Chapter V: Part II: Stories to Tell (2)

One day a Lion was lying fast asleep in a thick wood, when a little Mouse, playing “hide-and-seek,” ran over the Lion’s nose and awakened him. As quick as a flash the Lion caught the Mouse under his paw. “O Lion, do not eat me, please,” begged the Mouse, “I am such a little thing. I could not make you a mouthful. Let me go and some day I will do something to help you.” This made the Lion laugh, but he let the Mouse scamper off. Later on this good Lion was caught in a net and roared in distress. The Mouse heard him and ran up and said, “Now, Mr. Lion, I will do something to help you.” “How can you?” roared the Lion. Quickly the Mouse began to gnaw the net with his sharp little teeth. It took a long time, but at last the Lion was free. The Mouse laughed as he scampered away again, saying, “Little friends may help as much as great friends. I did help you after all, you see!”

22. THE LARKS IN THE WHEAT-FIELD

Once a Lark and her little ones lived together in a nest in a field of ripened wheat. The mother bird was afraid the reapers might come before the young larks could fly. So every morning when she went for food she told them to listen carefully to all they heard and tell her when she returned. On the first evening they said, “We heard the farmer tell his son to ask the neighbors to help reap the wheat.” “Oh, no danger yet,” said Mother Lark. The next evening they said, “We heard the farmer tell his son to ask his uncle and cousins to help reap the wheat.” “Oh, no danger yet!” said the mother. On the third evening they said, “To-day we heard the farmer say to his son, ‘To-morrow we will reap the wheat ourselves!’” “Then,” cried the mother, “we must fly away at once, for the wheat is sure to be cut now. When a man makes up his mind to do a thing himself, it is more likely to be done.” She took her young ones away at once, and the next day the wheat was reaped by the farmer and his son.

23. THE MILLER AND HIS DONKEY

Once an old Miller and his son were walking along a country road behind their Donkey, which they were driving to town to sell. On the way they met some girls who said, “Look! What stupid people to walk instead of riding.” Wishing to please them the old Miller put his son on the Donkey and walked along by their side. Soon they came to some men who shouted: “Look; what a lazy lout! Are you not ashamed to ride, while your poor old father walks?” Wishing to please them the Miller told his son to get down while he mounted and rode. Not long after they met some women who cried, “Look, what a shame for that selfish old father to ride while his son walks!” So the father, wishing again to please, took up his son behind him. They had not gone far when they met a man who said, “Look at that shameful sight! Why, those two strong fellows are better able to carry that poor beast than he is to carry them.” Wishing to please him the Miller and his son got down, tied the Donkey’s legs together between a long pole, shouldered the load, and began carrying the Donkey in this way along the road. When they came to the town bridge they met a crowd of people who shouted with such laughter and jeers at this funny sight of seeing them carrying a Donkey, that the frightened animal kicked himself loose, and fell over the bridge into the river and was drowned. The Miller said to his son, “By trying to please everybody we have pleased nobody and lost our Donkey.”

24. THE PERSIAN AND HIS SONS

Once there was a Persian Ruler, who lived in a great palace with his three sons. The father had a beautiful pearl which he decided to give to the son which showed himself the noblest. He called the three boys before him and asked each to tell the noblest deed he had performed in the last month. The eldest said: “Father, as I was traveling in a foreign land, a merchant trusted me with many valuable jewels, and he did not count them. I might easily have kept one or two and they would not have been missed, but I carried those jewels and delivered them all as safely as though they had been my own.” “My son,” said the father, “you were honest, and did a noble deed!”

“Father,” said the second son, “as I was walking in the country the other day, I saw a child playing by a lake, and while I watched, the child fell in and I saved the child.” “You have done your duty,” said the father, “and you too have done a noble deed.”

“Father,” said the third boy, “as I crossed over the mountain the other day, I saw a man who had done me a great wrong, sleeping near the edge of a dangerous precipice. I would have walked by without a word, only something within me called me to go back and awake him lest he fall over the precipice and be killed. I did this, knowing all the time that the man would not understand, and that he would be angry with me, as, indeed, he was.”

“My son,” cried the father, “your deed was the noblest. To do good to an enemy without hope of reward is indeed the noblest of all. The pearl is yours!”

III

FOLK-TALES

(_Adapted for Children, Six to Twelve Years._)

1. WHY THE BEAR HAS A STUMPY TAIL

One day a Bear met a Fox, who was slinking along with a string of fish he had stolen. “Where did you get those nice fish?” said the Bear. “That’s telling,” laughed the Fox; “but if you want to get some, go out on the ice, cut a hole in it, and stick your tail down in the hole and hold your tail there until you feel a bite. The longer you hold your tail in the hole the more fish you will get. Then all at once pull your tail out sidewise with a strong jerk.” The Bear went down to the ice and held his tail a long, long time in the hole until it was frozen fast in. Then he jerked it out with a side pull, and his tail snapped short off. And people used to think that is why the Bear has a stumpy tail.

