STORIES

THE FAIRY HORSESHOE

At midnight a long time ago an honest hard-working blacksmith heard someone in his shop hammering, hammering, hammering, for all the world like another blacksmith making a shoe. But the sound was very quick and light, more like tapping, tapping, tapping. And all the time, whoever it was was whistling the prettiest tune you ever heard, and singing between times:

The blacksmith listened and thought, and listened and thought, and listened and thought. Then he sprang out of bed on tiptoe, crying softly, “I have it! I have it! It’s one of the wee small people. I’ll catch him if I can for good luck.” The blacksmith needed some good luck. His work was to shoe the horse and shoe the colt and shoe the wild mare; and he did it well. But he hadn’t enough to do, and so he was very poor.

Well, to go back, the blacksmith sprang out of bed on tiptoe. Then without making the least bit of noise in the world that ever was heard, he opened the door of his bedroom and looked all about the shop. He couldn’t see sight nor light of anybody, but he heard the hammering, and whistling, and the singing between times:

“It’s very odd,” said he, under his breath; “where can the wee small thing be!” All of a sudden, as he peered about more sharply, he spied it stuck in the girth of a white mare standing in the stall nearest the forge. The elfin smith was wearing a bit of an apron before him, and a tid of a nightcap on his head, and hammering away at a speck of a horseshoe.

“He’ll bring me good luck, if I can only catch him,” said the blacksmith so softly that his own ears could scarcely hear. And without making the least bit of noise in the world that ever was heard, he tiptoed up behind the wee small body, opened his hand, and—snatched him up, crying, “Ha, ha, I have you.” With that he opened two fingers to take a look, when—out jumped the elf, crying, “Ho, ho, see me go,” and away he did go like a streak of lightning.

But he left the wee bit horseshoe in the blacksmith’s hand. And it did bring him good luck, so that ever after he had plenty to do. So many horses and colts and wild mares came to be shod that he had to build a larger shop with nine-and-seven stalls.

When the blacksmith died, he left the good luck fairy horseshoe to his sons, and they left it to their sons, and they left it to their sons; so that if they haven’t lost it the blacksmith’s great, great, great, great, great, great, great grandchildren have it yet.

—Angela M. Keyes

THE MOUSE AND THE SAUSAGE

Once upon a time a little mouse and a little sausage, who loved each other like sisters, decided to live together. They planned it so that every day one would go to walk in the fields, or to buy things in the town, and the other would stay at home to keep the house.

One day, when the little sausage had prepared cabbage for dinner, the little mouse, who had come back from town with a good appetite, enjoyed it so heartily that she exclaimed: “How delicious the cabbage is to-day, my dear!”

“Ah!” answered the little sausage, “that is because I popped myself into the pot while it was cooking.”

On the next day, when it was her turn to prepare the meals, the little mouse said to herself: “Now I will do as much for my friend as she did for me; we shall have lentils for dinner, and I will jump into the pot while they are boiling.” So she did, without stopping to think that a simple sausage can do some things not to be attempted by even the wisest mouse.

When the sausage came home, she found the house lonely and silent. She called again and again, “My little mouse! Mouse of my heart!” but no one answered. Then she went to look at the lentils boiling on the stove, and, alas! found within the pot her good little friend, who had perished for love of her. Poor mousie had stayed too long at her cookery, and when she tried to climb out of the pot, she had no longer the strength to do so.

The little sausage could never be consoled! That is why to-day, when you put one in the pan or on the gridiron, you will hear her weep and sigh, “M-my p-poor m-mouse! Ah, m-my p-poor m-mouse!”

—French folk tale

THE STORY OF THE LITTLE BOY AND THE LITTLE DOG

There was a little boy and there was a little dog. The two lived together and loved each other, and where one went the other followed.

Now, all of a sudden, the little boy and his nurse moved away to another city, far, far off. This puzzled the little boy so much that for once he forgot the little dog. When he remembered him, it was the middle of the night. But, for all that, he got up and waked his nurse to ask her where the little dog could be. The nurse rubbed her sleepy eyes and said,

Then she closed her eyes and straightway fell fast asleep, and so there was nothing for the little boy to do but to fall asleep, too.

At break of day the little boy was at the window watching for the little dog. But alas! no little dog came. When the little boy asked his nurse what could be keeping the little dog, she said,

Well, the morning and the noon passed, and no little dog came. The little boy grieved so that he could neither eat nor play. At last when evening began to darken, and still no little dog came, and still the little boy watched at the window, the nurse put on her bonnet and shawl and went out to find the little lost dog.

It wasn’t long before she was back with a dog that looked something like the dear lost one, but much thinner and quieter. When the little boy said so to his nurse, she said,

The little boy ran and gave him the milk. When the little dog had lapped up the milk, he felt so much better that he licked the little boy’s face, and the two frisked about the room.

But the little boy noticed that the little dog did not caper so merrily as he used to do. Indeed, the poor creature soon became quiet and sad again. And, although the little boy made his own legs go as fast as a windmill, he could not coax the little dog to run a race with him. He saw, too, that the little dog found it very hard to curl himself up on the hearthrug for a nap. And the next day the little dog was so wretched that he refused to eat.

“Poor, poor doggie, what ails you, whatever ails you?” cried the little boy. “You’ll die if you do not eat.” He lifted the dog tenderly into his lap, when—what should he feel on the stomach but a seam! “Nurse,” he cried, “come quickly; something is stitched so tight around the poor dog’s body he cannot eat nor breathe.”

The nurse ran in with the scissors in her hand. And lo!

out came the little boy’s own little dog.

“Now I see through it all,” cried the nurse. And what she saw was what had really happened.

While the little dog was on his way to the little boy, a dog-seller snatched him up and carried him into a shop. There he tried to change him into a French poodle by sewing him into a skin-tight black jacket with curly trimming. But by great good luck it was down the street past this very shop the nurse walked and spied the little dog peeping out to see how he might escape.

“Oh, I’ll never forget thee again,” cried the little boy. And he didn’t. The two lived happy together ever after, and where one went the other followed.

—Angela M. Keyes

THE STORY OF THE TWO CAKES WHO LOVED EACH OTHER IN SILENCE

On the shop counter lay two gingerbread cakes. One was the shape of a man with a hat, the other of a maiden without a bonnet. Both their faces were on the side that was turned up, for they were to be looked at on that side, and not on the other. On the left the man wore a bitter almond—that was his heart. The maiden was honey-cake all over.

As they were only samples, they stayed on the counter a long time. And, at last, they fell in love with each other. But neither told the other, as should have been done, if anything was to come of it.

“He is a man and must speak first,” thought she. But she was happy, for she knew he loved her.

His thoughts were far more extravagant; that is the way with men. He dreamed that he was a real street boy, and that he had four pennies of his own, and that he bought the sweet maiden and ate her up.

So they lay on the counter for weeks and weeks, and grew dry and hard.

But the thoughts of the maiden became ever more gentle and maidenly. “It is enough for me that I have lived on the same table with him,” she said, and—crack! she broke in two.

“If she had only known of my love,” thought he, “she would have kept together a little longer.”

“And that is their story, and here they are, both of them,” said the baker, for it was he who was telling the story. “They are remarkable for their curious history, and for their silent love, which never came to anything. There they are for you.” So saying, he gave the man, who was yet whole, to Joanna, and the broken maiden to Knud.

But the children were so impressed with the story that they could only look at them, they could not eat them up just yet.

—Hans Christian Andersen

HOW THE ROOSTER BUILT A HOUSE OF HIS OWN

One spring day a young rooster set out on his two stout legs to build a house of his own. On he went, a long, long way, and a long, long way farther, and a long, long way farther than that.

Then he lifted up his voice and flapped his wings and crowed,

At this out from somewhere stepped a bonny, wee white hen and fared along beside him.

On went the young rooster and the bonny, wee white hen a long, long way, and a long, long way farther, and a long, long way farther than that.

Then the young rooster lifted up his voice, flapped his wings, and crowed,

At this out from somewhere stepped a bearded goat, and a brindled cow, and a long-tailed horse, and a whiskered cat, and fared along beside him.

On went the young rooster, and the bonny, wee white hen, and the bearded goat, and the brindled cow, and the long-tailed horse, and the whiskered cat, a long, long way, and a long, long way farther, and a long, long way farther than that.

Then the young rooster lifted up his voice, flapped his wings, and crowed,

The bearded goat climbed up to browse on a rocky hill near by, and said it would. The brindled cow cropped the grass beside a running stream, and said it would. The long-tailed horse took a mouthful from a clump of wild oats, and said it would. The whiskered cat spied a field mouse scurrying into her hole, and said it would. The bonny, wee white hen had not spoken. The rooster looked about for her, so did the bearded goat, and the brindled cow, and the long-tailed horse, and the whiskered cat, but she was nowhere to be seen.

The young rooster lifted up his voice, flapped his wings, and crowed,

cried the bonny, wee white hen, running out to tell him of an egg she had laid in the long soft hay.

“Well done,” cried Father Rooster, looking very proud of her; “our peeping chicks will soon be out of the shell.”

So then they all knew the place would do, and they set about building the house of their own. The long-tailed horse cut down a tree for wood with his strong teeth, the bearded goat rubbed the edges smooth with his horns, the brindled cow carried the beams on her broad back and stood them up in place with her forelegs, the whiskered cat sprang up and down the beams and nailed them together, the young rooster gave the orders to everyone, and when the house was done the bonny, wee white hen swept it clean as a new pin.

Then they all moved in. And there they lived in this house of their own for a year and a day, and a year and a day, and a great many more, as happy as bees in clover.

And the young rooster was cock of the walk.

—Angela M. Keyes

THUMBELINA

(Arranged as a continued story)

How She Came to the Woman

Once a woman wished she had a very little child, but she did not know where to get one. So she went to an old witch and said, “I wish I had a very little child. Can you tell me where I might get one?”

“Oh, that I can easily,” said the old witch. “Here is a barleycorn for you. It is not the kind that grows in everyone’s field and the chickens eat. Put it into a flower pot, and you shall see what you shall see.”

“Thank you,” said the woman, and she gave the witch twelve shillings, for that was the price of the barleycorn.

Well, the woman planted the barleycorn. And immediately there grew up a great handsome flower. It was like a tulip, but the petals were tightly closed as if it were still a bud.

“What a beautiful flower,” cried the woman, and she kissed its yellow and red leaves. “Pop,” the flower opened. It was a real tulip, but in the middle, there upon the green velvet stamens sat a tiny maiden, lovely as a fairy, and only half a thumb’s height. So her mother called her Thumbelina.

And that is how she got her.

THUMBELINA

How She is Carried Off by the Toad

One night as Thumbelina lay sleeping in her pretty walnut-shell cradle, there came creeping through the open window an old Toad. He hopped straight down the table where Thumbelina lay.

“Ah, she would make a lovely wife for my son,” said he. So he picked up the cradle with Thumbelina in it, and hopped through the window and down the garden to the brook. Here he lived with his son.

“What do you say to her for your bride, my son?” said he.

“Croak! croak! brek-kek-kek!” was all the son could say.

“Hush! Don’t speak so loudly, or she will awake,” whispered the old Toad. “She might run away from us, for she is as light as swan’s down. We will put her out in the brook on one of the broad lily leaves; that will be just like an island to her, and she won’t be able to get away. Then we’ll go and get the best room in the marsh in order, where you are to live and keep house together.”

So they swam out with her, and when they came to a broad lily leaf lifted her out of the cradle very gently without waking her, and swam back with it, because they intended to place it in the bridal room.

Well, when Thumbelina woke and saw where she was she began to cry bitterly, for there was water on every side of the great leaf and she could not get to land at all. The little fishes swimming below stuck their heads out of the water to see what was the matter. And when they saw Thumbelina they thought her so pretty that they drew in their heads and put them together under the water, and nibbled away at the stem until the leaf was free. Then away sailed Thumbelina, far off from the ridiculous toad and his son who could only say, “Croak, croak, brek-kek-kek.”

THUMBELINA

How She Got to Land

Thumbelina sailed by many cities, and the little birds who sat in the bushes saw her, and said, “What a lovely little girl!” A white butterfly fluttered round her and at last alighted on the leaf with her. Thumbelina was glad of his company; she took her girdle and tied one end of it around the butterfly and the other to the leaf. On she went, faster than ever now.

Soon there came a big May-bug flying toward her. When he saw her he thought her so pretty he clasped his claws round her waist, and flew with her up into a tree.

Mercy! how frightened poor little Thumbelina was! But the May-bug did her no harm. He seated himself with her upon the biggest green leaf of the tree, gave her the sweet part of the flowers to eat, and told her she was lovely, although she did not look a bit like a May-bug.

When the other May-bugs who lived in the tree heard of it, they all came to pay a visit. They looked at Thumbelina, and one said, “Why, she hasn’t more than two legs; how very odd that is!”

“And she hasn’t any feelers!” cried another.

“How squeezed she is at the waist—fie! How ugly she is!” said all the lady May-bugs.

So at last the May-bug who had carried her off thought so, too, although she was really very pretty; and he flew down with her from the tree and set her on a daisy and left her there.

But, anyway, she was on land again; that was something.

THUMBELINA

How She Goes to Live with the Field-Mouse

The whole summer through Thumbelina lived quite alone in the great wood. She wove herself a bed out of blades of grass, and hung it up under a shamrock to be sheltered from the rain. She scooped the honey out of the flowers for food, and she drank the dew that stood every morning on the leaves. So summer and autumn passed.

Now came the winter, the long cold winter. All the sweet birds who used to sing to her flew away. The trees and flowers lost their leaves. The great shamrock she lived under shriveled up, and left her shivering. She tried to wrap herself in a dry leaf, but that tore in the middle. Soon it began to snow. Every snowflake that fell on her was like a whole shovelful thrown on us, for we are tall and she was only an inch high. Poor little Thumbelina! she was nearly frozen!

She wandered out of the wood into a withered cornfield. The corn had gone long ago; nothing but dry stubble stood up out of the frozen ground. But it was like a great forest for Thumbelina to be lost in. How she trembled with the cold!

After some time she came to a field-mouse’s home. It was in a little hole under the corn stubble, warm and cosy. There was a kitchen in it and a pantry filled with corn. Little Thumbelina stood at the door just like a poor beggar girl and begged for a little bit of barleycorn. “I haven’t eaten a crumb in two days,” she cried pitifully.

“You poor little creature,” said the kind field-mouse, “come into my warm kitchen and eat as much as you wish.” And when Thumbelina came in, the field-mouse liked her so well that she said, “If you wish you may stay with me all winter, but you must keep my room clean and neat, and tell me little stories, for I am very fond of them.”

So Thumbelina did, and had a very good time of it.

THUMBELINA

How She Meets the Mole

One day when Thumbelina had tidied the house and made it look as neat as a new pin, she sat down to chat with the field-mouse.

“My dear,” said the field-mouse, “we shall soon have a visit from my neighbor, the mole. He comes to see me once a week. Do you know, he would make you a good husband. He is rich. He lives in a much larger house than mine, and wears beautiful black velvet fur. When he comes you must tell him the prettiest stories you know.”

And, sure enough, the mole came to see them, dressed in his black velvet fur. Thumbelina did not care for him at all. He talked about nothing but himself. He told how rich he was and how large his rooms were, twenty times larger than the field-mouse’s, and he said he didn’t like the sun and flowers, just because he had never seen them.

“How can you talk so!” cried Thumbelina, indignantly.

“Sing us one of your sweet songs, Thumbelina, my dear,” said the field-mouse.

So Thumbelina had to sing. She sang, “Ladybug, fly away.” She sang it so sweetly that the mole fell in love with her. But he did not tell her so yet. As for her, she was glad when his visit was over.

THUMBELINA

How She Takes Care of the Swallow

Well, the mole had dug a long passage through the earth from his house to the field-mouse’s, and he told Thumbelina and the field-mouse they might walk in the passage whenever they chose.

“Don’t be afraid of the dead bird lying there,” said he; “come with me and I’ll show you where it is.” He led the way with a bit of rotted wood in his mouth to light up the long dark passage. When he came to the place, he thrust his broad nose through the ceiling to make a hole so that the daylight might shine down. And there in the middle of the floor lay a dead swallow, with his beautiful wings pressed close against his sides and his feet and head drawn in under the feathers. The poor thing looked as if he had died of cold.

Thumbelina was very sorry for him, but the mole gave the bird a push with his crooked legs and said, “Now he can’t pipe any more. I’m glad I was not born a bird, and that none of my children can ever be birds. A bird can do nothing but say ‘tweet tweet’ in summer and starve in winter.”

“Yes, indeed,” cried the field-mouse, “you may well say you are better off to be a mole. You are clever, you can build and make underground passages where you may keep snug and warm in the winter. Of what use is all this ‘tweet tweet’ to a bird when the frost comes?”

But Thumbelina did not agree with them at all. When they turned their backs on the bird she bent down, gently moved the feathers aside, and kissed him on the closed eyes.

“Perhaps,” she thought, “it was this very bird that sang so sweetly to me in the wood. He did far more for me than the mole does. How much pleasure he gave me, the dear, beautiful bird!”

The mole now closed up the hole and escorted the ladies home.

But that night Thumbelina could not sleep for thinking of the dead bird. So she got out of her bed and wove a soft blanket of hay. She carried this out into the dark passage and spread it over the poor bird. As she did so she laid her hand on the bird’s heart. It was beating! He was not dead at all! only numb with cold.

When he grew warm through and through he opened his eyes and looked at Thumbelina. At first she trembled, she was so frightened, for the bird was very large to her, who was only an inch in height. But she was too kind to run away from him.

“Thank you, pretty child,” said the sick swallow in a weak voice. “Now that I am warm I shall get strong again and be able to fly on my way.”

“Oh, stay where you are,” said Thumbelina, “it is so cold outside. It snows and freezes. Stay in your warm bed and I will nurse you.”

She brought the swallow water in the petal of a flower. When he had drunk he told her all about himself. He had set out for the south, the warm countries, with the other swallows; but as he flew he caught one of his wings in a thorn bush and tore it. After this he could not fly so fast as the others, so the winter overtook him and he could not stand the cold. It benumbed him so that he fell to the ground. He could remember nothing more after this, until he opened his eyes and found Thumbelina at his side.

The whole winter Thumbelina nursed the swallow. And when the spring came and the sun was warm, she opened the hole in the ceiling and let the sunshine pour in on him.

“I am strong enough now to fly out into the sunshine,” said the swallow. “Sit on my back and let us fly far into the green wood.”

But Thumbelina would not do this; she knew that the old field-mouse would be lonely without her.

“No, I cannot,” said she.

“Farewell then, you pretty, good child,” said the swallow, and he flew off into the sunshine. Thumbelina looked after him, and the tears came into her eyes, she was so sorry to part with him.

“Tweet-tweet,” he sang, as she lost sight of him in the green wood.

THUMBELINA

How She is Helped by the Swallow

“My dear,” said the field-mouse one day after the mole had paid her a visit, “the mole has asked me to give you to him for his wife. You are very fortunate, a poor child like you. You must be ready to marry him as soon as possible. Set to work at once on your wedding-dress.”

So Thumbelina had to turn the spindle to make herself not only a wedding-dress but plenty of wool and linen, for the field-mouse said she would not have her go to the mole empty-handed, as if she were a beggar-girl. And the mole himself hired four spiders to weave her a beautiful cobweb veil. And every evening he paid her a visit, and said they must be married as soon as the summer was over.

Poor Thumbelina did not know what to do. She did not wish to marry the mole, and live under the ground, where the sun never shone. The first thing every morning and the last every evening, she crept outdoors, and when the wind blew the corn leaves apart, she looked up at the sky and wished the swallow would come to her. But he did not.

When autumn came, Thumbelina had everything ready.

“Only four weeks more for the wedding,” cried the mole.

But when he had gone home Thumbelina wept and said she could not marry the ugly mole, who talked about nothing but himself.

“Nonsense!” said the field-mouse, “don’t be obstinate, or I’ll bite you with my sharp teeth. The Queen herself has not such black velvet fur. And his kitchen and cellar are full. Be thankful for your good fortune.”

Well, the wedding day arrived. The mole, dressed in his best black velvet, came to fetch Thumbelina to his house.

“Farewell, thou bright sun!” she cried, running out of the house a little way. “Farewell,” she cried, twining her arms around a little red flower still blooming there; “say farewell to the little swallow for me, if you see him again.”

“Tweet-tweet! tweet-tweet!” suddenly sounded over her head. She looked up; it was the little swallow, just flying by. He stopped when he saw Thumbelina, he was so glad. And Thumbelina told him how she was to marry the mole, and live deep under the earth, where the sun never shone. She could not help weeping as she told of it.

“Come with me,” said the swallow, “I am on my way far off to the warm countries. Sit on my back, and we will fly from the ugly mole and his dark room. Only fly with me, you dear little Thumbelina, who were so good to me when I lay frozen in the dark passage.”

“Yes,” cried Thumbelina, “I will go with you.” And she seated herself on the bird’s back, and bound her girdle to one of his strongest feathers. Then the swallow flew up into the air and away over forest and sea and great high mountains, where the snow always lies, and on, on, on to the beautiful warm countries.

THUMBELINA

What Became of Her at Last

In the warm countries the sun shone so bright that in the ditches and on the hedges grew big juicy blue and green grapes, lemons and oranges hung in the woods, and the loveliest children ran about the roads chasing gorgeous butterflies. The swallow flew on until he came to a great palace with dazzling white marble pillars.

“My house is at the top of one of those pillars,” said he, “but it is not good enough for you. It is not yet so well furnished as I should like it to be if you were to live in it. Pick out one of the splendid flowers you see down there, and I will set you down in it.”

“That will be a beautiful home,” cried Thumbelina, and clapped her hands. She chose a great white flower. The swallow flew down with her and set her on one of the broad leaves. What was Thumbelina’s surprise? There in the flower sat a little man, shining white, with a tiny gold crown on his head, and bright wings on his shoulders; and he wasn’t a bit bigger than Thumbelina herself.

“How handsome he is!” whispered she to the swallow.

“That is the king of all the flowers,” whispered the swallow back to her.

The little king was afraid of the big swallow, but he liked Thumbelina the minute he saw her. She was the prettiest maiden he had ever laid eyes on. Instantly he took off his golden crown and put it on her head, asked her name, and begged her to be his wife and queen of all the flowers.

Now of course such a husband was much better than the toad’s son who could say nothing from morning till night but “Croak, croak, brek-kek-brek;” and the field-mouse’s neighbor, the mole, who could do nothing from morning till night but talk of himself. So Thumbelina said “Yes,” with a right good will, to the charming Prince.

And out of every flower came a lady or lord, lovely to behold, and each brought Thumbelina a wedding present. But the best gift was a pair of beautiful wings that had once belonged to a great white fly. When these had been fastened on her by one of the lovely ladies, Thumbelina could fly from flower to flower, and visit everyone in her kingdom.

It was a joyful wedding. The little swallow sat above them in the nest,—he was to sing the marriage-song. And although his heart was sad to lose Thumbelina, he sang it sweetly.

So that is the end, and Thumbelina lived happy ever after.

—Hans Christian Andersen

A VISIT FROM AN ELF

One evening, as a farmer was crossing a field to his home, what should he see sitting on a stone in the middle of it but a tiny creature! The little thing looked something like a very, very, very small, teeny, weeny, tiny little child. And it was blue and shivering with cold. The farmer saw that it must be an elf.

He knew it would bring him good luck to be kind to it. Besides, he pitied it from his heart. So he took it home and placed it on a stool by the hearth, and fed it with sweet milk. Soon the bantling was warm and lively. He capered and sprang about the kitchen merrier than a cricket, and twice as light-footed.

Well, he didn’t go the next day nor the next nor the next. He stayed for many days. A curious thing about him was that he never spoke. But that did not matter, for he kept the farmer and the farmer’s wife laughing at his tricks.

He and they had many a play together. Sometimes, when the farmer’s wife was not looking, he would creep into the keyhole. Then the farmer would call out, “Find him, wife.”

At this the farmer’s wife would search all about the kitchen, under the chairs, in the closet, behind the wood box, even in the clock case. But she could not find him. Then she would cry out, “Where are you, Tinykins?”

The farmer would chuckle and hee-haw, and slap his knee, and wink, and say,

Quick as the crow flies before the farmer’s empty gun the farmer’s wife would guess, “You’re in the keyhole, Tinykins, you rogue, come out.”

And out he would pop in high glee.

The way he went was as strange as the way he came. I’ll tell you about it

One evening as the little fellow was frisking about the farm kitchen, a shrill voice from the farmyard called three times, “Tolman Grig! Tolman Grig! Tolman Grig!”

“Ho! ho! ho! My daddy is come,” cried the elf, springing up and speaking for the first time.

With that, off he flew through the keyhole.

That was the last the farmer or his wife ever saw of him. But forever after they were happy and prosperous.

—Angela M. Keyes

HOW THE CAT GOT ALL THE GRAIN

Once upon a time a Cat and a Parrot owned a field together. One day the Cat said to the Parrot, “Come, friend, ’tis time to till the field.”

Said the Parrot, “I can’t come now, because I am whetting my bill on the branch of a mango-tree.”

So the Cat went alone and plowed the field. When it was plowed the Cat went again to the Parrot and said, “Come, friend, let us sow the corn.”

Said the Parrot, “I can’t come now, because I am whetting my bill on the branch of a mango-tree.”

So the Cat went alone and sowed the corn. The corn took root, and sprouted, and put forth the blade, and the ear, and the ripe corn in the ear. Then the Cat went again to the Parrot and said, “Come, friend, let us go and gather in the harvest.”

Said the Parrot, “I can’t come now, because I am whetting my bill on the branch of a mango-tree.”

So the Cat went alone and gathered in the harvest. She put it away in barns and made ready for the threshing. Then she went again to the Parrot and said, “Come, friend, let us winnow the grain from the chaff.”

Said the Parrot, “I can’t come now, because I am whetting my bill on the branch of a mango-tree.”

So the Cat went alone and winnowed the grain from the chaff. Then she went again to the Parrot and said, “Come, friend, the grain is all winnowed and sifted. Come and let us divide it between us.”

“I will,” shrieked the Parrot so loudly that he lost his balance, fell from the branch of the mango-tree, and cracked open his poll. That put an end to him. So the Cat had all the grain for herself.

—Eastern folk tale

THE TABLE AND THE CHAIR

—Edward Lear

THE WONDERFUL SHIP

“Once upon a time,” said the stork, “and a very good time it was, there was a ship, a wonderful ship that could sail on land, dry land.”

“Oh!” said the chicks.

“This wonderful ship went on legs,” said the stork. “Long legs.”

“Oh!” said the chicks and the ducklings.

“It had a head, and a neck that came down and went up like a hook,” said the stork, “a big hook.”

“Oh!” said the chicks and the ducklings and the little turkeys.

“It had a hump on its back,” said the stork, “a hump or two.”

“Oh!” said the chicks and the ducklings and the little turkeys and the goslings.

“It was—alive!” said the stork, opening his eyes and his mouth up so high that he could hardly get them down again.

“Ah, it wasn’t a real ship at all,” whispered the chicks to the ducklings, and they whispered it to the little turkeys, and they whispered it to the goslings.

“It was a camel,” said the stork.

“What’s that?” asked the chicks, the ducklings, the little turkeys, and the goslings. And they crowded around him.

“He’s called the ship of the desert,” said the stork. And he drew back to see what they thought of it.

“Why?” asked the chicks, the ducklings, the little turkeys, and the goslings.

“Ask your teacher,” said he, flying off to his nest in the chimney top;

At this minute, by great good luck, they heard Nan say to Ned, her brother, “Let’s play school. I’ll be the teacher.” So they went to school.

And by great good luck Ned’s lesson was about camels. “I’m not at all surprised,” whispered the smallest chick to the biggest gosling; “I found a four-leaf clover in the grass this morning. I knew then we should have good luck.”

They listened with all their might to the lesson, and when they found it too hard they stopped listening to talk it over. This was pretty often. So when they went home they knew as much about camels as the stork does, and maybe as much as you know.

—Angela M. Keyes

THE CLEVER GEESE

A long, long time ago when there were more foxes’ dens than cats’ cradles, there lived a very sly fox. Every evening this sly fox sneaked up through the tall grass and weeds and around the tree-trunks, pounced upon a plump young goose, and carried it off to his den.

First, he had one hidden away, then two, then three, then four, then five, then six, and by and by as many more.

Well, when he had a round dozen, he called them before him in a circle, fixed them with his bold sharp eyes, and said, “My dumplings, prepare to die. At moonlight, to-night, I dine on young goose.”

“You’ll surely give us time to say good-by,” cried the poor simpletons, who suddenly turned clever to save their necks. “We have become the dearest of friends.”

“With all my heart,” said the fox, with a bow. “Take as much time as you like, my dainties, for the sweet parting.” And off he went.

One silly goose began to giggle at their cleverness before he was out of earshot. But her sisters ran at her and pecked her into silence. They laughed with their eyes only, and so long as the fox kept walking away and not looking back that was perfectly safe.

Well, at moonlight, sure enough, the fox came home to dine. And at once the geese began to say good-by.

“Ga-ga-ga-ga-ga-” said one. And when he stopped for breath, “Ga-ga-ga-ga-” said another. And, when he stopped, another took it up. And after that, another and another.

So, for all I know, they are at it still. The fox has not yet dined, and the geese are alive and gabbling, though, as the story says at the beginning, it all happened a very long time ago, before any of us were born.

—Angela M. Keyes

THE HAPPY PRINCE

(Especially suitable in winter season)

High above the city, on a tall column, stood the statue of the Happy Prince. He was gilded all over with thin leaves of fine gold, for eyes he had two bright sapphires, and a large red ruby glowed on his sword-hilt.

“Why can’t you be like the Happy Prince?” asked a mother of her little boy who was crying for the moon. “The Happy Prince never dreams of crying for anything.”

“I am glad there is some one in the world who is quite happy,” muttered a disappointed man as he gazed at the wonderful statue.

“He looks just like an angel,” said the Orphan Children, as they came out of the cathedral.

“How do you know?” said the Mathematical Master, “you have never seen one.”

“Ah! but we have, in our dreams,” answered the children; and the Mathematical Master frowned and looked very severe, for he did not approve of dreaming.

One night there flew over the city a little Swallow. His friends had gone away to Egypt six weeks before, but he had stayed behind with the beautiful Reed. He had seen her early in the spring as he was flying down the river after a big yellow moth, and had stopped to talk to her.

“Shall I love you?” said he. “Shall I love you?” And the Reed made him a low bow. So he flew round and round her, touching the water with his wings, and making silver ripples. This lasted through the summer.

Then, when the autumn came, the other swallows all flew away. After they had gone he felt lonely.

“I am off to the Pyramids,” said he to the Reed. “Good-by!” and he flew after them.

All day long he flew, and at night-time he arrived at the city. “Where shall I put up?” he said; “I hope the town has made preparations.”

Then he saw the statue on the tall column.

“I will put up there,” he cried; “it is a high place with plenty of fresh air.” So he alighted just between the feet of the Happy Prince.

“I have a golden bedroom,” he said softly to himself as he looked round and prepared to go to sleep; but as he was putting his head under his wing a large drop of water fell on him. “What a curious thing!” he cried; “there is not a single cloud in the sky, the stars are quite clear and bright, and yet it is raining. The climate in the north of Europe is really dreadful.”

Then another drop fell.

“What is the use of a statue if it cannot keep the rain off?” he said; “I must look for a good chimney-pot,” and he made up his mind to fly away.

But before he had opened his wings, a third drop fell, and he looked up and saw—Ah! what did he see?

The eyes of the Happy Prince were filled with tears, and tears were running down his golden cheeks. His face was so beautiful in the moonlight that the little Swallow was filled with pity.

“Who are you?” he said.

“I am the Happy Prince.”

“Why are you weeping then?” asked the Swallow. “You have quite drenched me.”

“When I was alive and had a heart to feel,” answered the statue, “I lived in a palace. In the daytime I played with my companions in the garden, and in the evening I led the dance in the Great Hall. Round the garden ran a very lofty wall, but I never cared to ask what lay beyond it. My courtiers called me the Happy Prince. So I lived and died. And now that I am dead they have set me up here so high that I can see all the ugliness and all the misery of my city, and though my heart is made of lead, yet I cannot choose but weep.”

“What! is he not solid gold?” said the Swallow to himself. He was too polite to make any personal remarks out loud.

“Far away,” continued the statue, “far away in a little street there is a poor house. One of the windows is open, and through it I can see a woman seated at a table. Her face is thin and worn, and she has coarse, red hands, all pricked by the needle, for she is a seamstress. She is embroidering flowers on a satin gown for the loveliest of the queen’s maids-of-honor to wear at the next court-ball. In a bed in the corner of the room her little boy is lying ill. He has a fever, and is asking for oranges. His mother has nothing to give him but river water, so he is crying. Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow, will you not take her the ruby out of my sword-hilt? My feet are fastened to this pedestal and I cannot move.”

“I am waited for in Egypt,” said the Swallow. “My friends are flying up and down the Nile.”

“Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,” said the Prince, “will you not stay with me for one night, and be my messenger? The boy is so thirsty, and the mother so sad.”

“I don’t think I like boys,” answered the Swallow. “Last summer, when I was staying on the river, there were two rude boys, the miller’s sons, who were always throwing stones at me. They never hit me, of course; we swallows fly far too well for that, and besides, I come of a family famous for its swiftness; but still it was a mark of disrespect.”

But the Happy Prince looked so sad that the little Swallow was sorry. “It is very cold here,” he said; “but I will stay with you for one night and be your messenger.”

“Thank you, little Swallow,” said the Prince.

So the Swallow picked out the great ruby from the Prince’s sword, and flew away with it in his beak over the roofs of the town.

He passed by the cathedral tower, where the white marble angels were sculptured. He passed by the palace and heard a beautiful girl say, “I hope my dress will be ready in time for the State-ball. I have ordered flowers to be embroidered on it; but the seamstresses are so lazy.”

At last he came to the poor house and looked in. The boy was tossing feverishly on his bed, and the mother had fallen asleep, she was so tired. In he hopped, and laid the great ruby on the table beside the woman’s thimble. Then he flew gently round the bed, fanning the boy’s forehead with his wings. “How cool I feel,” said the boy, “I must be getting better;” and he sank into a delicious slumber.

Then the Swallow flew back to the Happy Prince. “It is strange,” he remarked, “but I feel quite warm now, although it is so cold.”

“That is because you have done a good action,” said the Prince. And the little Swallow began to think, and then he fell asleep. Thinking always made him sleepy.

When day broke he flew down to the river and had a bath. “What a remarkable phenomenon,” said the Bird Professor as he was passing over the bridge. “A swallow in winter!” And he wrote a long letter about it to the local newspaper.

“To-night I go to Egypt,” said the Swallow, and he was in high spirits. He visited all the public monuments, and sat a long time on top of the church steeple. Wherever he went the Sparrows chirruped, and said to each other, “What a distinguished stranger!” so he enjoyed himself very much.

When the moon rose he flew back to the Happy Prince. “Have you any commissions for Egypt?” he cried; “I am just starting.”

“Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,” said the Prince, “will you not stay with me one night longer?”

“I am waited for in Egypt,” answered the Swallow. “To-morrow my friends will fly up to the Second Cataract. The river-horse couches there among the bulrushes. At noon the lions come down to the water’s edge to drink. They have eyes like green beryls, and their roar is louder than the roar of the cataract.”

“Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,” said the Prince, “far away across the city I see a young man in a garret. He is leaning over a desk covered with papers. He is trying to finish a play, but he is too cold to write any more. There is no fire in the grate, and hunger has made him faint.”

“I will wait with you one night longer,” said the Swallow, who really had a good heart. “Shall I take him another ruby?”

“Alas!” said the Prince; “my eyes are all that I have left. But they are made of rare sapphires, brought out of India a thousand years ago. Pluck out one of them and take it to him. He will sell it to the jeweler, and buy food and firewood, and finish his play.”

“Dear Prince,” said the Swallow, “I cannot do that;” and he began to weep.

“Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,” said the Prince, “do as I command you.”

So the Swallow plucked out the Prince’s eye, and flew away to the student’s garret. It was easy enough to get in, as there was a hole in the roof. Through this he darted, and came into the room. The young man had his head buried in his hands, so he did not hear the flutter of the bird’s wings, and when he looked up he found the beautiful sapphire.

“Now I can finish my play,” he cried, and he looked quite happy.

The next day the Swallow flew down to the harbor. He sat on the mast of a large vessel and watched the sailors hauling big chests out of the hold with ropes. “Heave a-hoy!” they shouted as each chest came up. “I am going to Egypt,” cried the Swallow, but nobody minded, and when the moon rose he flew back to the Happy Prince.

“I am come to bid you good-by,” he cried.

“Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,” said the Prince, “will you not stay with me one night longer?”

“It is winter,” answered the Swallow, “and the chill snow will soon be here. In Egypt the sun is warm on the green palm-trees, and the crocodiles lie in the mud. My companions are building a nest. Dear Prince, I must leave you, but I will never forget you, and next spring I will bring you back two beautiful jewels in place of those you have given away. The ruby shall be redder than a red rose, and the sapphire shall be as blue as the great sea.”

“In the square below,” said the Happy Prince, “there stands a little match-girl. She has let her matches fall in the gutter, and they are all spoiled. Her father will beat her if she does not take home some money, and she is crying. She has no shoes or stockings, and her little head is bare. Pluck out my other eye, and give it to her, and her father will not beat her.”

“I will stay with you one night longer,” said the Swallow, “but I cannot pluck out your eye. You would be quite blind then.”

“Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,” said the Prince, “do as I command you.”

So he plucked out the Prince’s other eye, and darted down with it. He swooped past the match-girl, and slipped the jewel into the palm of her hand. “What a lovely bit of glass!” cried the little girl; and she ran home, laughing.

Then the Swallow came back to the Prince. “You are blind now,” he said, “so I will stay with you always.”

“No, little Swallow,” said the poor Prince, “you must go away to Egypt.”

“I will stay with you always,” said the Swallow, and he slept at the Prince’s feet.

All the next day he sat on the Prince’s shoulder, and told him stories of what he had seen in strange lands. He told him of the red ibises, who stand in long rows on the banks of the Nile, and catch gold-fish in their beaks; and of the Sphinx, who is as old as the world itself, and lives in the desert, and knows everything.

“Dear little Swallow,” said the Prince, “you tell me of marvelous things, but fly over my city, little Swallow, and tell me what you see there.”

So the Swallow flew over the great city, and saw the rich making merry in their beautiful houses, while the beggars were sitting at the gates. He flew into dark lanes, and saw the white faces of starving children looking out listlessly at the black streets. Under the archway of a bridge two little boys were lying in one another’s arms to try and keep themselves warm. “How hungry we are!” they said. “You must not lie here,” shouted the Watchman, and they wandered out into the rain.

Then he flew back and told the Prince what he had seen.

“I am covered with fine gold,” said the Prince, “you must take it off, leaf by leaf, and give it to my poor.”

Leaf after leaf of the fine gold the Swallow picked off, till the Happy Prince looked quite dull and gray. Leaf after leaf of the fine gold he took to the poor. “We have bread now!” they cried. And the children’s faces grew rosier, and they laughed and played games in the street.

Then the snow came, and after the snow came the frost. The streets looked as if they were made of silver, they were so bright and glistening; long icicles like crystal daggers hung down from the eaves of the houses.

The poor little Swallow grew colder and colder, but he would not leave the Prince; he loved him too well. He picked up crumbs outside the baker’s door, and tried to keep himself warm by flapping his wings.

But at last he knew that he was going to die. He had just strength to fly up to the Prince’s shoulder once more. “Good-by, dear Prince!” he murmured. “Will you let me kiss your hand?”

“I am glad that you are going to Egypt at last, little Swallow,” said the Prince, “you have stayed too long here; but kiss me on the lips, for I love you.”

“It is not to Egypt that I am going,” said the Swallow. “I am going to Death. Death is the brother of Sleep, is he not?”

And he kissed the happy Prince on the lips, and fell down dead at his feet.

At that moment a curious crack sounded inside the statue, as if something had broken. The fact is that the leaden heart had snapped in two. It certainly was a hard frost.

Early the next morning the Mayor was walking in the square below in company with the Town Councilors. As they passed the column he looked up at the statue. “Dear me! how shabby the Happy Prince looks!” he said.

“How shabby indeed!” cried the Town Councilors, who always agreed with the Mayor, and they went up to look at it.

“The ruby has fallen out of his sword, his eyes are gone,” said the Mayor; “in fact, he is little better than a beggar!”

So they pulled down the statue of the Happy Prince and sent it to be melted in a furnace.

“What a strange thing!” said the overseer of the workmen at the foundry. “This broken lead heart will not melt in the furnace. We must throw it away.” So they threw it on a dust-heap where the dead Swallow was also lying.

“Bring me the two precious things in the city,” said God to one of His Angels; and the Angel took Him the leaden heart and the dead bird.

“You have chosen rightly,” said God; “in my garden of Paradise this little bird shall sing for evermore, and in my city of gold the Happy Prince shall praise me.”

—Oscar Wilde

THE DWARF ROOTS’ STORY OF THE PUMPKIN SEED

Did you ever hear the story of the Pumpkin Seed that made a feast of his insides, and found his outsides changed most surprisingly, and went down a pig’s throat and was happy? Ever since it happened the Dwarf Roots, who live below the ground, tell it to the pumpkin seeds. They say they heard it from the wind one day when the farmer’s spade laid the ground open and let the wind in. And the wind says he heard the farm children’s grandmother tell it. And she says she heard it from her grandmother. So you see it is an old story, and time you heard it. Then

Before the Dwarf Roots tell the story they stroke their beards that have grown fast into the ground, like hairy threads, and cry out, “Once upon a, twice upon a, thrice upon a time;” and all the little pumpkin seeds lying low in the ground know a story is coming and swell with joy. After that the Dwarf Roots tell the story as ’twas told to me. So

Here’s the tale.

Early in the spring, when things with legs all walk abroad and garden folks are born, a little Pumpkin Seed stuck his head above ground. He arrived with his cap on, as pumpkin seeds do, but as soon as possible he shook it off, and looked about him to find out what to do next. And who should he see come trotting down the garden path toward him but a little sniffing, squealing pig, poking his snout into everything and gobbling it up!

Now, how he came to know it the little Pumpkin Seed never could tell, but all of a sudden he sang out:

The little pig was so astonished that he stood straight up on his hind legs and curled his tail in a tight knot, for all the world as if he were a performing pig in a circus. When he was firm on his legs again, he was just going to open his mouth, when he saw the farmer coming down the path, so he ran squealing from the garden. Some Dwarf Roots who tell the story say he was going to gobble up the little Pumpkin, and others say he was going to answer in pig’s rhyme:

However that may be, the next time he came trotting that way he poked his snout into a wire netting the farmer had put around the kitchen garden to keep him out, so that was the last the little Pumpkin Seed saw of him for many a long day.

But the Pumpkin Seed knew now what he should do. He stood up straight in the sunlight and soft rain, and grew and grew and covered himself with blossoms, and then let them all drop off except one. And out of that he made a little pumpy pumpkin, and by harvest time he had that so fat and round and yellow and juicy that the Dwarf Roots’ mouths water when they tell of it.

The farmer gathered the Pumpkin in a great basket, and his wife scooped out the splendid insides of it and made of them deep rich pies for the Thanksgiving feast that the farmer’s family eat together in thankfulness to God for health and plenty. Everyone comes to the feast: grandfather and grandmother and uncles and aunts and all the children, first cousins and second cousins and third cousins and fourth cousins and fifth cousins, down to the littlest babies that can do nothing, when they’re not feeding and sleeping, but gurgle and crow at their fingers and toes. To be sure, when the grown-ups bite into the deep rich pumpkin pie they can do nothing either but gurgle and smack their lips.

So it was that the inside of the Pumpkin did its part and made a feast and came to glory.

But what of the outside? You shall hear. It happened that very night.

The outside fell into the hands of a boy who could work surprising changes in things. He worked one in the outside of the Pumpkin. Some Dwarf Roots say he turned it into a Jack-o’-lantern, and some say into a goblin. Anyway, there it was that night, stuck in the farmer’s hitching-post and changed most surprisingly. It had a head that glowed like fire in the darkness, and big round eyes that winked and blinked every time the wind blew, and a mouth that grinned from ear to ear when the big boys and girls made the little ones run past it. The little ones would steal up softly, and just when they were near the fiery head the big ones would cry out, “Look out, little uns, the goblin’ll get cher”; and the little ones would dash past, laughing and shrieking.

So it was that the outside of the Pumpkin did its part and played high jinks with the children. Great fun it was; and it kept up until the farmer called out, “Time for bed, boys and girls.”

Just as he said this the wind put the fire out of the Pumpkin’s head and blew him off the hitching post. And the next thing he knew he was going down a pig’s throat, the very piggy wig he met so long ago.

—Angela M. Keyes

A HORSE’S STORY

Here is a story told by Black Beauty, as pretty a little horse as ever wore a white star on his forehead.

One day late in the autumn my master had a long journey to go on business. I was put to the dog-cart, and John, the coachman, drove. There had been a great deal of rain, and now the wind was very high and blew the dry leaves across the road in a shower. We went along merrily till we came to the toll-bar and the low wooden bridge. The river banks were rather high, and the bridge, instead of rising, went across just level, so that in the middle, if the river was full, the water would be nearly up to the woodwork and planks. But as there were good, substantial rails on each side, people did not mind it.

The man at the gate said the river was rising fast, and he feared it would be a bad night. Many of the meadows were under water, and in one low part of the road the water was halfway up to my knees. The bottom was good, however, and master drove gently, so it was no matter.

When we got to the town I had, of course, a good feed, but as the master’s business engaged him a long time, we did not start for home till rather late in the afternoon. The wind was then much higher, and I heard the master say to John we had never been out in such a storm. And so I thought, as we went along the skirts of a wood, where the great branches were swaying about like twigs, and the rushing sound was terrible.

“I wish we were well out of this wood,” said my master.

“Yes, sir,” said John, “it would be rather awkward if one of these branches came down on us.”

The words were scarcely out of his mouth when there was a groan, and a crack, and a splitting sound. And crashing down amongst the older trees came an oak, torn up by the roots. It fell across the road just before us. I will never say I was not frightened, for I was. I stopped still, and I believe I trembled. Of course I did not turn round or run away; I was not brought up to that. John jumped out and in a moment was at my head.

“That came very near,” said my master. “What’s to be done now?”

“Well, sir, we can’t drive over that tree, nor yet get round it. There’s nothing for us but to go back to the four cross-ways, and that will be a good six miles before we get round to the wooden bridge again. It will make us late, but the horse is fresh.”

So back we went and round by the cross roads. By the time we got to the bridge it was very nearly dark. We could just see that the water was over the middle of it. As this sometimes happened when there were floods, master did not stop. We were going along at a good pace, but the moment my feet touched the first part of the bridge, I felt sure there was something wrong. I dared not go forward, and I made a dead stop. “Go on, Beauty,” said my master, and he gave me a touch with the whip, but I dared not stir. He gave me a sharp cut. I jumped, but I dared not go forward.

“There’s something wrong, sir,” said John, and he sprang out of the dog-cart, and came to my head and looked all about. He tried to lead me forward. “Come on, Beauty; what’s the matter?” Of course, I could not tell him, but I knew very well that the bridge was not safe.

Just then the man at the toll-gate on the other side ran out of the house, tossing a torch about violently.

“Hoy, hoy, hoy! halloo! stop!” he cried.

“What’s the matter?” shouted my master.

“The bridge is broken in the middle, and part of it is carried away; if you come on you’ll be into the river.”

“Thank God!” said my master. “You Beauty!” said John, and took the bridle and gently turned me round to the right-hand road by the river side. The sun had set some time. The wind seemed to have lulled off after that furious blast which tore up the tree. It grew darker and darker, stiller and stiller. I trotted quietly along, the wheels hardly making a sound on the soft road. For a good while neither master nor John spoke, and then master began in a serious voice. I could not understand much of what they said, but I found they thought that if I had gone on as the master wanted me, horse, chaise, master, and man would have fallen into the river. Master said, God had given men reason, by which they could find out things for themselves; but he had given animals instinct, which did not depend on reason, and which was much more prompt and perfect in its way, and by which they had often saved the lives of men.

At last we came to the park gates, and found the gardener looking out for us. He said that mistress had been much alarmed ever since dark, fearing some accident had happened, and that she had sent James off on Justice, the roan cob, towards the wooden bridge to make inquiry after us.

