from the sun in dark nooks, like a timid flower under the trees. She liked nothing save playing by the waterside under the dark willows. She seemed to enjoy only the cool and the shower. At nighttime she was happy; and when a good storm occurred, a fierce hailstorm, she was as pleased with the drops as if they had been pearls. When the sun broke forth again — when the hail was melted — then Snyegurka began to weep bitterly. The spring ended. The summer came, and the feast of St. John was at hand. The girls were going to play in the woods, and they called for Snyegurka to go with them. Mary was afraid to let her go, but she thought that the outing might do her child good, so she got her ready, embraced her, and said: "Go, my child, and play with your friends; and you, my daughters, look well after her. THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 339 You know I love her better than the apple of my eye." "We will," cried they all, and they ran off together to the woods. There they plucked the wild flowers, made themselves wreaths, and sang songs. When the sun was setting they made a fire of dry grass, and placed themselves in a row beside it, each of them having a crown of flowers on her head. "Look at us," said they to Snyegurka, "how we run, and follow us," and then they began to sing and to jump, around and over the little fire. All of a sudden they heard, behind them, a sigh. "Ah!" They looked about them, and then at one another. There was nothing to be seen. They looked again, and found that Snyegurka was no longer among them. "She has hidden herself," cried they. Then they looked for her, calling out and shouting her name, but could not find her; there was no answer. "Where can she be? She must have gone home," said they. 340 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK They ran back to the village, but there no no one had seen Snyegurka. All the folk searched during the next day and the day following. They went through all the woods, they looked through every thicket, but no trace of the child was discovered. Ivan and Mary were inconsolable, and for a long time did the poor mother seek her child in the woods, crying, " Snyegurka, my sweet, come to me!" Sometimes she thought she could hear the voice of her child replying to her; but no, it was not Snyegurka. "What could have become of her?" folk asked one another. "Can a wild beast have v carried her off into the woods? Has some bird of prey flown off with her? " No beast had carried her off, nor had a bird of prey flown away with her. When she began to run with her companions she suddenly changed into a light vapor, and was carried up into heaven. W. W. Gibbings. SUGGESTIONS TO TEACHERS Many books of stories have been compiled for chil- dren, but in general the editor has had in mind the interest of the particular collection of stories rather than the development of the stories themselves as corresponding to the child's growth. Also the selec- tion and collection of folk tales is so interesting in itself that often the editor uses the story with the historic or folk value only in mind. Not infrequently from this point of view a story is included of great worth, although not altogether suitable to the children for whom the book was primarily intended. On the other hand, when writers prepare books of tales, having in mind children of a certain age, they make the mistake of thinking that the story must be desiccated or pulverized or otherwise diluted for these small and inexperienced people — with the disastrous result that the book loses all literary value. It is in the matter and manner of the story that the corre- spondence must be found, not in the emasculation of it. The compilers of this volume have given much time to the study of children as well as to the study of stories for children, and they aim to supply a collec- tion which in some measure follows the psychology of story telling as well as the growth of the child- mind, and the book should be studied with these aims in view. The name of the book was advisedly chosen. It is 34i 342 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK a story teller's book because the elementary literary interest responds more fruitfully to the telling of stories than to the reading of stories to the small listener. No one can read a story as he can tell it. Indeed, the formal dependence on the written symbol takes spontaneity and force from almost any commu- nication. The younger and more primitive the listener, the more surely one finds this to be true. In order to appreciate the educational value of story telling, study the beginnings of literature and discover the fact that they were invariably oral. The Barbarians, Celts, Greeks, Gauls, Britons, Saxons, Normans, French, Latins, Italians all had their story tellers, declaimers, bards, minnesingers, troubadours, and the poor had their old wives, peddlers, or traveling scholars who paid for their shelter by their enter- tainment. This has persisted even down to very recent times, and at present in remote or primitive places we can find the