2. WHY THE ROBIN’S BREAST IS RED

Far, far away to the North, in the bitter winter, a hunter and his little son sat down beside their fire, watching it day and night. They knew well that unless it was kept burning the people would freeze and the Bear would have the Northland all to himself. But one night when the father was ill and the boy was so tired that he fell fast asleep, the Bear stole up quietly and poked the fire with his big, wet paws. Thinking the fire was out, he went quickly away to his cave. But as soon as the Bear was gone, a little gray Robin flew down and fanned a tiny blue spark into a flame with her wings. As she did this, the little Robin’s breast was burned red. But wherever she flew after that, over all the woods, a fire began to burn, and the whole Northland became full of fires, and so the Bear did not have all the North country to himself. For a thousand years the people of the North have had a great love for the Robin. And they tell their children this story why the Robin’s breast became red.--_Adapted from Coates’ “Nature Myths and Stories.”_

3. THE MAN IN THE MOON

“Go out into the forest and gather sticks for the fire,” said the wood-cutter’s wife to her husband. “To-morrow will be Sunday, and we have no wood to burn.” “Yes,” he said, “I will go.” He went to the forest, but instead of getting the fire-wood, he sat by the bank of a stream and fished all day, and late at night went home without any wood. His wife was already asleep and did not know what he had done. Early the next morning he crept out to the forest, intending to bring wood before she would be astir. He cut the wood, and began carrying the bundle of sticks on his back, when a voice behind him said, “Put the wood down.” “I can’t,” he said, “my wife cannot cook dinner without it.” “You will have no dinner to-day,” said the voice. “My wife will not know I did not bring wood last night,” he said. “Put the wood down! It is Sunday, the day when men should rest from their work.” “Sunday or Monday,” said the man, “it is all one to me.” “Then,” said the voice, “if you will not keep Sunday on earth, you shall keep Monday in the heavens, and you shall carry your wood until the Judgment Day.”

The man could not tell how it was, but he felt himself being lifted up, up, up, sticks and all, till he was in the moon. “Here you shall stay,” said the voice. On any clear night, when you look up at the moon, you can still see a great shadow, like an old man with wood on his shoulder.

4. PROMETHEUS, THE GREEK FIRE-GIVER[6]

Long ago the Greek people believed that the world was ruled by many gods. They thought Jupiter was the father, with many powerful children. One of these was Prometheus, meaning “Forethought.” This god had a kind heart, and longed to help the poor and unhappy men of earth who lived in caves and holes in the rocks, hungry and cold. They ate their food raw, like the beasts. They had no tools, nor comforts. Prometheus said: “Poor man, how I pity him! If he only had fire, then he would be happy. Yes, man shall have fire, even if Jupiter kills me.” So one dark night he set out for Mount Olympus, the abode of the gods, stole a lighted brand, hid it in his bosom, and brought it down to man. “See the gift I bring you!” he cried. It was midwinter. Snows were deep on the ground. Ice covered the rivers. Men were shivering in the cold and little children were freezing. Prometheus laid wood together and touched it with his firebrand, and lo! the first fire on earth was started! Blue fingers were spread out to the wonderful warmth. Pinched faces smiled in the golden glow. “Summer is come again!” they shouted. They called Prometheus, the helper of man. But he became their teacher too. He showed them how to cook their food, make tools, and dig metals from the earth, and soon man was warm and happy and busy. One day Jupiter looked down from his high throne on the topmost peak of Mount Olympus and saw the fire-theft. In fearful anger he ordered his son, Vulcan, the blacksmith of the gods, to seize Prometheus, carry him away to the Caucasian Mountains, chain him fast to a huge rock, where a great vulture tore out his liver. There Prometheus suffered for ages; but generation after generation of men lived on earth, and died, blessing him for the gift he had brought to them. After many centuries of woe, Hercules found Prometheus, killed the vulture, broke the chain, and set free the suffering god, who said, “I am glad man has the fire-gift!” And the sight of man warming himself beside it and using it comforted him.