We saw a light at the hall door and at the upper windows, and as we came up, mistress ran out, saying to master, “Are you really safe, my dear? Oh! I have been so anxious, fancying all sorts of things. Have you had no accident?”

“No, but if your Black Beauty had not been wiser than we were, we should all have been carried down the river at the wooden bridge.” I heard no more, as they went into the house, and John took me to the stable. Oh, what a good supper he gave me that night, a good bran mash and some crushed beans with my oats, and such a thick bed of straw! and I was glad of it, for I was tired.

—Anna Sewell

A BEWITCHED DONKEY

There was once a little donkey who lived with a little old woman and her tabby cat and her rooster and his hens and their chicks in a little cottage out in the country. Every morning, after cropping the dewy grass, the little donkey used to poke his head in at the cottage window, as much as to say, “It’s time we were off,” and the little old woman used to say, “I’ll be with you in two shakes of Tabby’s tail.” Presently out she would bring two baskets of fresh-laid eggs from the hens and hang them across the donkey’s back, and off to market they’d go. Tabby would stop washing her face to wave her paw at them, and the little old woman would wave her hand back, and the little donkey would turn and wave his head. They were as happy and loving as any people that ever lived together, and the donkey was the man of the family.

But one morning something got into the donkey. He seemed to be bewitched. You shall hear.

When he had cropped the dewy grass as usual, he poked his head in at the cottage window, as much as to say, “It’s time we were off,” and the little old woman said, “I’ll be with you in two shakes of Tabby’s tail.” But the minute she came to the door with the two baskets of fresh-laid eggs from the hens, up went the little donkey’s heels, and away he ran with such a kick and a run and a run and a kick that the little old woman couldn’t keep up with him were she never so quick. All at once she was so surprised at him that she stood stock still. Immediately stock still stood the little donkey and laughed at her till his fat little sides shook, “Hee haw, hee haw, hee haw.” This was too much for the little old woman. “Can it be that my own little donkey is laughing at his little old woman?” she said. And one basket of eggs dropped smash on the ground and she began to cry.

At this out came Tabby, and up came running all the hens and their little chicks and the lordly rooster, and they all rubbed against the little old woman’s skirts, and Tabby miowed, “Our little old woman, do not cry,” and the hens cackled it, and the little chicks peeped it, and the rooster crowed it. And then they all said it together, each in his own way.

“But the man of the family has run away from us and he laughs at it,” said the little old woman; “whatever shall we do!”

“Let us give him another chance,” said the big white hen with the kind face. “Begin all over again and see what happens.”

So the rooster led the way back to the yard, and the hens followed him and the little chicks followed them. At the same time Tabby led the way back to the cottage and the little old woman followed her. When the little old woman was inside she began packing the one basket of eggs into the two baskets. Well, sure enough, the little donkey did his part, too. He ran back and began cropping the dewy grass, and then he poked his head in at the cottage window as much as to say, “It’s time we were off,” and the little old woman in high glee called out, “I’ll be with you in two shakes of Tabby’s tail.”

But the minute she came to the door with the two baskets of fresh-laid eggs from the hens, up went the little donkey’s heels, and away he ran with such a kick and a run and a run and a kick that the little old woman couldn’t keep up with him were she never so quick. And as before, all at once she was so surprised at him that she stood stock still. Immediately stock still stood the little donkey and laughed at her till his fat little sides shook, “Hee haw, hee haw, hee haw.” And, as before, this was too much for the little old woman. “Can it be that my own little donkey is laughing at his little old woman?” she said. And one basket of eggs dropped smash on the ground and she began to cry.

At this out came Tabby, and up came running all the hens and their little chicks and the lordly rooster, and they all rubbed against the little old woman’s skirts, and Tabby miowed, “Our little old woman, do not cry,” and the hens cackled it, and the little chicks peeped it, and the rooster crowed it. And then they all said it together, each in his own way.

So it was of no use.

But at last the little old woman thought of a plan, such an easy thing, too, and sure to be what a little old woman would think of sooner or later to keep the man of the family. Instead of staying in the cottage, when they went back to try it over a third time, she went out by a back door and crept around the side of the house. When the donkey poked his head in at the window she ran out, caught him by the heels, shoved him in, jumped in after him, and held him. The lordly rooster and the hen and the little chicks were watching, and they ran in and shut both doors fast. And then they all waited and listened, and presently the donkey began to explain himself.

The moonlight the night before was so strong, he said, that it woke him up. As he opened his eyes he heard little voices, as sweet as silver bells, singing,

He looked out of his shed into the moonlight, and there on the green he saw the most exquisite fairies, with wings shining with all the colors of the rainbow, hand in hand with big-eyed tiny elves with bumpy heads and little legs. They were all dancing in a ring and looking up at the moon. And the moon was gazing down at them.

Now he knew very well that the fairy folk do not like to be spied on; he had often heard the little old woman tell it to her gossip, Tabby, the cat. And she had warned him to stay in his stall and not go prying on the night folk. And he said he was truly sorry now that he did it, but at the time he thought it would be fun. So he stole up around a stack of hay near where they were dancing in honor of the moon, and all at once he gave such a bray that the fairies fell to the ground in little swoons, and the elves jumped so high into the air that for a whole second he lost sight of them.

But the moonlight showed them where he was. Quick as a wink they whipped little horns out of their belts and blew together three times. Up came hobbling from the shadows an old witch. She saw the donkey at once, and pointing her long finger at his heels cried,

Well, Tabby was off to a stable before one shake of her own tail, and presently back she came with the wisp of hay. The little old woman gave it to the little donkey and held her breath to see what would happen, and so did Tabby and the lordly rooster and the hens and the little chicks. No sooner had the donkey swallowed it than he left off kicking and trying to run away!

So now, of course, everything came right. The lordly rooster led his wives and children back to the henyard, and the little old woman and the little donkey set off to market with the eggs that had not been smashed. Tabby stopped washing her face to wave her paw at them, and the little old woman waved her hand back, and the little donkey turned and waved his head.

And ever after they were as loving and happy as any people that ever lived together, and the donkey was the man of the family.

—Angela M. Keyes

THE STRAW, THE COAL, AND THE BEAN

(Tell with stick-figure blackboard illustrations.)

In a village there lived an old woman who one day gathered some beans from her garden to cook. She had a good fire on the hearth, but, to make it burn more quickly, she threw on a handful of straw. As she threw the beans into the pot to boil, one of them fell on the floor unseen by the old woman, not far from a wisp of straw. Suddenly a glowing coal bounced out of the fire, and fell close to them. They both started away, and exclaimed, “Dear friend, don’t come near me till you are cooler. Whatever brings you out here?”

“Oh,” replied the coal, “the heat luckily made me so strong that I was able to bounce from the fire. Had I not done so, my death would have been certain, and I should have been burnt to ashes by this time.”

“I, too, have escaped with a whole skin,” said the bean; “for had the old woman put me into the pot with my comrades, I should have been boiled to broth.”

“I might have shared the same fate,” said the straw, “for all my brothers were pushed into fire and smoke by the old woman. She seized sixty of us at once, and brought us in here to take away our lives, but luckily I slipped through her fingers.”

“Well, now what shall we do with ourselves?” said the coal.

“I think,” answered the bean, “as we have been so fortunate as to escape death together, we may as well be companions, and travel away together to some more friendly country.”

This pleased the two others; so they started on their journey together. After traveling a little distance, they came to a stream, over which there was no bridge of any sort.

Then the straw thought of a plan, and said, “I will lay myself across the stream, so that you may step over me, as if I were a bridge.”

So the straw stretched himself from one shore to the other, and the coal, who was rather hot-headed, tripped out quite boldly on the newly built bridge. But when he reached the middle of the stream, and heard the water rushing under him, he was so frightened that he stood still, and dared not move a step farther. The straw began to burn, broke in two, and fell into the brook. The coal slid after him, hissed as he reached the water, and gave up the ghost.

The bean, who had cautiously remained behind on the shore, could not keep in when she saw what had happened, and laughed so heartily that she burst her sides. It would have been all over with her, too; but, as good luck would have it, a tailor, out on his travels, came to rest by the brook, and noticed the bean. He was a kind-hearted man, so he took a needle and thread out of his pocket, and, taking up the bean, sewed her together. She thanked him prettily, but unfortunately he had only black thread to sew with, and so since that time all beans have a black seam down their sides.

—Folk tale

MOTHER HOLLE

There was once a widow who had two daughters. One of them was pretty and industrious, but the other was ugly and idle. Now the mother was much fonder of the ugly and idle one, because this was her own daughter. She made the other do all the work, and be the Cinderella of the house. Every day the poor girl had to sit by a well, in the highway, and spin and spin till her fingers bled.

One day as she worked the shuttle got marked with her blood, so she dipped it into the well, to wash the mark off. But it dropped out of her hand and fell to the bottom. She began to weep, and ran to her mother and told her of the mishap. But the mother scolded her sharply, and was so cruel as to say, “As you have let the shuttle fall in, you must fetch it out again.”

The girl went back to the well, and did not know what to do. In the sorrow of her heart she jumped into the well, and lost her senses from fright.

When she awoke and came to herself again, she was in a beautiful meadow where the sun was shining and many thousands of flowers were growing. Along this meadow she went, and came to a baker’s oven full of bread, and the bread cried out,

So she went up to it, and took out all the loaves, one after another, with the bread-shovel. After that she went on till she came to a tree covered with apples, which called out to her,

So she shook the tree till the apples fell like rain, and went on shaking till they were all down, and when she had gathered them into a heap, she went on her way.

At last she came to a little house out of which peeped an old woman. The old woman had such large teeth that the girl was frightened, and was about to run away.

But the old woman said, “What are you afraid of, dear child? Stay with me; if you will do all the work in the house properly, you shall be the better for it. Only you must take care to make my bed well, and to shake it thoroughly till the feathers fly—for then there is snow on the earth. I am Mother Holle.”

The old woman spoke so kindly to her, the girl took courage and agreed to enter her service. She did everything so well that she pleased her mistress, and always shook her bed so vigorously that the feathers flew about like snowflakes. She had a pleasant life with the old woman, never an angry word, and boiled or roast meat every day.

But after she had stayed some time with Mother Holle, she became sad. At first she did not know what was the matter with her, but at last she felt it was homesickness. Although she was many thousand times better off here than at home, still she had a longing to be there. So one day she said to the old woman, “I wish I were home, no matter how well off I am down here, I cannot stay any longer; I must go up again to my own people.” Mother Holle said, “I am glad that you long for your home, and as you have served me so truly, I myself will take you up again.” She took her by the hand, and led her to a large door. The door opened, and just as the maiden was standing beneath the door-way, a heavy shower of golden rain fell, and all the gold remained on her, so that she was covered with it.

“You shall have that because you are so industrious,” said Mother Holle; and at the same time she gave her back the shuttle which the girl had let fall into the well. Then the door closed, and the maiden found herself up above the earth, not far from her mother’s house.

As she went into the yard, the cock standing by the well-side cried,

So she went in to her mother. And because she arrived covered with gold, her mother and sister were glad to have her back.

The girl told all that had happened to her. As soon as the mother heard how she had come by so much gold, she was very anxious that the same good luck should come to the ugly and lazy daughter. So she made her seat herself by the well and spin. But the idle girl did not work. To stain the spindle with blood, she stuck her hand into a thorn bush and pricked her finger. Then she threw the shuttle into the well, and jumped in after it.

She came, like the other, to the beautiful meadow and walked along the very same path. When she came to the oven, the bread again cried,

But the lazy thing answered, “As if I had any wish to make myself dirty?” and on she went. Soon she came to the apple-tree, which cried,

But she answered, “I like that! One of you might fall on my head,” and so went on.

When she came to Mother Holle’s house, she was not afraid, for she had already heard of her big teeth, and she hired herself to her immediately.

The first day she forced herself to work diligently, and obeyed Mother Holle when she told her to do anything, for she was thinking of all the gold she would give her. But on the second day she began to be lazy, and on the third day still more so, and then she would not get up in the morning at all.

Neither did she make Mother Holle’s bed as she ought, and did not shake it so as to make the feathers fly up. Mother Holle was soon tired of this, and gave her notice to leave. The lazy girl was willing enough to go, and thought that now the golden rain would come. Mother Holle led her, too, to the great door; but while she was standing beneath it, instead of the gold a big kettle of black pitch was emptied over her. “That is the reward of your service,” said Mother Holle, and shut the door.

So the lazy girl went home; but she was quite covered with pitch, and the cock by the well-side, as soon as he saw her, cried out,

And the pitch stuck fast to her, and could not be got off as long as she lived.

—Folk tale

TOM THUMB

(Arranged as a continued story)

How He Came to His Mother and Father

Long, long ago, when good King Arthur ruled in Britain, there lived a magician named Merlin. He could change himself into anything he chose, and one day when he had changed himself into a beggar he stopped at a plowman’s cottage to ask for food.

“Come in, poor fellow,” cried the plowman, “there’s always a bite for another.” And the plowman’s wife set on the table a bowl of milk and a platter heaped with sweet brown bread. Merlin was greatly pleased with the good people’s kindness to him.

Now, by and by he noticed that although everything in the cottage was neat and comfortable, something was troubling these kind people. So he asked them what it was.

“Ah,” cried the poor woman, with tears in her eyes, “we have no little son. If I only had a little son, I should be the happiest woman in the world, even if he were no bigger than my husband’s thumb.”

Well, Merlin said nothing, and when he had rested he went on his way.

But he did not forget the kind people’s sorrow. As soon as he could, he paid a visit to the queen of the fairies, and told her about it and begged her to grant the woman’s wish. Sure enough, after a time the plowman’s wife had a little son, and lo and behold! he was not a bit bigger than her husband’s thumb. While his mother was admiring him, the queen of the fairies came in at the window. She kissed the child and called him Tom Thumb. She sent for some of the fairies to dress him, and she herself told what he should wear.

So the fairies came and dressed the little man according to the queen’s directions:

So it was that Tom Thumb, the fairy mannikin, came into the world; and, wonderful to tell, he never grew any bigger than his father’s thumb.

TOM THUMB

How He Grows up Full of Tricks

But as he got older he grew to be full of tricks.

He used to play cherry-stones with the boys. When he had lost all his own stones, he would creep slyly into his playmates’ bags, quickly fill his pockets with their stones, creep out unseen, and join again in the game.

One day as he did this the boy who owned the bag caught him at it. “Ah, ha! my little Tommy,” he cried, “at last I have caught you stealing my cherry-stones. I’ll teach you to stop that.” And he quickly drew the string, shutting Tom into the bag, and gave the bag such a shake that the poor little fellow’s legs and thighs and body were sadly bruised. Tom roared with pain and promised never to do that again.

So he was cured of that trick.

TOM THUMB

How He Has a Narrow Escape from a Batter Pudding

A short time afterwards Tom’s mother was making a batter pudding for supper, and inquisitive little Tom must of course see how it was made. So he climbed up to the edge of the bowl; but unfortunately his foot slipped and in he plumped, head and ears, into the batter. His mother, poor woman, never caught sight nor light of him, so she stirred him into the batter and put it into the pot to boil.

Now, the batter had filled Tom’s mouth and kept him from crying out to his mother. But when he felt the water getting hot, he kicked and struggled so much in the pot that his mother thought the pudding must be bewitched. She pulled it out of the pot and threw it outdoors. A poor tinker crying, “Pots to mend, kettles to mend,” was passing in the nick of time, so, thinking it would make him a good dinner, he stuffed it into his pack and walked off with it. By this time Tom’s mouth was clear of the batter, so he yelled lustily to be let out. The terrified tinker flung down his pack and ran away. The pudding broke to pieces, and Tom crept out, covered with batter, but glad to be alive and to make his way home as fast as he could.

When Tom’s mother saw the state of her darling she was ready to weep. She put him into a teacup of warm water and washed off the mess. Then, forgetting the loss of her pudding, she kissed him and tucked him into bed.

TOM THUMB

How He Gets into the Red Cow’s Stomach

Well, soon after the batter pudding mischief, Tom’s mother went to milk her cow in the meadow, and she took Tom along with her. As the wind was strong she was afraid he might be blown away, so she took out of her pocket a piece of fine thread and tied him to a thistle. Then she set about milking the cow.