custom still alive. Words are for the ear. The only reason that they are ever written is that they may be saved for those yet to come, or that they may travel beyond the reach of the voice. Therefore these first stories should be told, and the habit thus established should be carried on through all the years of growth, the stories gradually increasing in power and meaning until the great sagas of Germany, Ireland, Ancient England, Greece, Israel, and of all countries that have contributed an epic of beauty and of vitality, shall rejoice the listening minds and hearts of youth. THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 343 The natural impulse of speech in elementary narra- tive form is to become rhythmic. Thus it is more easily memorized, and the accent and meter are smoother and more flowing to the ear. It holds the attention better, and the listener follows the story with less effort. In the stories in this book the first to be given are short, simple, and strongly rhythmic, often containing verses or verse forms. For all children the first literature is the nursery rhyme, and all books for little children are in verse — Teddy-Bear books, Brownies, Golliwogs, Kewpies, Circus Books, and so on, ad infinitum. For this reason many short ballads and poems have been included here, and these should be repeated often to the chil- dren until they learn them unconsciously. Note the development of the rhythmic form in the stories. The Baby Ray stories are almost all verse; the first in cumulative form, the second with the allit- erative repetition which suggests a drowsy acquiescence. "With a leap, leap, leap, Went to see if Baby Ray was asleep, sleep, sleep," and the quiet voice and insistence bring a gentle response in quietude. Josephine Daskam Bacon's charming little verses supply the same atmosphere of a rhythm of musical sound. "And one slips over, and one comes next," "And over they go, and over they go," "But one runs over, and one comes next," and we hear of the gray and the white, and the good 344 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK little, gray little sheep until voice and flowing, repeated words suggest a restful stillness. The Arabella and Araminta stories supply a prose rhythm still chiefly objective and largely humorous. We get the rhythm of the pictures in vivid imagery, and the contrast and color supplied by the repetition of incident with slight variation. These are the Dromios of nursery literature, but without their grotesquerie and with an affectionate playfulness of mood. Arabella with her white kitty and Araminta with her black kitty, Annabel and Lilla- bel, one with a red ball, one with a blue ball; one goes to mamma's lap, and one to papa's, and so on through the little stories, — a rhythmic incantation which charms the sense and pleases the fancy. In the next group of stories the rhythm is cumula- tive — the historic form which never loses its interest. Here we have the tale gathering force by the addition of link after link, until the climax is reached and we watch the story unfold, following each step until the mind satisfies itself with the rounded conclusion. Then comes the more developed group of stories of triple incident, reaching its climax in the third, each repeating some characteristic of the preceding incident, but always adding the slight push that will result in the secret of the tale. In "The Story of the Three Bears," "The Straw Ox," "Johnny and the Three Goats," "The Three Little Pigs," the rhythm delights, and yet at the same time provides the most elemental form of true plot. THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 345 In the later stories in the book we find the rhythm of cause and consequence, as in "The Half-Chick" or "The Hop-about Man," and at last stories of motive and act or feeling and expression, as in "Oeyvind and Marit" or "Anders' Red Cap." In the later stories these types of rhythmic develop- ment are further exemplified and become more com- plex, being embroidered with incident and leading with more subtle detail to the climax — as in the fairy tales of "One-Eye, Two-Eyes, and Three-Eyes," "The Hut in the Wood," and "The Greedy Shepherd." The matter of the stories deserves some comment. But now a word as to length. The first few stories in the book are very short, since the power to listen is something that must be learned and must grow. That is one of the reasons why the rhyme supplies the best form of story for the undeveloped mind. The joy of listening to a stanza or two is not marred by forced effort. But this power of concentration for longer periods must be trained, and so through the little story we come to the longer one. The Prince Dimple stories, the Baby Ray stories, and the verses may be told to the little fellow seated in your lap, or held in your arms after his bedtime romp; they are the "just a minute" stories. Or they may be the vehicle for unifying in feeling and interest the little group of neophytes who are making their first essay with the unknown world of the schoolroom, or perhaps for the little