5. PHAETHON’S WONDERFUL RIDE

The Greeks believed that Apollo was the god of music and of hunting, and also of the sun. Every day, they thought, he rode through the sky in his golden chariot, drawn by fiery horses. One day Phaethon, meaning “the Bright and Shining One,” his son, said, “Father, let me drive your chariot for one day.” “My son,” said Apollo, “I cannot grant your request! ’Tis a mischief, not a gift, you ask. The road is steep and the four fiery steeds untamed. You would grow dizzy and fall and set the world on fire.” But Phaethon pleaded and, because he had promised, at last Apollo ordered the Hours to harness the horses and fling wide open the palace-gates. Phaethon took the reins and the whip in his hands. “My son,” said Apollo, “be sure to watch the horses with the greatest care, and do not use the whip.” At first Phaethon remembered his father’s words and he enjoyed his ride; but soon he became reckless and drove faster and faster until he lost his way. In trying to find it again he drove so near the earth that immediately trees shriveled, harvests withered, fountains dried up, cities were burned to ashes, and even the people of the land over which he was passing were burned black--which color the Negroes have to this day. This frightened Phaethon so much that he whipped up his horses, and drove them so far away that the earth turned to a sudden cold. The cries of the suffering people rose in chorus to Jupiter, who awoke from his deep sleep, and at once hurled his deadliest thunderbolt straight at the foolhardy Phaethon. In a moment the dead boy fell like a shooting star into the waters of a deep river. His intimate friend, Cycnus, continually plunged into the river in hope of finding all the scattered pieces of his body, until the gods changed him into a swan. And that is the reason, the Greeks thought, why the swan is ever mournfully sailing about, and often plunging his head into the water to continue his sad search for Phaethon.

6. THE STORY OF THE SUNFLOWER

Clytie was a water-nymph who lived in a cave at the bottom of the sea. She had never seen the earth or sky or stars or sun or light of day, in her dark home, deep in the sea. One morning she floated up so far that she reached the surface and swam to the beautiful green shore. Shaking the water out of her waving yellow hair, she sat and watched a golden ball which was arising out of the east. It was the sun. With wonder and delight her eyes followed him as he mounted higher and higher. It became noon, but Clytie never stirred. She scarcely seemed to breathe. Soon the sun sank lower and lower toward the west, and Clytie’s eyes still followed him with love. Then the sun sank from sight. Clytie fell upon her face in sorrow, crying, “Oh, the miracle! shall I ever see it again? I will not leave this spot. I will wait to see if the wonder may not return.” So through the long night she watched, and in the white light of dawn the great sun burst again in beauty upon the waiting eyes of Clytie, who followed him in his course, turning her sweet, sad face, east, south, and west as the day advanced. This she did day after day, until at last the gods, in pity, changed her into the sunflower. But the sunflower still follows, with upturned face, the daily journey of the sun.

So the heart that has truly loved never forgets,
But as truly loves on to the close;
As the sunflower turns to her god when he sets
The same look which she turned when he rose.

7. THE GOLDEN TOUCH

Once there was a King, named Midas, who loved gold better than anything else in the world. Every day he went down into a dark room in his castle to play with his piles of gold, and to see them shine. One morning, before he arose from his bed, he sighed: “I wish I had the whole world for my treasure-room, and that it was full of gold all my own, then I would be very happy!” Just then a voice said, “Midas, you are a very rich man. You ought to be the happiest man in the world.” “I am not,” said the King; “but I would be if everything I touched would turn to gold.” “Are you sure you would not be sorry you made such a choice?” said the voice. “How could I be sorry? I would be the happiest man in the world!” “Very well, then,” said the voice, “you shall have the Golden Touch.” Just then a little sunbeam came through the window shining on his bed. He put out his hand and touched the coverlet, and it was turned to gold. He sprang from his bed and ran about the room, turning everything to gold. Then he dressed himself and was delighted to find his clothes became golden garments, and his spectacles turned to gold. Going down-stairs he went out into the garden, and kept plucking roses which changed into beautiful, shining gold. Even the dewdrops became little nuggets of gold. Then he went back into the house to breakfast, and had great fun changing his daughter’s bread and milk bowl into gold. Just then his daughter, Marygold, came into the room crying, “Oh, my beautiful roses are all ugly and yellow and without any fragrance.” “Don’t cry,” said her father; “let us eat.” But as soon as he touched his breakfast, the baked potatoes, fish, and cakes all became gold. He raised the cup of coffee to his lips. That too turned to gold, and of course he could not drink it. He looked at Marygold who was quietly eating her bread and milk. How he longed to have just one taste. Seeing her father’s sad face, Marygold ran to him, but as soon as he took her in his arms and kissed her she too became hard, shining gold, and even her tears were little nuggets of gold. Poor, unhappy King! His heart was sad. He threw himself on the floor and tried to pray, but the words would not come. All at once the room grew bright, and a voice said, “How do you like the Golden Touch?” “I hate the very name of gold!” cried the King. “I would give all I have just to see my daughter smile again.” “Then,” said the voice, “take a pitcher, go to the river, jump in head first and fill the pitcher with water; then sprinkle a few drops of it on everything you have changed to gold. Everything will become as before.” The King quickly did all the voice said. The first thing he did with the water was to sprinkle Marygold, who at once opened her eyes in life again. Then he went into the garden and changed the roses back to their natural beauty and fragrance. Nor did he stop until he had sprinkled water on everything he had changed to gold. Then he ate his breakfast with great joy. Only two things were left to remind him of the Golden Touch--the sand in the river and Marygold’s hair. As this made her more beautiful, Midas said that was the only gold he cared for after that.--_Adapted from Hawthorne’s “Tanglewood Tales.”_

8. SAINT GEORGE AND THE DRAGON

Once upon a time in the early days of the Christians, in the reign of the Emperor Diocletian, there was born in the province of Cappadocia, in Asia Minor, a beautiful baby boy, named George, who grew up to be a brave soldier and knight. Once when he was on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land he came to a town in the country of Libya where the people were living in great terror because a great dragon, with poisonous breath, had his home in a marsh outside the city walls. The monster had devoured their sheep and oxen, and the people were forced to shut themselves close inside their city and send out each day a sheep to satisfy the hunger of this dreadful dragon. At last not one sheep was left. Then the King ordered that each day two children, chosen by lot, should be sent out to the dragon. The people obeyed the King’s order and from day to day arose the bitter cries of parents upon whose children the cruel lot had fallen. But one morning the lot fell upon Cleodolinda, the beautiful fifteen-year-old daughter of the King. He was in despair, for he loved his little daughter most tenderly. He offered all the gold in the treasury and half his kingdom if she should be spared. But the parents who had been obliged to sacrifice their children insisted that the King’s daughter should be given to the dragon, and threatened to burn the King in his palace if he did not send her forth at once. The King pleaded for eight days longer to bid farewell to her. Then he sent her forth weeping, and arrayed in her royal robes, to die for her people. Walking timidly toward the terrible monster’s den, along the path strewn thick with the bleaching bones of her former playmates, she suddenly heard the sound of hurrying horse’s hoofs. She looked up, and there was a beautiful young knight in armor, on a milk-white horse, coming toward her with a gleaming spear, ready to do battle with any enemy that might cross his path. She cried, “Fly! fly for your life, Sir Knight!” But when he had heard her sad story, he said: “God forbid that I should fly! I will destroy this monster, your enemy, and deliver you through the power that lives in all true followers of Christ.” Just then the dragon came forth, half flying and half crawling toward them, clashing his bronze scales with horrid noise. Cleodolinda again begged the knight to fly and leave her to her fate. But Saint George made the sign of the cross and rushed upon the monster. The struggle was fierce and long, for it was hard to strike through the dragon’s bronze scales. But at last, with a blow like that of three strong men, Saint George pinned the dragon to the earth with his lance. Cleodolinda did not run away but, “with folded hands and knees full truly bent,” the brave girl stood near her champion, who said: “Touch him and see how tame he is. See, even his poisonous breath is gone. It is the power of good over evil.” Then he took the girl’s rich girdle, bound it round the great dragon, and gave one end to her, telling her to lead the dragon into the city. So the girl who had obediently gone out to the dragon expecting him to devour her, obediently led the powerless creature over the fields he had laid waste and over the bleaching bones of the children he had devoured, and the meek monster followed her like a lamb toward the walls of the city where the people were gathered in terror. Saint George called out: “Fear not, only believe in the Christ through whose might I have overpowered your enemy, and I will destroy the dragon before your eyes.” Then he took his sword and smote off the dragon’s head, and all the people hailed him as their deliverer. But Saint George bade them give God the praise. He preached to them so earnestly that the King and princess and all the people became Christians. He would not take the gold the King offered him, but ordered that it be distributed among the poor. Then he bade them all adieu and rode away to do in other lands like noble deeds of loving service. So this champion of the weak became the patron saint of merry England, and only the bravest knight or soldier may wear the cross and be called a Knight of Saint George.

9. SAINT PATRICK AND THE SNAKES

If you should ever sail across the ocean to Ireland, and travel on that Emerald Isle, you would be sure to hear many interesting stories about the good missionary, Saint Patrick. One story which was told many years ago by an old monk named Jocelin, is this:

Long, long ago, when Ireland was called Erin, and before Saint Patrick came to the island, the people were troubled with a plague of demons and reptiles. Patrick was the son of a Christian magistrate who lived in England. In the year A. D. 411, when Patrick was fifteen, some wild Irish raiders stole him and sold him as a slave in Ireland, where he remained in slavery for six years tending pigs upon the mountains. When this Christian boy, Patrick, made his escape to France, he resolved to return to Ireland and devote himself as a missionary to the conversion of the people. When he returned to Ireland to enter upon his mission, he found the country stricken because of the demons and reptiles. By means of a wondrous staff which he stretched toward heaven, and a holy bell, Fuin Foya, which when he rang was heard throughout Erin, he drove away the demons with howls of rage. Then, as he went about the land preaching and doing good to all the people, he found them still suffering with the plague of snakes and toads, which ugly reptiles he drove westward until they reached a high rock, when, with a hissing sound, they turned upon Saint Patrick and tried to poison him. But the saint was armed with his melodious bell, which had been given by the angels, and of all sounds in the world the ringing of a heavenly bell is most terrible to a reptile, and the silvery tones of this bell frightened the snakes and toads more than all the bells of the land ringing together. When Saint Patrick saw these wicked serpents making ready to sting him, and saw they all no longer obeyed his commands and his threats, he uncovered the bell and the moment they heard the first tinkle they rushed forward in a body to scramble up the side of the hill and away from the sound they hated. As soon as they reached the top they began to sway to and fro in their fright, for there, far beneath the dark rocks, lay the blue waters of the ocean. But they could not wait there long, for as soon as Saint Patrick came to the summit, he made a sign for them to come near him, and, creeping and crawling, they cowered at his feet, waiting to hear their doom. The good Saint Patrick stood over them and, lifting his staff in his hand, he pointed out far over the sea. “Forward, every one into the sea!” he commanded, “and henceforth this blessed Isle of Erin shall be free forever from your power of evil!” They lay at his feet hissing and writhing in agony, but Saint Patrick began to uncover his bell, Fuin Foya. As soon as they saw that, the reptiles rushed and tumbled down, down over the steep rocks. So, hissing and howling, they plunged into the sea and disappeared under the waves.

10. THE COYOTE AND THE INDIAN FIRE-BRINGER

One cold winter’s day, long, long ago, when the Coyote was the friend and the counselor of the Indian, a Boy of one of the tribes was ranging through a mountain forest with a big, gray Coyote. The poor Indians ran naked in the snow or huddled in caves in the rocks, and were suffering terribly in the cold. The Boy said, “I am sorry for the misery of my people.” “I do not feel the cold,” said the Coyote. “You have a coat of fur,” said the Boy, “and my people have not. I will hunt with you no more until I have found a way to make my people warm in the winter’s cold. Help me, O counselor.” The Coyote ran away, and when he came back, after a long time, he said, “I have a way, but it’s a hard way.” “No way is too hard,” said the Boy. So the Coyote told him they must go to the Burning Mountain to bring fire to the people. “What is fire?” asked the Boy. “Fire is red like a flower, yet not a flower; swift to run in the grass and destroy, like a beast, yet not a beast; fierce and beautiful, yet a good servant to keep one warm, if kept among stones and fed with sticks.”

“We will get the fire,” said the Boy. So the Boy and the Coyote started off with one hundred swift runners for the far-away Burning Mountain. At the end of the first day’s trail they left the weakest of the runners to wait; at the end of the second day the next stronger, and so for each of the hundred days; and the Boy was the strongest runner and went to the last trail with the Coyote. At last the two stood at the foot of the Burning Mountain, from which smoke rolled out. Then the Coyote said to the Boy, “Stay here till I bring you a brand from the burning. Be ready for running, for I shall be faint when I reach you, and the Fire-spirits will pursue me.” Up the mountainside he went. He looked so slinking and so small and so mean, the Fire-spirits laughed at him. But in the night, as the Fire-spirits were dancing about the mountain, the Coyote stole the fire and ran with it fast away from the Fire-spirits who, red and angry, gave chase after him, but could not overtake him. The Boy saw him coming, like a falling star against the mountain, with the fire in his mouth, the sparks of which streamed out along his sides. As soon as the Coyote got near, the Boy took the brand from his jaws and was off, like an arrow from a bent bow, till he reached the next runner, who stood with his head bent for running. To him he passed it, and he was off and away, and the spiteful Fire-spirits were hot in chase. So the brand passed from hand to hand and the Fire-spirits tore after each runner through the country, but they came to the mountains of the snows ahead and could not pass. Then the swift runners, one after the other bore it forward, shining starlight in the night, glowing red in the sultry noons, pale in the twilight, until they came safely to their own land. There they kept the fire among the stones and fed it with sticks, as the Coyote had said, and it kept the people warm.

Ever after, the Boy was called the Fire-bringer, and the Indians said the Coyote still bears the mark of fire, because his flanks are singed and yellow from the flames that streamed backward from the firebrand that night in the long ago.--_Adapted from “The Basket Woman,” by Mary Antrim._

IV

FAVORITES

(_Adapted for Children, Six to Twelve Years._)

