Chapter III: Part 3

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,

“He’s neither in,
And he’s neither out;
He’s where something goes in
When the light goes out.”

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

Said the Table to the Chair,
“You can hardly be aware
How I suffer from the heat
And from chilblains on my feet.
If we took a little walk,
We might have a little talk;
Pray let us take the air,”
Said the Table to the Chair.

Said the Chair unto the Table,
“Now you _know_ we are not able;
How foolishly you talk,
When you know we _cannot_ walk!”
Said the Table, with a sigh,
“It can do no harm to try,
I’ve as many legs as you,
Why can’t we walk on two?”

So they both went slowly down
And walked about the town
With a cheerful bumpy sound
As they toddled round and round;
And all the people cried,
As they hastened to their side,
“See! the Table and the Chair
Have come out to take the air!”

But in going down an alley
To a castle in a valley,
They completely lost their way
And wandered all the day;
Till, to see them safely back,
They paid a Ducky-quack,
And a Beetle and a Mouse
Who took them to their house.

Then they whispered to each other,
“O delightful little brother,
What a lovely walk we’ve taken!
Let us dine on beans and bacon.”
So the Ducky and the leetle
Browny-Mousy and the Beetle
Dined and danced upon their heads
Till they toddled to their beds.

—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.

“I know what I tell,”
Cried the stork,
“I know it well, very well,
I saw it with my own eyes.”

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

“Oh!” said the chicks and the ducklings.

“I know what I tell,
I know what I tell,”
Shouted the stork,
“I know it well, very well,
I saw it with my own eyes.”

“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.

“I know what I tell,
I know what I tell,”
Shrieked the stork,
“I know it well, very well,
I saw it with my own eyes.”

“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.

“I know what I tell,
I know what I tell,”
Cried the stork,
“I know it well, very well,
I saw it with my own eyes.”

“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;

“I must attend to my babies.
Go to school;
If you don’t,
You’ll turn out geese and gabies.”

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

Throw the nuts in
And let us straight begin.

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

Throw the nuts in
And turn the first about.
And let’s not stop again
Until the tale is out.

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:

“I’m for your betters,
Not you, piggy wig,
When juicy I’ve grown
And round and big;
Then I’ll change into something
Which winks and blinks
And with boys and girls
Plays high jinks;
But when I’m out,
Snip, snap, snout,
You may have me,
It’s your turn to shout.”

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:

“When it’s time to shout,
With my sniffy snout
I’ll smell you out.”

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.

Snip, snap, snout,
This tale’s out:
The pig has him now,
And it’s his turn to shout.

—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.”