troop of stammerers in a foreign tongue, on whose ears the unknown words fall with unfamiliar sound, 346 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK and who will slowly appreciate it by the help of the simple form and the welcome repetitions, The stories and verses increase in length until at the close of the book we find the ballad and story in two or more parts, where the interest must be carried over from day to day. It is better, however, in tell- ing these to give the first part only on the first day. The second day, before giving the second part, refresh the memory by a word or two of introduction, and wait until the third day before giving the whole. Some- times, if the attention is not wandering or unsteady by the end of the second part, it might be possible to repeat the whole of the story on the second day. If, however, the attention has been held long enough, it would be well to repeat the story again in the two or more parts before giving the whole. In matter, study the incidents of the stories. In the beginning they are all stories of simple happenings that parallel the uneventful course of any little child's life. His feeling is so objective that he does not recog- nize himself, and the reflection of his daily life is valu- able and awakening as far as it ought to be. He is not ready for fancy, as he has not yet found his own place in the passing show which surrounds him. In the nursery rhyme, which was his first literature, the incidents were unconnected and irrelevant pictures. But in this group, true connections are established, and that is a sufficient step in advance. Soon, however, the child suspects the representation of life, and, if continued too long, it would make him THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 347 self-conscious. Therefore, the homely type of folk tale enters on the stage of fancy. The incidents arc still familiar, but the characters are not human. Here we find bears, pigs, sticks, fire, wind, goats, bees, and so forth actors in the drama, living in houses, cooking dinners, taking walks, buying and selling, and living in a very domestic world quite devoid of magic but also with no people in it, except the one or two who stray in merely as accessories, not principals. All peoples in a primitive stage of thought have used this form of expression. Interesting study of it may be found by the reading of oriental tales of animals, fables, the mummeries of the Middle Ages, and many of the representations in the miracle and mystery plays. Later in the book may be found the story containing fancy, but not fairies or magic, and also one or two poetic tales foreshadowing a world larger and more complex in interest and possibility. Some of the explanation of the matter-of-fact atti- tude of some children, as well as the over-sensitive feeling of others, toward the fairy tale is a result of a premature diet which caused a slight mental indi- gestion. But when the imaginative appetite arrives it must be given the right sustenance, and in the later stories the wonder of romance is found with its magic happenings and delightful possibilities bringing the prince and princess at last to the fulfillment of their golden destinies. The ethical development of the tales is well worth study. Direct moral teaching is hardly to be found 348 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK in any of them. Possibly the most marked is in "Mabel on Midsummer Day," "The Hop-about Man," and "Who stole the Bird's Nest?" But cause and consequence are strongly emphasized in many of the tales, and in the earlier stories the mere presentation of life in wholesome, natural pictures provides standards which will later awaken comparison and criticism of right and wrong actions. This too must not be forced, and since the child is unmoral at first, and is gradually learning by means of true expe- rience the right relations of life and conduct, the only rational, ethical training we can give him through his literary awakening is by supplying him with a reflec- tion of his own experience, though in a wider and more complete form. In time he will learn to make his own applications, and the truths will be more clearly apprehended because he grew to their understanding instead of being forced into them or overwhelmed by them. The ethical value of the fairy tales is that they are always based on the idea of poetic justice. The good and the beautiful are one, the ugly and the wicked arc counterparts, and the "fair and wise and good" are always triumphant in the final outcome. This is the true experience for these beginners. As we grow older, the triumph of the ultimate outcome is placed beyond the confines of experience, but it is still there and to the child must be manifest in the visible climax. Study the close of the stories. Frequently there is what might be called a negative ending, but never a THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 349 sentimental one, nor one which escapes the consequence which legitimately should follow the cause. This is the best element of ethical