1. THE UGLY DUCKLING

Once upon a time a Duck was sitting all alone on her nest watching for her young ducklings to hatch. All at once the eggs seemed alive. “Peep! Peep!” and one little fluffy yellow head after another looked out. “Quack! Quack!” said the Duck, and all the ducklings quacked too, as well as they could. But one egg still remained unhatched, and it was the largest egg of all. “I must sit on it a little longer,” said Mother Duck very tenderly. This she did until at last the large egg cracked and out tumbled a large, ugly, gray Duckling. He seemed so different from the others that the mother thought sure that he must be a turkey, until she saw him swim in the water, just as well as her other children. But he was not so pretty as the others, and the poor, ugly Duckling was bitten and pecked and chased and kicked about and made fun of by all, and even his own brothers and sisters were unkind to him. At last he could bear it no longer, and he ran away, going on and on until he came to a swamp where the wild geese lived. “Bang! Bang!” went a gun in the morning, and two of the geese fell dead. In a moment more a large, terrible dog ran up. He put his nose close to the Duckling, showing his sharp teeth, and then “Splash! Splash!” he went out of the water without touching him. “I am so ugly a dog will not bite me,” the poor bird said, lying still until the gun stopped shooting. In the evening he flew away from the swamp and came to a hut where an old woman lived with a cat and a hen. These made so much fun of him because he was so ugly that he flew away from them and was very lonely and sad among the rushes all the long, cold winter until the spring came. Then one morning he flew on and on until he came to a large, beautiful garden where he saw three white swans moving on the smooth water. “I will fly to them,” he said. As soon as they saw him they swam toward him and began to stroke his neck with their beaks. Just then he looked down into the clear water, and was surprised at his own image. He saw himself no longer a dark, gray, ugly duckling, but a beautiful snow-white swan like the others. Little children running about the garden came up to throw bread and cake into the water. “Oh, see!” cried one of the children. “There is a new one! The new one is the prettiest!” The Swan was so happy he did not know what to do. He was not at all proud, but he shook his beautiful feathers, stretched his graceful, slender neck, and said: “Now, when people see me they will be glad! I never dreamed of such happiness when I was an ugly duckling!”--_Adapted from Hans Christian Andersen._

2. THE KING OF THE GOLDEN RIVER

Once there were three brothers, Hans, Swartz, and Gluck, the youngest. These three brothers owned a rich farm in a valley far up on the mountainside. The apples that grew there were so red, the corn so yellow, the grapes so blue, and everything was so fertile that it was called “Treasure Valley.” On the very top of the mountain a river shone so bright and golden when lighted by the rays of the setting sun that people called it the “Golden River,” but its waters flowed down on the other side of the mountain. The two older brothers were so selfish and cruel that they were called the “Black Brothers.” They beat their brother Gluck so cruelly one day for being kind to some one that the West Wind punished them by blowing, blowing, blowing so hard that everything became dry and the valley became a desert. Then the three brothers went to live in the town, and the two oldest went from bad to worse, until one day they said, “We have nothing left in the world but Gluck’s Golden Pitcher.” This pitcher was a gift from his uncle, which Gluck highly prized, but the cruel brothers ordered him, while they were away, to put it into the melting-pot and make it into gold spoons that they might secure money to support them. While the melting-pot with the gold pitcher in it was warming over the hot fire, Gluck looked out of the window and saw the sun reflecting its yellow glow in the Golden River, far up on the mountain crest. He sighed, “How fine it would be if only that river were really gold. We wouldn’t be poor then!” “It wouldn’t be fine at all,” said a thin little voice from the melting-pot. “Pour me out! Pour me out! I’m too hot,” continued the thin little voice. It was the King of the Golden River, a queer little dwarf, who peeped out of the melting-pot and said: “Whoever climbs to the top of the mountain where the Golden River begins, and pours in three drops of holy water, shall find the river turned into gold. But whoever fails at the first trial can have no other, and will be changed into a big black boulder.” With these words the King of the Golden River vanished up the chimney. Just then the two brothers knocked at the door and came in, and when they saw the golden pitcher all melted away and vanished in smoke up the chimney, they beat poor Gluck black and blue for his carelessness. When Gluck told them what the King of the Golden River had said, at first they would not believe him, and then they quarreled so terribly over which should be the first to go, that a policeman came and Swartz was thrown into prison. Then Hans said, “I will be the first to get the gold.” He took a bottle of water and climbed up, up, up the mountainside until he met a dog so thirsty that his tongue hung from his mouth. Hans gave the dog a kick and passed on until he met a little child, who said, “I’m so thirsty.” But Hans gave the child a slap and passed on until he met a queer little old man, who cried, “Water! Water! I’m dying for water!” Hans spoke bad words and passed on, drinking up all the water himself. So when he came to the source of the Golden River he found that all his water was gone, and he did not have even three drops to put into the river. Then, in a rage, he threw the empty bottle into the stream, and immediately there was great thunder and lightning, and Hans was changed into a big black boulder.

When Hans did not return, Gluck went to work in a goldsmith’s shop to earn money enough to get Swartz out of prison. As soon as he was released he said, “Now I will try to get the gold.” So Swartz took a bottle of water and climbed up, up, up the mountainside, passing the poor, thirsty dog, the little child, and the queer little old man dying of thirst, without so much as sharing one drop of water with them. When he came to the source of the Golden River he found that all his water was gone and he did not have even three drops to pour into the river. Then, in a rage, he threw the empty bottle into the stream, and immediately there was great thunder and lightning, and Swartz was changed into a big black boulder beside his brother.

Gluck waited long for his brothers to return, but when they did not come he took a bottle of water and started to climb up, up, up the mountainside until he came to the poor thirsty dog, and the little child, and then the queer little old man, with each of whom Gluck kindly shared the water from his bottle, and when he reached the top of the mountain he found he had plenty of water still in his bottle. So he poured in three drops of his holy water into the heart of the river, but, to his surprise, he found that the river did not change into gold. The water began to flow down the other side of the mountain toward Treasure Valley. He was disappointed and sad. Then the King of the Golden River appeared again and said, “Follow the stream!” Then he noticed, as he went down the mountainside, that everywhere the river flowed flowers and vines and fruit trees blossomed, and soon all Treasure Valley was one rich, beautiful garden again. Then he saw that the river was indeed, as the King had said, a River of Gold. After that Gluck lived in a beautiful home in Treasure Valley. His apples were red, his corn was yellow, his grapes were blue, and everything became prosperous again. But the hungry and thirsty were never once sent empty away.--_Adapted from John Ruskin._

3. THE CLOUD

One hot summer morning a little Cloud rose out of the sea and floated happily across the blue sky. Far below lay the earth, brown and dry and desolate from drought. The little Cloud could see the poor earth-people working and suffering in the heat, while she floated here and there in the sky without a care. “Oh, if I could only help those people,” said the Cloud. “If I could make their work easier and give the hungry ones food and the thirsty ones drink! Yes, I will help, I will!” And she began to sink softly down to the earth. As she sank lower she remembered when she was a tiny cloud-child in the lap of Mother Ocean she was told that if the clouds went too near the earth they would die. Thinking of that she held herself from sinking and swayed herself here and there in the breeze. Then she said, “Men of earth, come what may, I will help. I will.” All at once she became so large and wide-spread that the men of earth were afraid; the trees and the grasses bowed themselves; a wonderful light glowed from her heart; the sound of thunder rolled through the sky, and a love greater than words can tell filled the Cloud. Down, down, close to earth she swept, and gave up her life in a heavy shower of rain. That rain was the Cloud’s generous deed, but it was her death, and it was her glory too. Over the whole country round, as far as the rain fell, a lovely rainbow spread its arch, and all the brightest rays of heaven made its colors. It was the last greeting of a love so great as to sacrifice itself. Soon the rainbow was gone, but long, long after, the men and women, saved by the Cloud, kept her blessing in their hearts.--_Adapted from “How to Tell Stories to Children,” Sara Cone Bryant._

4. THE GREAT STONE FACE

Far up in the mountains of New England there was a great rock in such a position as to resemble the features of a human face. There were the broad arch of the forehead, the eyes, the nose, and the lips. So real was it, the Great Stone Face seemed to be alive. Happy were the children who grew up to manhood or womanhood with this Great Stone Face before their eyes, for the features were all so noble and their expression like the glow of a great, warm heart, it was an education to look at it. There was a belief among the people who lived in the valley, that one day a boy would be born who would become the greatest and noblest man of his times, and whose face would exactly resemble the Great Stone Face. After a long time a boy grew up in the valley who learned to love the sight of this image. After his day’s work was done he would gaze up at it until he thought it seemed to notice him and give him a smile of kindness and encouragement in response to his look of love. Very often during those years a rumor arose that the great man foretold for ages had at last appeared. A boy who had grown up in the valley, had gone away and become a millionaire, returned, and people said, “This is he!” But it proved untrue. Then a soldier, and a statesman, and a poet arose, and people said, “This is he!” But it was not so. Meanwhile, the boy who quietly day by day lived, and labored, and looked up, and loved the Great Stone Face grew to manhood, becoming more and more like it, until one day everybody saw the resemblance, and cried, “This is he!” And it was. This good boy and young man had gradually grown in gentleness and goodness and love until his face became as magnetic and his influence as helpful in the valley as the Great Stone Face.--_Adapted from Hawthorne._

5. TOM, THE CHIMNEY-SWEEP

(_Written by Canon Kingsley for his own little boy._)

Once there was a chimney-sweep, and his name was Tom. He lived in a great city, where there were plenty of chimneys to sweep. He never washed himself, he never had been taught to say his prayers, he could not read or write. One morning Tom and his master, Mr. Grimes, started off to sweep some chimneys in the country. Mr. Grimes rode the donkey, and Tom, with his brushes, walked behind. They overtook a poor old Irish woman, trudging along with a bundle on her back. She had a shawl on her head and a red dress. She spoke kindly to Tom, and they walked along together until they came to a spring. The master jumped from the donkey and dipped his head into the water, shaking his ears to dry them. Tom said, “Master, I never saw you wash before.” “Nor will you see me wash again, most likely. I did it for coolness, not for cleanliness. I’d be ashamed to want washing every week or so like any smutty collier-lad.” “I wish I might wash,” said poor little Tom. “Come along,” said Grimes. “What do you want with washing yourself?” and he began beating the poor boy. “Shame on you!” cried the old woman. “They that wish to be clean, clean they will be; they that wish to be dirty, dirty they will be. Remember!”

That day Tom swept so many chimneys that he got lost, and came down the wrong chimney in one house, and found himself standing in a room the like of which he had never seen before. There was a wash-stand with a basin and soap and brushes and towels. Looking toward the bed he held his breath, for there, under the snow-white coverlet, was the most beautiful little girl Tom had ever seen. “Are all the people like that when they are washed?” he thought. Then he looked at his wrists and tried to rub off the soot, and wondered if it ever would come off. Looking round he saw standing close to him a little, ugly, black, ragged boy with red eyes and grinning white teeth. “Who are you?” he said. “What does such a little black monkey want here?” But it was himself reflected in the great mirror, the like of which also Tom had never seen before. Tom found out then, for the first time, that he was dirty. He burst into tears and turned to sneak up the chimney again to hide himself, but he upset the fender and threw the fire-irons down with a great noise. Under the window there was a great tree, and Tom went down the tree like a cat and across the garden toward the woods. The gardener, who was busily engaged in watering the rose-bushes, saw him and gave chase; the milkmaid heard the noise and followed too; and so did the groom and the plowman, and the old Irish woman and Mr. Grimes. But Tom ran faster than all, and in the woods he was lost from view, and all went back again. On the bank of a river Tom sat down to rest, and was soon fast asleep and dreaming of the little clean girl and the Irish woman who said, “They that wish to be clean, clean they will be.” All at once he cried out, “I must be clean! I must be clean!” He awoke and went into the water, where he washed his feet, and suddenly he was changed into a Water-baby. Hundreds of other Water-babies were there, laughing and singing and shouting and romping in the clear, cool water, and all dressed in their little bathing-suits, so clean and white. The one that had been poor little Tom, the chimney-sweep, was the happiest and whitest among them all. And he never forgot the old Irish woman (who was really Queen of the Water-babies) or what she had said: “They that wish to be clean, clean they will be; they that wish to be dirty, dirty they will be.”--_Adapted from “The Water-babies.”_

6. WHERE LOVE IS, GOD IS

Once in a little town in Russia there was a lonely old cobbler who lived in a cellar. There was always plenty of work for him, for he was prompt and honest and industrious. But the cobbler was not happy, for it seemed to him God had been unkind to him in taking away his wife and children by death. But at last a good priest came and taught this unhappy cobbler to read the New Testament, and then he grew happy and contented, and changed in every way. One day as he was reading how the Lord was treated when he was on earth, he said to himself, “And suppose he came to me, would I treat him differently?” “Martin!”--and a Voice seemed close to his ear. “Who’s there?” the cobbler said; but no reply came. “Martin, Martin,” said the Voice again, “look to-morrow on the street; I am coming!” Next morning Martin waited and waited, but saw no stranger come near. An old soldier, whom he knew, came into his shop out of the snow, to whom the cobbler gave a cup of tea and whom he treated with kindness as he told him he was expecting his little Father, Christ. Later in the day a poor widow with a little child came into his shop out of the cold, to whom the cobbler gave warm food and a coat and some money, as he told her how he was expecting the Lord to come to him that day. In the late afternoon the cobbler saw from his cellar window a poor apple-woman fighting a boy who had stolen some of her apples. The cobbler rushed into the street and told the woman she ought to forgive the boy as the Lord forgave us. He purchased an apple which he gave to the boy, who, touched by the kindness, begged the apple-woman’s pardon and kindly helped her by carrying her heavy basket for her.

By the evening lamp-light the cobbler opened his New Testament and was disappointed because the Christ-guest had not come. Then a Voice whispered, “Martin! Dost thou not know me?” “Who art thou?” cried the cobbler. “’Tis I,” cried the Voice. “Lo, ’tis I!” And forth from the dark corner of the shop stepped the soldier, and then the widow with the little child, and then the old apple-woman and the lad with the apple. All smiled and vanished. But the heart of the cobbler was glad, and he saw at the top of the Gospel page these words: “I was an hungered and thirsty, and ye gave me drink; I was a stranger, and ye took me in.” And at the bottom of the page he read: “Inasmuch as ye have done it to one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.” Then the cobbler saw that the Lord had really come to him and he had really received Him that day.--_Adapted from Count Tolstoy._

7. THE PIED PIPER

(_Written by Robert Browning, the poet, for the amusement of a friend’s son who was ill, and to give him subjects for drawings._)