training for any of us. If we would believe that the deed returns on the doer, and that the possibility of standing from under while the rock that we have loosened falls on another is not in the scheme of spiritual dominion, we would establish for ourselves one of the most fundamental regulative concepts of moral conduct. But we think we can cheat the universe, and this is often because, through false sentiment, the idea of the universe was allowed to cheat us in our first excursions into inquiry in childhood. These consequences must arrive in the most objec- tive and impersonal manner, with no extraneous appeal to the feelings, but when the little pig disobeys the precepts of wisdom the old wolf eats him; when the foolish Chicken Licken makes a mountain of a mole hill, and all her friends run after her, carrying foolish gossip to centers of prominence, gaining cheap noto- riety, the shrewd wayfarer whom they meet will profit by their foolishness. The spirit of idle curiosity and careless self-indulgence will have to save itself by flight and disappearance from the indignation and resent- ment of the law-abiding bears who have been inter- fered with. Each story must work out logically to its appointed purpose. A fine sense of humor is a necessary requirement for the understanding both of children and of the stories for them. It would be impossible to deal adequately, 350 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK in the space available here, with the fun and humor and unconscious satire in these stories, for every real story for children contains one of these. But a word must be said with regard to one or two of the stories or verses that are most often misunderstood. Such rhymes and stories as "The Robber Kitten," "Mr. and Mrs. Spikky Sparrow," "The Street Musicians," "Mr. Miacca," and "Titty Mouse and Tatty Mouse" must be recognized as frankly humorous. Their extravagance, their crudity, the ludicrous effect of the images they evoke, are all finely comic, and in a quaint, wholesome, objective way that is an excellent literary training and the best kind of fun for such primitive minds. Picture to yourself, in "The Street Musicians," these four old creatures, the donkey, the dog, the cat, and the cock, away on their travels, following each other down the road and planning to be street musicians, in itself a satire. Then picture, mounted on each other's backs, the quaint pinnacle of fun, each uttering his raucous bray, bark, call, or crow. Then the effect — this hideous concert frightens those fearsome desperadoes so that they take to their heels and leave the friends in possession. And last, the epilogue, which is funnier still — the awesome story told by the robber, and the misconception of these feeble creatures, transforming them into powerful members of society and leaving them in the enjoyment of all that was so easily gained. Use these stories fearlessly, and tell them without explanation, only enjoying and appreciating the fun THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK 351 and meaning yourself. If you do so the children will soon catch their spirit. Nothing in the book is more valuable than the ballads, because to the romance of the tale they add the element of poetic expression. We constantly regret the waning appreciation of verse, and yet we do nothing to encourage the taste for it in childhood. Poetic feeling is instinct in chil- dren, and if accustomed to listening to the accent of verse and to this lyric interpretation of story, as they grow older such ballad treasures as Marmion, The Lady of the Lake, The Idylls of the King, and the many others too little known and loved, will become their natural heritage and poetry the daily necessity of their lives. But this is the most important precept that can be given: The telling of the story is yours. Love it, understand it, enjoy the telling, let yourself interpret it simply and sincerely by voice, expression, and spirit, and your work is done. Out of your little listeners you will make lovers of everything that is fine in liter- ature and life. But your enunciation must be clear, your voice sympathetic and flexible, your heart and mind sensi- tive, and you must have the courage to persevere. Do not feel that telling a story once will be sufficient for either you or the children. Tell it again and again, until it is yours and you know all that is in it. The children will listen with ever growing appreciative attention and delight, and you will have that best reward of the true story teller, — the sigh of rapture 352 THE STORY TELLER'S BOOK when the story time comes, the earnest " Tell it again," and, best of all, the listener at last repeating the words with you and forestalling your climax by joyous anticipation. WKKBBBmmm 14 DAY USE RETURN TO DESK FROM WHICH BORROWED LOAN DEPT. This book is due on the last date stamped below, or on the date to which renewed. Renewed books are subject to immediate recalL MAY 3 1 1967 1 5 rECEWU — f€8- i 9 1970 • ff» vPW **» YB 44267 374171 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY