SOME SUGGESTIONS FOR THESTORY-TELLER

Concerning the fundamental points ofmethod in telling a story, I have little toadd to the principles which I have alreadystated as necessary, in my opinion, in thebook of which this is, in a way, thecontinuation. But in the two years whichhave passed since that book was written, Ihave had the happiness of working onstories and the telling of them, amongteachers and students all over this country,and in that experience certain secondarypoints of method have come to seem moreimportant, or at least more in need ofemphasis, than they did before. As sooften happens, I had assumed that "thosethings are taken for granted;" whereas, tothe beginner or the teacher not naturallya story-teller, the secondary or impliedtechnique is often of greater difficulty thanthe mastery of underlying principles. Thefew suggestions which follow are of thispractical, obvious kind.

Take your story seriously. No matterhow riotously absurd it is, or how full ofinane repetition, remember, if it is goodenough to tell, it is a real story, and mustbe treated with respect. If you cannot feelso toward it, do not tell it. Have faith inthe story, and in the attitude of the childrentoward it and you. If you fail in this, theimmediate result will be a touch of shame-facedness, affecting your manner unfavorably,and, probably, influencing youraccuracy and imaginative vividness.

Perhaps I can make the point clearerby telling you about one of the girls in aclass which was studying stories lastwinter; I feel sure if she or any of her fellow

students recognizes the incident, she willnot resent being made to serve the goodcause, even in the unattractive guise of awarning example.

A few members of the class had preparedthe story of "The Fisherman andhis Wife." The first girl called on wasevidently inclined to feel that it was rathera foolish story. She tried to tell it well,but there were parts of it which producedin her the touch of shamefacedness towhich I have referred.

When she came to the rhyme,--

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

she said it rather rapidly. At the firstrepetition she said it still more rapidly; thenext time she came to the jingle she said itso fast and so low that it was unintelligible;and the next recurrence was too much forher. With a blush and a hesitating smileshe said, "And he said that same thing,you know!" Of course everybody laughed,and of course the thread of interest andillusion was hopelessly broken for everybody.

Now, any one who chanced to hear MissShedlock tell that same story will rememberthat the absurd rhyme gave great opportunityfor expression, in its very repetition;each time that the fisherman came to thewater's edge his chagrin and unwillingnesswas greater, and his summons to the magicfish mirrored his feeling. The jingle ISfoolish; that is a part of the charm. But ifthe person who tells it FEELS foolish, thereis no charm at all! It is the same principlewhich applies to any address to anyassemblage: if the speaker has the air offinding what he has to say absurd or

unworthy of effort, the audience naturallytends to follow his lead, and find it notworth listening to.

Let me urge, then, take your storyseriously.

Next, "take your time." This suggestionneeds explaining, perhaps. It doesnot mean license to dawdle. Nothing ismuch more annoying in a speaker than toogreat deliberateness, or than hesitation ofspeech. But it means a quiet realization ofthe fact that the floor is yours, everybodywants to hear you, there is time enoughfor every point and shade of meaning andno one will think the story too long. Thismental attitude must underlie proper controlof speed. Never hurry. A business-likeleisure is the true attitude of the storyteller.

And the result is best attained byconcentrating one's attention on the episodesof the story. Pass lightly, and comparativelyswiftly, over the portions betweenactual episodes, but take all the time youneed for the elaboration of those. Andabove all, do not FEEL hurried.

The next suggestion is eminently plainand practical, if not an all too obvious one.It is this: if all your preparation andconfidence fails you at the crucial moment, andmemory plays the part of traitor in someparticular, if, in short, you blunder on adetail of the story, NEVER ADMIT IT. If it wasan unimportant detail which you misstated,pass right on, accepting whatever you said,and continuing with it; if you have been sounfortunate as to omit a fact which was anecessary link in the chain, put it in, later,as skillfully as you can, and with asdeceptive an appearance of its being in theintended order; but never take the childrenbehind the scenes, and let them hear

the creaking of your mental machinery.You must be infallible. You must be inthe secret of the mystery, and admit youraudience on somewhat unequal terms;they should have no creeping doubts asto your complete initiation into the secretsof the happenings you relate.

Plainly, there can be lapses of memoryso complete, so all-embracing, that frankfailure is the only outcome, but these areso few as not to need consideration, whendealing with so simple material as that ofchildren's stories. There are times, too,before an adult audience, when a speakercan afford to let his hearers be amused withhim over a chance mistake. But with childrenit is most unwise to break the spell ofthe entertainment in that way. Consider,in the matter of a detail of action ordescription, how absolutely unimportant themere accuracy is, compared with the effectof smoothness and the enjoyment of thehearers. They will not remember the detail,for good or evil, half so long as theywill remember the fact that you did notknow it. So, for their sakes, as well as forthe success of your story, cover your slipsof memory, and let them be as if they werenot.

And now I come to two points in methodwhich have to do especially with humorousstories. The first is the power of initiatingthe appreciation of the joke. Every naturalhumorist does this by instinct and thevalue of the power to story-teller canhardly be overestimated. To initiateappreciation does not mean that onenecessarily gives way to mirth, though even thatis sometimes natural and effective; onemerely feels the approach of the humorousclimax, and subtly suggests to the hearersthat it will soon be "time to laugh." Thesuggestion usually comes in the form of

facial expression, and in the tone. Andchildren are so much simpler, and so muchmore accustomed to following another'slead than their elders, that the expressioncan be much more outright and unguardedthan would be permissible with a matureaudience.

Children like to feel the joke coming, inthis way; they love the anticipation of alaugh, and they will begin to dimple, often,at your first unconscious suggestion ofhumor. If it is lacking, they are sometimesafraid to follow their own instincts.Especially when you are facing an audienceof grown people and children together, youwill find that the latter are very hesitantabout initiating their own expression ofhumor. It is more difficult to make themforget their surroundings then, and moredesirable to give them a happy lead. Oftenat the funniest point you will see somesmall listener in an agony of endeavor tocloak the mirth which he--poor mite--fears to be indecorous. Let him see that itis "the thing" to laugh, and that everybodyis going to.

Having so stimulated the appreciationof the humorous climax, it is important togive your hearers time for the full savorof the jest to permeate their consciousness.It is really robbing an audience of its rights,to pass so quickly from one point toanother that the mind must lose a new one ifit lingers to take in the old. Every vitalpoint in a tale must be given a certainamount of time: by an anticipatory pause,by some form of vocal or repetitiveemphasis, and by actual time. But evenmore than other tales does the funny storydemand this. It cannot be funny without it.

Every one who is familiar with the theatremust have noticed how careful all comedians

are to give this pause for appreciationand laughter. Often the opportunityis crudely given, or too liberally offered;and that offends. But in a reasonable degreethe practice is undoubtedly necessaryto any form of humorous expression.

A remarkably good example of the typeof humorous story to which these principlesof method apply, is the story of "Epaminondas."It will be plain toany reader that all the several funny crisesare of the perfectly unmistakable sort childrenlike, and that, moreover, these funnyspots are not only easy to see; they are easyto foresee. The teller can hardly help sharingthe joke in advance, and the tale isan excellent one with which to practice forpower in the points mentioned.

Epaminondas is a valuable little rascalfrom other points of view, and I mean toreturn to him, to point a moral. But justhere I want space for a word or two aboutthe matter of variety of subject and stylein school stories.

There are two wholly different kinds ofstory which are equally necessary forchildren, I believe, and which ought to begiven in about the proportion of one tothree, in favor of the second kind; I makethe ratio uneven because the first kind ismore dominating in its effect.

The first kind is represented by suchstories as the "Pig Brother," which has nowgrown so familiar to teachers that it willserve for illustration without repetition here.It is the type of story which specificallyteaches a certain ethical or conduct lesson,in the form of a fable or an allegory,--itpasses on to the child the conclusions as toconduct and character, to which the racehas, in general, attained through centuries

of experience and moralizing. The storybecomes a part of the outfit of receivedideas on manners and morals which is aninescapable and necessary possession of theheir of civilization.

Children do not object to these storiesin the least, if the stories are good ones.They accept them with the relish whichnature seems to maintain for all trulynourishing material. And the little talesare one of the media through which weelders may transmit some very slight shareof the benefit received by us, in turn, fromactual or transmitted experience.

The second kind has no preconceivedmoral to offer, makes no attempt to affectjudgment or to pass on a standard. Itsimply presents a picture of life, usuallyin fable or poetic image, and says to thehearer, "These things are." The hearer,then, consciously or otherwise, passes judgmenton the facts. His mind says, "Thesethings are good;" or, "This was good, andthat, bad;" or, "This thing is desirable,"or the contrary.

The story of "The Little Jackal and theAlligator" is a good illustrationof this type. It is a character-story. In thenaive form of a folk tale, it doubtlessembodies the observations of a seeing eye, in acountry and time when the little jackal andthe great alligator were even more vividimages of certain human characters thanthey now are. Again and again, surely, theauthor or authors of the tales must haveseen the weak, small, clever being triumphover the bulky, well-accoutred, stupidadversary. Again and again they had laughedat the discomfiture of the latter, perhapsrejoicing in it the more because it removedfear from their own houses. And probablynever had they concerned themselves particularly

with the basic ethics of the struggle.It was simply one of the things theysaw. It was life. So they made a pictureof it.

The folk tale so made, and of suchcharacter, comes to the child somewhat as anunprejudiced newspaper account of to-day's happenings comes to us. It pleadsno cause, except through its contents; itexercises no intentioned influence on ourmoral judgment; it is there, as life is there,to be seen and judged. And only throughsuch seeing and judging can the individualperception attain to anything of power ororiginality. Just as a certain amount ofreceived ideas is necessary to sane development,so is a definite opportunity forfirst-hand judgments essential to power.

In this epoch of well-trained minds werun some risk of an inundation of acceptedethics. The mind which can make independentjudgments, can look at new factswith fresh vision, and reach conclusionswith simplicity, is the perennial power inthe world. And this is the mind we arenot noticeably successful in developing, inour system of schooling. Let us at leasthave its needs before our consciousness,in our attempts to supplement the regularstudies of school by such side-activities asstory-telling. Let us give the children afair proportion of stories which stimulateindependent moral and practical decisions.

And now for a brief return to our littleblack friend. "Epaminondas" belongs toa very large, very ancient type of funnystory: the tale in which the jest dependswholly on an abnormal degree of stupidityon the part of the hero. Every race whichproduces stories seems to have found thistheme a natural outlet for its childlikelaughter. The stupidity of Lazy Jack, of

Big Claus, of the Good Man, of CleverAlice, all have their counterparts in thefolly of the small Epaminondas.

Evidently, such stories have served apurpose in the education of the race. Whilethe exaggeration of familiar attributeseasily awakens mirth in a simple mind,it does more: it teaches practical lessonsof wisdom and discretion. And possiblythe lesson was the original cause of thestory.

Not long ago, I happened upon aninstance of the teaching power of thesenonsense tales, so amusing and convincingthat I cannot forbear to share it. Aprimary teacher who heard me tell "Epaminondas"one evening, told it to her pupilsthe next morning, with great effect. Ayoung teacher who was observing in theroom at the time told me what befell.She said the children laughed very heartilyover the story, and evidently liked itmuch. About an hour later, one of themwas sent to the board to do a little problem.It happened that the child made anexcessively foolish mistake, and did notnotice it. As he glanced at the teacher forthe familiar smile of encouragement, shesimply raised her hands, and ejaculated"`For the law's sake!'"

It was sufficient. The child took the cueinstantly. He looked hastily at his work,broke into an irrepressible giggle, rubbedthe figures out, without a word, and beganagain. And the whole class entered intothe joke with the gusto of fellow-fools, foronce wise.

It is safe to assume that the child inquestion will make fewer needlessmistakes for a long time because of the wholesomereminder of his likeness with one

who "ain't got the sense he was born with."And what occurred so visibly in his casegoes on quietly in the hidden recesses ofthe mind in many cases. One "Epaminondas"is worth three lectures.

I wish there were more of such funnylittle tales in the world's literature, allready, as this one is, for telling to theyoungest of our listeners. But masterpiecesare few in any line, and stories fortelling are no exception; it took generations,probably, to make this one. Thedemand for new sources of supply comessteadily from teachers and mothers, andis the more insistent because so often metby the disappointing recommendations ofbooks which prove to be for reading only,rather than for telling. It would be adelight to print a list of fifty, twenty-five,even ten books which would be foundfull of stories to tell without much adapting.But I am grateful to have found evenfewer than the ten, to which I am sure theteacher can turn with real profit. Thefollowing names are, of course, additionalto the list contained in "How to Tell Storiesto Children."

ALL ABOUT JOHNNIE JONES. By Carolyn Verhoeff.Milton Bradley Co., Springfield, Mass. Valuablefor kindergartners as a supply of realisticstories with practical lessons in simplest form.

OLD DECCAN DAYS. By Mary Frere. JosephMcDonough, Albany, New York. A splendid collectionof Hindu folk tales, adaptable for all ages.

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

THE CHILDREN'S HOUR. BY Eva March Tappan.Houghton, Mifflin & Co., Boston, New York,and Chicago. A classified collection, in ten

volumes, of fairy, folk tales, fables, realistic,historical, and poetical stories.

FOR THE CHILDREN'S HOUR. BY Carolyn Baileyand Clara Lewis. Milton Bradley Co., Springfield.A general collection of popular stories, welltold.

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

For the benefit of suggestion to teachersin schools where story-telling is newlyor not yet introduced in systematic form,I am glad to append the following list ofstories which have been found, on severalyears' trial, to be especially tellable andlikable, in certain grades of the Providenceschools, in Rhode Island. The list is notmine, although it embodies some of mysuggestions. I offer it merely as a practicalresult of the effort to equalize and extendthe story-hour throughout the schools. Itsmakers would be the last to claim idealmerit for it, and they are constantlyimproving and developing it. I am indebtedfor the privilege of using it to the primaryteachers of Providence, and to their supervisor,Miss Ella L. Sweeney.

STORIES FOR REPRODUCTION

FIRST GRADEChicken Little The Dog and his ShadowBarnyard Talk The Hare and the HoundLittle Red Hen Five Little RabbitsLittle Gingerbread Boy The Three BearsThe Lion and the Mouse The Red-headed Wood-The Hungry Lion peckerThe Wind and the Sun Little Red Riding-HoodThe Fox and the Crow Little Half-ChickThe Duck and the Hen The Rabbit and the TurtleThe Hare and the Tortoise The Shoemaker and the

The Three Little Robins FairiesThe Wolf and the Kid The Wolf and the CraneThe Crow and the Pitcher The Cat and the MouseThe Fox and the Grapes Snow-White and Rose-Red

SECOND GRADEThe North Wind The Lark and her LittleThe Mouse Pie OnesThe Wonderful Traveler The Wolf and the GoslingsThe Wolf and the Fox The Ugly DucklingThe Star Dollars The Country Mouse and theThe Water-Lil City MouseThe Three Goats The Three Little PigsThe Boy and the Nuts Diamonds and ToadsThe Honest Woodman The Thrifty SquirrelThe Pied Piper How the Robin's BreastKing Midas became RedThe Town Musicians The Old Woman and herRaggylug PigPeter Rabbit The Sleeping AppleThe Boy who cried "Wolf" The Cat and the Parrot

THIRD GRADEThe Crane Express How the Mole becameLittle Black Sambo BlindThe Lantern and the Fan How Fire was brought toWhy the Bear has a Short the Indians Tail EchoWhy the Fox has a White Piccola Tip to his Tail The Story of the Morning-Why the Wren flies low Glory SeedJack and the Beanstalk The Discontented PineThe Talkative Tortoise TreeFleet Wing and Sweet Voice The Bag of WindsThe Golden Fleece The Foolish Weather-VaneThe Little Boy who wanted The Shut-up Posy the Moon Pandora's BoxBenjy in Beastland The Little Match GirlTomtit's Peep at the World

FOURTH GRADEArachne The First SnowdropThe Porcelain Stove The Three Golden ApplesMoufflou Androclus and the LionClytie The Old Man and his

The Legend of the Trailing Donkey Arbutus The Leak in the DikeLatona and the Frogs King Tawny ManeDick Whittington and his The Little Lame Prince Cat Appleseed JohnDora, the Little Girl of the Narcissus Lighthouse Why the Sea is SaltProserpine The Little Hero of HaarlemThe Miraculous PitcherThe Bell of Justice

STORY-TELLING IN TEACHING ENGLISH

I have to speak now of a phase ofelementary education which lies very close tomy warmest interest, which, indeed, couldeasily become an active hobby if otherinterests did not beneficently tug at my skirtswhen I am minded to mount and ride toowildly. It is the hobby of many of you whoare teachers, also, and I know you want tohear it discussed. I mean the growingeffort to teach English and English literatureto children in the natural way: by speakingand hearing,--orally.

We are coming to a realization of the factthat our ability, as a people, to use Englishis pitifully inadequate and perverted. ThoseAmericans who are not blinded by a limitedhorizon of cultured acquaintance, and whohave given themselves opportunity to hearthe natural speech of the younger generationin varying sections of the United States,must admit that it is no exaggeration to saythat this country at large has no standardof English speech. There is no generalsense of responsibility to our mother tongue(indeed, it is in an overwhelming degreenot our mother tongue) and no generalappreciation of its beauty or meaning. Theaverage young person in every district savea half-dozen jealously guarded little

precincts of good taste, uses inexpressive, ill-bred words, spoken without regard to theirjust sound-effects, and in a voice which is aninjury to the ear of the mind, as well as atorment to the physical ear.

The structure of the language and thechoice of words are dark matters to most ofour young Americans; this has long beenacknowledged and struggled against. Buteven darker, and quite equally destructiveto English expression, is their state of mindregarding pronunciation, enunciation, andvoice. It is the essential connection of theseelements with English speech that we havebeen so slow to realize. We have felt thatthey were externals, desirable but not necessaryadjuncts,--pretty tags of an exceptionalgift or culture. Many an intelligentschool director to-day will say, "I don't caremuch about HOW you say a thing; it is WHATyou say that counts." He cannot see thatvoice and enunciation and pronunciationare essentials. But they are. You can nomore help affecting the meaning of yourwords by the way you say them than youcan prevent the expressions of your facefrom carrying a message; the message maybe perverted by an uncouth habit, but itwill no less surely insist on recognition.

The fact is that speech is a methodof carrying ideas from one human soul toanother, by way of the ear. And theseideas are very complex. They are notunmixed emanations of pure intellect,transmitted to pure intellect: they arecompounded of emotions, thoughts, fancies, andare enhanced or impeded in transmissionby the use of word-symbols which haveacquired, by association, infinite complexitiesin themselves. The mood of the moment,the especial weight of a turn ofthought, the desire of the speaker to sharehis exact soul-concept with you,--these

seek far more subtle means than the mererendering of certain vocal signs; theydemand such variations and delicateadjustments of sound as will inevitably affect thelistening mind with the response desired.

There is no "what" without the "how"in speech. The same written sentencebecomes two diametrically opposite ideas,given opposing inflection and accompanyingvoice-effect. "He stood in the frontrank of the battle" can be made praisefulaffirmation, scornful skepticism, or simplequestion, by a simple varying of voice andinflection. This is the more unmistakableway in which the "how" affects the "what."Just as true is the less obvious fact. Thesame written sentiment, spoken by WendellPhillips and by a man from the Boweryor an uneducated ranchman, is not thesame to the listener. In one case the sentimentcomes to the mind's ear with certaincompleting and enhancing qualities ofsound which give it accuracy and poignancy.The words themselves retain alltheir possible suggestiveness in the speaker'sjust and clear enunciation, and have aborrowed beauty, besides, from theassociations of fine habit betrayed in the voiceand manner of speech. And, further, theimmense personal equation shows itself inthe beauty and power of the vocal expressiveness,which carries shades of meaning,unguessed delicacies of emotion, intimationsof beauty, to every ear. In the othercase, the thought is clouded by unavoidablesuggestions of ignorance and ugliness,brought by the pronunciation and voice,even to an unanalytical ear; the meaning isobscured by inaccurate inflection anduncertain or corrupt enunciation; but, worstof all, the personal atmosphere, the aroma,of the idea has been lost in transmissionthrough a clumsy, ill-fitted medium.

The thing said may look the same on aprinted page, but it is not the same whenspoken. And it is the spoken sentencewhich is the original and the usual modeof communication.

The widespread poverty of expression inEnglish, which is thus a matter of "how,"and to which we are awakening, must becorrected chiefly, at least at first, by thecommon schools. The home is the idealplace for it, but the average home of theUnited States is no longer a possible placefor it. The child of foreign parents, thechild of parents little educated and bred inlimited circumstances, the child of powerfulprovincial influences, must all dependon the school for standards of English.

And it is the elementary school whichmust meet the need, if it is to be met at all.For the conception of English expressionwhich I am talking of can find no mode ofinstruction adequate to its meaning, savein constant appeal to the ear, at an age soearly that unconscious habit is formed. Norules, no analytical instruction in laterdevelopment, can accomplish what is needed.Hearing and speaking; imitating, unwittinglyand wittingly, a good model; it is tothis method we must look for redemptionfrom present conditions.

I believe we are on the eve of a realrevolution in English teaching,--only it is arevolution which will not break the peace.The new way will leave an overwhelmingpreponderance of oral methods in use up tothe fifth or sixth grade, and will introducea larger proportion of oral work than hasever been contemplated in grammar andhigh school work. It will recognize the factthat English is primarily something spokenwith the mouth and heard with the ear.And this recognition will have greatest

weight in the systems of elementary teaching.

It is as an aid in oral teaching of Englishthat story-telling in school finds its secondvalue; ethics is the first ground of itsusefulness, English the second,--and afterthese, the others. It is, too, for the oral usesthat the secondary forms of story-tellingare so available. By secondary I meanthose devices which I have tried to indicate,as used by many American teachers, in thechapter on "Specific Schoolroom Uses,"in my earlier book. They are re-telling,dramatization, and forms of seat-work.All of these are a great power in the handsof a wise teacher. If combined with muchattention to voice and enunciation in therecital of poetry, and with much good readingaloud BY THE TEACHER, they will go fartoward setting a standard and developinggood habit.

But their provinces must not beconfused or overestimated. I trust I may bepardoned for offering a caution or twoto the enthusiastic advocate of thesemethods,--cautions the need of whichhas been forced upon me, in experiencewith schools.

A teacher who uses the oral story as anEnglish feature with little children mustnever lose sight of the fact that it is an aidin unconscious development; not a factorin studied, conscious improvement. Thistruth cannot be too strongly realized.Other exercises, in sufficiency, give theopportunity for regulated effort for definiteresults, but the story is one of the play-forces. Its use in English teaching is mostvaluable when the teacher has a keenappreciation of the natural order of growth inthe art of expression: that art requires, asthe old rhetorics used often to put it, "anatural facility, succeeded by an acquired

difficulty." In other words, the power ofexpression depends, first, on somethingmore fundamental than the art-element;the basis of it is something to say,ACCOMPANIED BY AN URGENT DESIRE TO SAY IT, andYIELDED TO WITH FREEDOM; only after thisstage is reached can the art-phase be ofany use. The "why" and "how," theanalytical and constructive phases, have nonatural place in this first vital epoch.

Precisely here, however, does thedramatizing of stories and the paper-cutting, etc.,become useful. A fine and thoughtful principalof a great school asked me, recently,with real concern, about the growing use ofsuch devices. He said, "Paper-cutting isgood, but what has it to do with English?"And then he added: "The children useabominable language when they play thestories; can that directly aid them to speakgood English?" His observation was closeand correct, and his conservatism morevaluable than the enthusiasm of some ofhis colleagues who have advocated sweepinguse of the supplementary work. Buthis point of view ignored the basis ofexpression, which is to my mind so important.Paper-cutting is external to English,of course. Its only connection is in itspower to correlate different forms ofexpression, and to react on speech-expressionthrough sense-stimulus. But playing thestory is a closer relative to English thanthis. It helps, amazingly, in giving the"something to say, the urgent desire to sayit," and the freedom in trying. Never mindthe crudities,--at least, at the time; workonly for joyous freedom, inventiveness,and natural forms of reproduction of theideas given. Look for very gradual changesin speech, through the permeating powerof imitation, but do not forget that this isthe stage of expression which inevitablyprecedes art.

All this will mean that no corrections aremade, except in flagrant cases of slang orgrammar, though all bad slips are mentallynoted, for introduction at a more favorabletime. It will mean that the teacherwill respect the continuity of thought andinterest as completely as she would wish anaudience to respect her occasional prosyperiods if she were reading a report. Shewill remember, of course that she is nottraining actors for amateur theatricals,however tempting her show-material may be;she is simply letting the children play withexpression, just as a gymnasium teacherintroduces muscular play,--for powerthrough relaxation.

When the time comes that the actors losetheir unconsciousness it is the end of thestory-play. Drilled work, the beginning ofthe art, is then the necessity.

I have indicated that the children may beleft undisturbed in their crudities andoccasional absurdities. The teacher, on theother hand, must avoid, with great judgment,certain absurdities which can easilybe initiated by her. The first direfulpossibility is in the choice of material. It isvery desirable that children should not beallowed to dramatize stories of a kind sopoetic, so delicate, or so potentially valuablethat the material is in danger of losingfuture beauty to the pupils through its presentcrude handling. Mother Goose is ahardy old lady, and will not suffer from thegrasp of the seven-year-old; and the familiarfables and tales of the "Goldilocks"variety have a firmness of surface whichdoes not let the glamour rub off; butstories in which there is a hint of the beautyjust beyond the palpable--or of a dignitysuggestive of developed literature--aresorely hurt in their metamorphosis, and

should be protected from it. They are fortelling only.

Another point on which it is necessary toexercise reserve is in the degree to whichany story can be acted. In the justifiabledesire to bring a large number of childreninto the action one must not lose sight ofthe sanity and propriety of the presentation.For example, one must not make a ridiculouscaricature, where a picture, howevercrude, is the intention. Personally representonly such things as are definitely anddramatically personified in the story. If anatural force, the wind, for example, isrepresented as talking and acting like ahuman being in the story, it can be imagedby a person in the play; but if it remains apart of the picture in the story, performingonly its natural motions, it is a caricature toenact it as a role. The most powerfulinstance of a mistake of this kind which I haveever seen will doubtless make my meaningclear. In playing a pretty story aboutanimals and children, some children in aprimary school were made by the teacher totake the part of the sea. In the story, thesea was said to "beat upon the shore," asa sea would, without doubt. In the play,the children were allowed to thump thefloor lustily, as a presentation of theirwatery functions! It was unconscionablyfunny. Fancy presenting even the crudestimage of the mighty sea, surging up on theshore, by a row of infants squatted on thefloor and pounding with their fists! Suchpitfalls can be avoided by the simple ruleof personifying only characters that actuallybehave like human beings.

A caution which directly concerns theart of story telling itself, must be addedhere. There is a definite distinctionbetween the arts of narration and dramatizationwhich must never be overlooked. Do

not, yourself, half tell and half act thestory; and do not let the children do it. Itis done in very good schools, sometimes,because an enthusiasm for realistic andlively presentation momentarily obscuresthe faculty of discrimination. A muchloved and respected teacher whom Irecently listened to, and who will laugh if sherecognizes her blunder here, offers a good"bad example" in this particular. She saidto an attentive audience of students that shehad at last, with much difficulty, broughtherself to the point where she could forgetherself in her story: where she could,for instance, hop, like the fox, when shetold the story of the "sour grapes." Shesaid, "It was hard at first, but now it is amatter of course; AND THE CHILDREN DO IT TOO,WHEN THEY TELL THE STORY." That was the pity!I saw the illustration myself a little later.The child who played fox began with astory: he said, "Once there was an old fox,and he saw some grapes;" then the childwalked to the other side of the room, andlooked up at an imaginary vine, and said,"He wanted some; he thought they wouldtaste good, so he jumped for them;" atthis point the child did jump, like his role;then he continued with his story, "but hecouldn't get them." And so he proceeded,with a constant alternation of narrative anddramatization which was enough to makeone dizzy.

The trouble in such work is, plainly, alack of discriminating analysis. Telling astory necessarily implies non-identificationof the teller with the event; he relates whatoccurs or occurred, outside of his circle ofconciousness. Acting a play necessarilyimplies identification of the actor with theevent; he presents to you a picture of thething, in himself. It is a difference wideand clear, and the least failure to recognizeit confuses the audience and injures both

arts.

In the preceding instances of secondaryuses of story-telling I have come somedistance from the great point, the fundamentalpoint, of the power of imitation inbreeding good habit. This power is lessnoticeably active in the dramatizing than insimple re-telling; in the listening and the re-telling, it is dominant for good. The childimitates what he hears you say and seesyou do, and the way you say and do it, farmore closely in the story-hour than in anylesson-period. He is in a more absorbentstate, as it were, because there is nopreoccupation of effort. Here is the greatopportunity of the cultured teacher; here isthe appalling opportunity of the careless orignorant teacher. For the implications ofthe oral theory of teaching English are evident,concerning the immense importanceof the teacher's habit. This is what it allcomes to ultimately; the teacher of youngchildren must be a person who can speakEnglish as it should be spoken,--purely,clearly, pleasantly, and with force.

It is a hard ideal to live up to, but it isa valuable ideal to try to live up to. Andone of the best chances to work towardattainment is in telling stories, for there youhave definite material, which you can workinto shape and practice on in private.That practice ought to include consciousthought as to one's general manner in theschoolroom, and intelligent effort to understandand improve one's own voice. I hopeI shall not seem to assume the dignity ofan authority which no personal taste canclaim, if I beg a hearing for the followingelements of manner and voice, which appealto me as essential. They will, probably,appear self-evident to my readers, yetthey are often found wanting in the publicschool-teacher; it is so much easier to say

"what were good to do" than to do it!

Three elements of manner seem to mean essential adjunct to the personality of ateacher of little children: courtesy, reposevitality. Repose and vitality explain themselves;by courtesy I specifically do NOTmean the habit of mind which contentsitself with drilling children in "Good-mornings" and in hat-liftings. I meanthe attitude of mind which recognizes inthe youngest, commonest child, the potentialdignity, majesty, and mystery of thedeveloped human soul. Genuine reverencefor the humanity of the "other fellow"marks a definite degree of courtesy in theintercourse of adults, does it not? Andthe same quality of respect, tempered bythe demands of a wise control, is exactlywhat is needed among children. Againand again, in dealing with young minds,the teacher who respects personality assacred, no matter how embryonic it be,wins the victories which count for trueeducation. Yet, all too often, we forget theclaims of this reverence, in the presenceof the annoyances and the needed corrections.

As for voice: work in schoolrooms bringstwo opposing mistakes constantly beforeme: one is the repressed voice, and theother, the forced. The best way to avoideither extreme, is to keep in mind thatthe ideal is development of one's ownnatural voice, along its own natural lines.A "quiet, gentle voice" is conscientiouslyaimed at by many young teachers, with sogreat zeal that the tone becomes painfullyrepressed, "breathy," and timid. This isquite as unpleasant as a loud voice, whichis, in turn, a frequent result of earlyadmonitions to "speak up." Neither is natural.It is wise to determine the natural volumeand pitch of one's speaking voice by anumber of tests, made when one is thoroughly

rested, at ease, and alone. Find outwhere your voice lies when it is left toitself, under favorable conditions, by readingsomething aloud or by listening to yourselfas you talk to an intimate friend. Thenpractise keeping it in that general range,unless it prove to have a distinct fault, suchas a nervous sharpness, or hoarseness. Aquiet voice is good; a hushed voice isabnormal. A clear tone is restful, but a loudone is wearying.

Perhaps the common-sense way of settinga standard for one's own voice is toremember that the, purpose of a speakingvoice is to communicate with others; theirears and minds are the receivers of ourtones. For this purpose, evidently, a voiceshould be, first of all, easy to hear; next,pleasant to hear; next, susceptible ofsufficient variation to express a wide range ofmeaning; and finally, indicative of personality.

Is it too quixotic to urge teachers whotell stories to little children to bear thesethoughts, and better ones of their own,in mind? Not, I think, if it be fullyaccepted that the story hour, as a play hour,is a time peculiarly open to influencesaffecting the imitative faculty; that thisfaculty is especially valuable in formingfine habits of speech; and that an increasinglyhigh and general standard of Englishspeech is one of our greatest needsand our most instant opportunities in theAmerican schools of to-day.

And now we come to the stories!

STORIES TO TELL TO CHILDREN

TWO LITTLE RIDDLES IN RHYME[1]

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

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

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

THE LITTLE PINK ROSE

Once there was a little pink Rosebud,and she lived down in a little dark houseunder the ground. One day she was sittingthere, all by herself, and it was verystill. Suddenly, she heard a little TAP, TAP,TAP, at the door.

"Who is that?" she said.

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

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

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

"Who is there?" she said.

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

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

Rosebud.

Then it was very still for a long time. Atlast, there came a little rustling, whisperingsound, all round the window: RUSTLE,WHISPER, WHISPER.

"Who is there?" said the little Rosebud.

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

"N--no," said the little pink rose, "youcan't come in." And she sat still again.

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

"Who is there?" she said.

"It's the Sunshine," said the cheerylittle voice, "and I want to come in, Iwant to come in!"

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

By and by, as she sat so still, she heardTAP, TAP, TAP, and RUSTLE, WHISPER, RUSTLE,all up and down the window pane, andon the door, and at the key-hole.

"WHO IS THERE?" she said.

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

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

So she opened the door a little weecrack, and in they came. And one took

one of her little hands, and the othertook her other little hand, and they ran,ran, ran with her, right up to the top ofthe ground. Then they said,--

"Poke your head through!"

So she poked her head through; and shewas in the midst of a beautiful garden.It was springtime, and all the other flowershad their heads poked through; andshe was the prettiest little pink rose in thewhole garden!

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

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

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

Once upon a time there was a little boy,and he wanted to be a cock-a-doo-dle-dooSo he was a cock-a-doo-dle-doo. Andhe wanted to fly up into the sky. So hedid fly up into the sky. And he wantedto get wings and a tail. So he did getsome wings and a tail.

THE CLOUD[2]

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

One hot summer morning a little Cloudrose out of the sea and floated lightlyand happily across the blue sky. Far

below lay the earth, brown, dry, anddesolate, from drouth. The little Cloudcould see the poor people of the earthworking and suffering in the hot fields,while she herself floated on the morningbreeze, hither and thither, without a care.

"Oh, if I could only help the poorpeople down there!" she thought. "If I couldbut make their work easier, or give thehungry ones food, or the thirsty a drink!"

And as the day passed, and the Cloudbecame larger, this wish to do somethingfor the people of earth was ever greater inher heart.

On earth it grew hotter and hotter; thesun burned down so fiercely that the peoplewere fainting in its rays; it seemed as ifthey must die of heat, and yet they wereobliged to go on with their work, for theywere very poor. Sometimes they stood andlooked up at the Cloud, as if they werepraying, and saying, "Ah, if you couldhelp us!"

"I will help you; I will!" said the Cloud.And she began to sink softly down towardthe earth.

But suddenly, as she floated down, sheremembered something which had beentold her when she was a tiny Cloud-child,in the lap of Mother Ocean: it had beenwhispered that if the Clouds go too nearthe earth they die. When she rememberedthis she held herself from sinking, andswayed here and there on the breeze,thinking,--thinking. But at last she stoodquite still, and spoke boldly and proudly.She said, "Men of earth, I will help you,come what may!"

The thought made her suddenly marvelously

big and strong and powerful. Neverhad she dreamed that she could be so big.Like a mighty angel of blessing she stoodabove the earth, and lifted her head andspread her wings far over the fields andwoods. She was so great, so majestic, thatmen and animals were awe-struck at thesight; the trees and the grasses bowedbefore her; yet all the earth-creatures felt thatshe meant them well.

"Yes, I will help you," cried the Cloudonce more. "Take me to yourselves; I willgive my life for you!"

As she said the words a wonderful lightglowed from her heart, the sound of thunderrolled through the sky, and a love greaterthan words can tell filled the Cloud; down,down, close to the earth she swept, and gaveup her life in a blessed, healing shower ofrain.

That rain was the Cloud's great deed;it was her death, too; but it was also herglory. Over the whole country-side, as faras the rain fell, a lovely rainbow sprang itsarch, and all the brightest rays of heavenmade its colors; it was the last greeting ofa love so great that it sacrificed itself.

Soon that, too, was gone, but long, longafterward the men and animals who weresaved by the Cloud kept her blessing intheir hearts.

THE LITTLE RED HEN

The little Red Hen was in the farmyardwith her chickens, when she found a grainof wheat.

"Who will plant this wheat?" she said.

"Not I," said the Goose.

"Not I," said the Duck.

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

When the wheat was ripe she said, "Whowill take this wheat to the mill?"

"Not I," said the Goose.

"Not I," said the Duck.

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

When she brought the flour home shesaid, "Who will make some bread withthis flour?"

"Not I," said the Goose.

"Not I," said the Duck.

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

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

"I will," said the Goose

"I will," said the Duck

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

THE GINGERBREAD MAN[1]

[1] I have tried to give this story in the most familiar form; itvaries a good deal in the hands of different story-tellers, but

this is substantially the version I was "brought up on." Theform of the ending was suggested to me by the story in CarolynBailey's For the Children's Hour (Milton Bradley Co.).

Once upon a time there was a little oldwoman and a little old man, and theylived all alone in a little old house. Theyhadn't any little girls or any little boys,at all. So one day, the little old womanmade a boy out of gingerbread; she madehim a chocolate jacket, and put cinnamonseeds in it for buttons; his eyes were madeof fine, fat currants; his mouth was madeof rose-colored sugar; and he had a gaylittle cap of orange sugar-candy. Whenthe little old woman had rolled him out,and dressed him up, and pinched hisgingerbread shoes into shape, she put him ina pan; then she put the pan in the ovenand shut the door; and she thought, "NowI shall have a little boy of my own."

When it was time for the GingerbreadBoy to be done she opened the oven doorand pulled out the pan. Out jumped thelittle Gingerbread Boy on to the floor, andaway he ran, out of the door and down thestreet! The little old woman and the littleold man ran after him as fast as they could,but he just laughed, and shouted,--

"Run! run! as fast as you can!

"You can't catch me, I'm the Gingerbread Man!"

And they couldn't catch him.

The little Gingerbread Boy ran on andon, until he came to a cow, by the roadside."Stop, little Gingerbread Boy," saidthe cow; "I want to eat you." The littleGingerbread Boy laughed, and said,--

"I have run away from a little old woman,

"And a little old man,

"And I can run away from you, I can!"

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

"Run! run! as fast as you can!

"You can't catch me, I'm the Gingerbread Man!"

And the cow couldn't catch him.

The little Gingerbread Boy ran on, andon, and on, till he came to a horse, inthe pasture. "Please stop, little GingerbreadBoy," said the horse, "you look verygood to eat." But the little GingerbreadBoy laughed out loud. "Oho! oho!" hesaid,--

"I have run away from a little old woman,

"A little old man,

"A cow,

"And I can run away from you, I can!"

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

"Run! run! as fast as you can!

"You can't catch me, I'm the Gingerbread Man!"

And the horse couldn't catch him.

By and by the little Gingerbread Boycame to a barn full of threshers. Whenthe threshers smelled the Gingerbread Boy,they tried to pick him up, and said, "Don'trun so fast, little Gingerbread Boy; youlook very good to eat." But the little

Gingerbread Boy ran harder than ever, and ashe ran he cried out,--

"I have run away from a little old woman,

"A little old man,

"A cow,

"A horse,

"And I can run away from you, I can!"

And when he found that he was aheadof the threshers, he turned and shoutedback to them,--

"Run! run! as fast as you can!

"You can't catch me, I'm the Gingerbread Man!"

And the threshers couldn't catch him.

Then the little Gingerbread Boy ranfaster than ever. He ran and ran until hecame to a field full of mowers. When themowers saw how fine he looked, they ranafter him, calling out, "Wait a bit! wait abit, little Gingerbread Boy, we wish to eatyou!" But the little Gingerbread Boylaughed harder than ever, and ran like thewind. "Oho! oho!" he said,--

"I have run away from a little old woman,

"A little old man,

"A cow,

"A horse,

"A barn full of threshers,

"And I can run away from you, I can!"

And when he found that he was aheadof the mowers, he turned and shoutedback to them,--

"Run! run! as fast as you can!

"You can't catch me, I'm the Gingerbread Man!"

And the mowers couldn't catch him.

By this time the little Gingerbread Boywas so proud that he didn't think anybodycould catch him. Pretty soon he saw afox coming across a field. The fox lookedat him and began to run. But the littleGingerbread Boy shouted across to him,"You can't catch me!" The fox began torun faster, and the little Gingerbread Boyran faster, and as he ran he chuckled,--

"I have run away from a little old woman,

"A little old man,

"A cow,

"A horse,

"A barn full of threshers,

"A field full of mowers,

"And I can run away from you, I can!

"Run! run! as fast as you can!

"You can't catch me, I'm the Gingerbread Man!"

"Why," said the fox, "I would not catchyou if I could. I would not think ofdisturbing you."

Just then, the little Gingerbread Boycame to a river. He could not swim across,and he wanted to keep running away from

the cow and the horse and the people.

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

So the little Gingerbread Boy jumped onthe fox's tail, and the fox swam into theriver. When he was a little way from shorehe turned his head, and said, "You are tooheavy on my tail, little Gingerbread Boy,I fear I shall let you get wet; jump on myback."

The little Gingerbread Boy jumped onhis back.

A little farther out, the fox said, "I amafraid the water will cover you, there; jumpon my shoulder."

The little Gingerbread Boy jumped onhis shoulder.

In the middle of the stream the fox said,"Oh, dear! little Gingerbread Boy, myshoulder is sinking; jump on my nose,and I can hold you out of water."

So the little Gingerbread Boy jumpedon his nose.

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

"Dear me!" said the little GingerbreadBoy, "I am a quarter gone!" The nextminute he said, "Why, I am half gone!"The next minute he said, "My goodnessgracious, I am three quarters gone!"

And after that, the little GingerbreadBoy never said anything more at all.

THE LITTLE JACKALS AND THE LION[1]

[1] The four stories of the little Jackal, in this book, areadapted from stories in Old Deccan Days, a collection of orallytransmitted Hindu folk tales, which every teacher would gain byknowing. In the Hindu animal legends the Jackal seems toplay the role assigned in Germanic lore to Reynard the Fox,and to "Bre'r Rabbit" in the stories of our Southern negroes:he is the clever and humorous trickster who comes out of everyencounter with a whole skin, and turns the laugh on everyenemy, however mighty.

Once there was a great big jungle; and inthe jungle there was a great big Lion; andthe Lion was king of the jungle. Wheneverhe wanted anything to eat, all he had todo was to come up out of his cave in thestones and earth and ROAR. When he hadroared a few times all the little people ofthe jungle were so frightened that theycame out of their holes and hiding-placesand ran, this way and that, to get away.Then, of course, the Lion could see wherethey were. And he pounced on them,killed them, and gobbled them up.

He did this so often that at last therewas not a single thing left alive in the junglebesides the Lion, except two little Jackals,--a little father Jackal and a little motherJackal.

They had run away so many times thatthey were quite thin and very tired, andthey could not run so fast any more. Andone day the Lion was so near that the littlemother Jackal grew frightened; she said,--

"Oh, Father Jackal, Father Jackal! Ib'lieve our time has come! the Lion willsurely catch us this time!"

"Pooh! nonsense, mother!" said thelittle father Jackal. "Come, we'll run on

a bit!"

And they ran, ran, ran very fast, and theLion did not catch them that time.

But at last a day came when the Lionwas nearer still and the little mother Jackalwas frightened about to death.

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

"Now, mother, don't you fret," said thelittle father Jackal; "you do just as I tellyou, and it will be all right."

Then what did those cunning little Jackalsdo but take hold of hands and run uptowards the Lion, as if they had meantto come all the time. When he saw themcoming he stood up, and roared in a terriblevoice,--

"You miserable little wretches, comehere and be eaten, at once! Why didn'tyou come before?"

The father Jackal bowed very low.

"Indeed, Father Lion," he said, "wemeant to come before; we knew we oughtto come before; and we wanted to comebefore; but every time we started to come,a dreadful great lion came out of the woodsand roared at us, and frightened us so thatwe ran away."

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

"Indeed, indeed, Father Lion," said thelittle Jackal, "I know that is what everybodythinks; but indeed and indeed there

is another lion! And he is as much biggerthan you as you are bigger than I! His faceis much more terrible, and his roar far, farmore dreadful. Oh, he is far more fearfulthan you!"

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

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

The little Jackals danced on ahead, andthe Lion stalked behind. They led him toa place where there was a round, deep wellof clear water. They went round on oneside of it, and the Lion stalked up to theother.

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

The Lion came close and looked downinto the water,--and a lion's face lookedback at him out of the water!

When he saw that, the Lion roared andshook his mane and showed his teeth. Andthe lion in the water shook his mane andshowed his teeth. The Lion above shookhis mane again and growled again, andmade a terrible face. But the lion in thewater made just as terrible a one, back.The Lion above couldn't stand that. Heleaped down into the well after the otherlion.

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

So the poor old Lion floundered aboutand floundered about, and as he couldn'tget up the steep sides of the well, he was

drowned dead. And when he was drownedthe little Jackals took hold of hands anddanced round the well, and sang,--

"The Lion is dead! The Lion is dead!

"We have killed the great Lion whowould have killed us!

"The Lion is dead! The Lion is dead!

"Ao! Ao! Ao!"

THE COUNTRY MOUSE AND THE CITY MOUSE[1]

[1] The following story of the two mice, with the similar fablesof The Boy who cried Wolf, The Frog King, and The Sun andthe Wind, are given here with the hope that they may be of useto the many teachers who find the over-familiar material of thefables difficult to adapt, and who are yet aware of the greatusefulness of the stories to young minds. A certain degree ofvividness and amplitude must be added to the compact statementof the famous collections, and yet it is not wise to change thestyle-effect of a fable, wholly. I venture to give theseversions, not as perfect models, surely, but as renderings whichhave been acceptable to children, and which I believe retain theoriginal point simply and strongly.

Once a little mouse who lived in thecountry invited a little Mouse from the cityto visit him. When the little City Mousesat down to dinner he was surprised to findthat the Country Mouse had nothing to eatexcept barley and grain.

"Really," he said, "you do not live wellat all; you should see how I live! I have allsorts of fine things to eat every day. Youmust come to visit me and see how nice itis to live in the city."

The little Country Mouse was glad to do

this, and after a while he went to the cityto visit his friend.

The very first place that the City Mousetook the Country Mouse to see was thekitchen cupboard of the house where helived. There, on the lowest shelf, behindsome stone jars, stood a big paper bagof brown sugar. The little City Mousegnawed a hole in the bag and invited hisfriend to nibble for himself.

The two little mice nibbled and nibbled,and the Country Mouse thought hehad never tasted anything so delicious inhis life. He was just thinking how luckythe City Mouse was, when suddenly thedoor opened with a bang, and in came thecook to get some flour.

"Run!" whispered the City Mouse.And they ran as fast as they could to thelittle hole where they had come in. Thelittle Country Mouse was shaking all overwhen they got safely away, but the littleCity Mouse said, "That is nothing; she willsoon go away and then we can go back."

After the cook had gone away and shutthe door they stole softly back, and thistime the City Mouse had something newto show: he took the little Country Mouseinto a corner on the top shelf, where abig jar of dried prunes stood open. Aftermuch tugging and pulling they got a largedried prune out of the jar on to the shelfand began to nibble at it. This was evenbetter than the brown sugar. The littleCountry Mouse liked the taste so muchthat he could hardly nibble fast enough.But all at once, in the midst of their eating,there came a scratching at the door and asharp, loud MIAOUW!

"What is that?" said the Country

Mouse. The City Mouse just whispered,"Sh!" and ran as fast as he could to thehole. The Country Mouse ran after, youmay be sure, as fast as HE could. As soonas they were out of danger the City Mousesaid, "That was the old Cat; she is thebest mouser in town,--if she once getsyou, you are lost."

"This is very terrible," said the littleCountry Mouse; "let us not go back to thecupboard again."

"No," said the City Mouse, "I will takeyou to the cellar; there is something especialthere."

So the City Mouse took his little frienddown the cellar stairs and into a big cupboardwhere there were many shelves. Onthe shelves were jars of butter, and cheesesin bags and out of bags. Overhead hungbunches of sausages, and there were spicyapples in barrels standing about. Itsmelled so good that it went to the littleCountry Mouse's head. He ran along theshelf and nibbled at a cheese here, and abit of butter there, until he saw an especiallyrich, very delicious-smelling piece ofcheese on a queer little stand in a corner.He was just on the point of putting histeeth into the cheese when the City Mousesaw him.

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

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

"That thing is a trap," said the littleCity Mouse. "The minute you touch thecheese with your teeth something comesdown on your head hard, and you're dead."

The little Country Mouse looked at thetrap, and he looked at the cheese, and helooked at the little City Mouse. "If you'llexcuse me," he said, "I think I will gohome. I'd rather have barley and grainto eat and eat it in peace and comfort, thanhave brown sugar and dried prunes andcheese,--and be frightened to death allthe time!"

So the little Country Mouse went backto his home, and there he stayed all the restof his life.

LITTLE JACK ROLLAROUND[1]

[1] Based on Theodor Storm's story of Der Kleine Hawelmanu(George Westermann, Braunschweig). Very freely adapted fromthe German story.

Once upon a time there was a wee littleboy who slept in a tiny trundle-bed nearhis mother's great bed. The trundle-bedhad castors on it so that it could be rolledabout, and there was nothing in the worldthe little boy liked so much as to haveit rolled. When his mother came to bedhe would cry, "Roll me around! roll mearound!" And his mother would put outher hand from the big bed and push thelittle bed back and forth till she was tired.The little boy could never get enough; sofor this he was called "Little Jack Rollaround."

One night he had made his mother rollhim about, till she fell asleep, and even thenhe kept crying, "Roll me around! roll mearound!" His mother pushed him aboutin her sleep, until she fell too soundlyaslumbering; then she stopped. But LittleJack Rollaround kept on crying, "Rollaround! roll around!"

By and by the Moon peeped in at thewindow. He saw a funny sight: LittleJack Rollaround was lying in his trundle-bed, and he had put up one little fat legfor a mast, and fastened the corner of hiswee shirt to it for a sail, and he was blowingat it with all his might, and saying,"Roll around! roll around!" Slowly,slowly, the little trundle-bed boat beganto move; it sailed along the floor and upthe wall and across the ceiling and downagain!

"More! more!" cried Little JackRollaround; and the little boat sailed faster upthe wall, across the ceiling, down the wall,and over the floor. The Moon laughed atthe sight; but when Little Jack Rollaroundsaw the Moon, he called out, "Open thedoor, old Moon! I want to roll throughthe town, so that the people can see me!"

The Moon could not open the door, buthe shone in through the keyhole, in a broadband. And Little Jack Rollaround sailedhis trundle-bed boat up the beam, throughthe keyhole, and into the street.

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

So the good Moon made a light andwent along with him, and the little trundle-bed boat went sailing down the streetsinto the main street of the village. Theyrolled past the town hall and the schoolhouseand the church; but nobody sawlittle Jack Rollaround, because everybodywas in bed, asleep.

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

High up on the church steeple, the

Weather-vane answered, "It is no time forpeople to be in the streets; decent folk arein their beds."

"Then I'll go to the woods, so that theanimals may see me," said Little Jack."Come along, old Moon, and make alight!"

The good Moon went along and madea light, and they came to the forest. "Roll!roll!" cried the little boy; and the trundle-bed went trundling among the trees in thegreat wood, scaring up the chipmunks andstartling the little leaves on the trees. Thepoor old Moon began to have a bad timeof it, for the tree-trunks got in his way sothat he could not go so fast as the bed, andevery time he got behind, the little boycalled, "Hurry up, old Moon, I want thebeasts to see me!"

But all the animals were asleep, andnobody at all looked at Little Jack Rollaroundexcept an old White Owl; and allshe said was, "Who are you?"

The little boy did not like her, so heblew harder, and the trundle-bed boatwent sailing through the forest till it cameto the end of the world.

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

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

The kind Moon made a path up to thesky, and up sailed the little bed into themidst of the sky. All the little bright Starswere there with their nice little lamps. Andwhen he saw them, that naughty LittleJack Rollaround began to tease. "Out ofthe way, there! I am coming!" he shouted,

and sailed the trundle-bed boat straight atthem. He bumped the little Stars rightand left, all over the sky, until every oneof them put his little lamp out and left itdark.

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

But Jack Rollaround only behaved theworse: "Get out of the way, old Moon!"he shouted, "I am coming!"

And he steered the little trundle-bedboat straight into the old Moon's face,and bumped his nose!

This was too much for the good Moon;he put out his big light, all at once, andleft the sky pitch-black.

"Make a light, old Moon! Make alight!" shouted the little boy. But theMoon answered never a word, and JackRollaround could not see where to steer.He went rolling criss-cross, up and down,all over the sky, knocking into the planetsand stumbling into the clouds, till he didnot know where he was.

Suddenly he saw a big yellow light atthe very edge of the sky. He thought itwas the Moon. "Look out, I am coming!"he cried, and steered for the light.

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

"Aha, youngster, what are you doingin my sky?" she said. And she pickedLittle Jack Rollaround up and threw him,trundle-bed boat and all, into the middleof the sea!

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

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

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

One day little Brother Rabbit was runningalong on the sand, lippety, lippety,when he saw the Whale and the Elephanttalking together. Little Brother Rabbitcrouched down and listened to what theywere saying. This was what they were saying:--

"You are the biggest thing on the land,Brother Elephant," said the Whale, "andI am the biggest thing in the sea; if we jointogether we can rule all the animals in theworld, and have our way about everything."

"Very good, very good," trumpeted theElephant; "that suits me; we will do it."

Little Brother Rabbit snickered tohimself. "They won't rule me," he said. Heran away and got a very long, very strongrope, and he got his big drum, and hid thedrum a long way off in the bushes. Thenhe went along the beach till he came to theWhale.

"Oh, please, dear, strong Mr. Whale,"he said, "will you have the great kindnessto do me a favor? My cow is stuck in themud, a quarter of a mile from here. AndI can't pull her out. But you are so strongand so obliging, that I venture to trust youwill help me out."

The Whale was so pleased with the complimentthat he said, "Yes," at once.

"Then," said the Rabbit, "I will tie thisend of my long rope to you, and I will runaway and tie the other end round my cow,and when I am ready I will beat my bigdrum. When you hear that, pull very, veryhard, for the cow is stuck very deep in themud."

"Huh!" grunted the Whale, "I'll pullher out, if she is stuck to the horns."

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

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

"What is it?" asked the Elephant.

"My cow is stuck in the mud, about aquarter of a mile from here," said littleBrother Rabbit, "and I cannot pull herout. Of course you could. If you will beso very obliging as to help me--"

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

"Then," said little Brother Rabbit, "Iwill tie one end of this long rope to yourtrunk, and the other to my cow, and assoon as I have tied her tightly I will beatmy big drum. When you hear that, pull;pull as hard as you can, for my cow is veryheavy."

"Never fear," said the Elephant, "Icould pull twenty cows."

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

Then he tied the end of the rope tightlyround the Elephant's trunk, and ran awayinto the bushes. There he sat down andbeat the big drum.

The Whale began to pull, and the Elephantbegan to pull, and in a jiffy the ropetightened till it was stretched as hard ascould be.

"This is a remarkably heavy cow," saidthe Elephant; "but I'll fetch her!" Andhe braced his forefeet in the earth, and gavea tremendous pull.

"Dear me!" said the Whale. "Thatcow must be stuck mighty tight;" and hedrove his tail deep in the water, and gavea marvelous pull.

He pulled harder; the Elephant pulledharder. Pretty soon the Whale foundhimself sliding toward the land. Thereason was, of course, that the Elephanthad something solid to brace against,and, too, as fast as he pulled the rope ina little, he took a turn with it round histrunk!

But when the Whale found himselfsliding toward the land he was so provokedwith the cow that he dove head first,down to the bottom of the sea. That wasa pull! The Elephant was jerked off hisfeet, and came slipping and sliding to thebeach, and into the surf. He was terriblyangry. He braced himself with all hismight, and pulled his best. At the jerk, upcame the Whale out of the water.

"Who is pulling me?" spouted the Whale.

"Who is pulling me?" trumpeted the Elephant.

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

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

"I'll show you how to fool me!" fumedthe Whale. And they began to pull again.But this time the rope broke, the Whaleturned a somersault, and the Elephant fellover backwards.

At that, they were both so ashamed thatneither would speak to the other. So thatbroke up the bargain between them.

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

THE LITTLE HALF-CHICK

There was once upon a time a SpanishHen, who hatched out some nice littlechickens. She was much pleased with theirlooks as they came from the shell. One,two, three, came out plump and fluffy; butwhen the fourth shell broke, out came a littlehalf-chick! It had only one leg and onewing and one eye! It was just half a chicken.

The Hen-mother did not know what inthe world to do with the queer little Half-Chick. She was afraid something wouldhappen to it, and she tried hard to protectit and keep it from harm. But as soon asit could walk the little Half-Chick showeda most headstrong spirit, worse than anyof its brothers. It would not mind, and itwould go wherever it wanted to; it walkedwith a funny little hoppity-kick, hoppity-kick, and got along pretty fast.

One day the little Half-Chick said,"Mother, I am off to Madrid, to see the

King! Good-by."

The poor Hen-mother did everythingshe could think of, to keep him from doingso foolish a thing, but the little Half-Chicklaughed at her naughtily. "I'm for seeingthe King," he said; "this life is too quietfor me." And away he went, hoppity-kick,hoppity-kick, over the fields.

When he had gone some distance thelittle Half-Chick came to a little brookthat was caught in the weeds and in muchtrouble.

"Little Half-Chick," whispered theWater, "I am so choked with these weedsthat I cannot move; I am almost lost,for want of room; please push the sticksand weeds away with your bill and helpme."

"The idea!" said the little Half-Chick."I cannot be bothered with you; I am offfor Madrid, to see the King!" And in spiteof the brook's begging he went away,hoppity-kick, hoppity-kick.

A bit farther on, the Half-Chick cameto a Fire, which was smothered in dampsticks and in great distress.

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

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

When he had hoppity-kicked a good way,and was near Madrid, he came to a clumpof bushes, where the Wind was caught

fast. The Wind was whimpering, and beggingto be set free.

"Little Half-Chick," said the Wind, "youare just in time to help me; if you will brushaside these twigs and leaves, I can get mybreath; help me, quickly!"

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

After a while he came to Madrid andto the palace of the King. Hoppity-kick,hoppity-kick, the little Half-Chick skippedpast the sentry at the gate, and hoppity-kick, hoppity-kick, he crossed the court.But as he was passing the windows of thekitchen the Cook looked out and saw him.

"The very thing for the King's dinner!"she said. "I was needing a chicken!" Andshe seized the little Half-Chick by his onewing and threw him into a kettle of wateron the fire.

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

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

But the Water said, "Little Half-Chick,little Half-Chick, when I was in troubleyou would not help me," and came higherthan ever.

Now the Water grew warm, hot, hotter,frightfully hot; the little Half-Chick criedout, "Do not burn so hot, Fire! You areburning me to death! Stop!"

But the Fire said, "Little Half-Chick,little Half-Chick, when I was in troubleyou would not help me," and burned hotterthan ever.

Just as the little Half-Chick thought hemust suffocate, the Cook took the coveroff, to look at the dinner. "Dear me,"she said, "this chicken is no good; it isburned to a cinder." And she picked thelittle Half-Chick up by one leg and threwhim out of the window.

In the air he was caught by a breezeand taken up higher than the trees. Roundand round he was twirled till he was sodizzy he thought he must perish. "Don'tblow me so? Wind," he cried, "let medown!"

"Little Half-Chick, little Half-Chick,"said the Wind, "when I was in troubleyou would not help me!" And the Windblew him straight up to the top of thechurch steeple, and stuck him there, fast!

There he stands to this day, with his oneeye, his one wing, and his one leg. Hecannot hoppity-kick any more, but he turnsslowly round when the wind blows, andkeeps his head toward it, to hear what itsays.

THE LAMBIKIN[1]

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

Once upon a time there was a wee, weeLambikin, who frolicked about on hislittle tottery legs, and enjoyed himselfamazingly.

Now one day he set off to visit hisGranny, and was jumping with joy tothink of all the good things he should getfrom her, when whom should he meet buta Jackal, who looked at the tender youngmorsel and said, "Lambikin! Lambikin!I'll EAT YOU!"

But Lambikin only gave a little friskand said,--

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

The Jackal thought this reasonable,and let Lambikin pass.

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

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

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

The Vulture thought this reasonable,and let Lambikin pass.

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

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

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

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

So his Granny said he was a good boy,and put him into the corn-bin, and therethe greedy little Lambikin stayed for sevendays, and ate, and ate, and ate, until hecould scarcely waddle, and his Grannysaid he was fat enough for anything,and must go home. But cunning littleLambikin said that would never do, forsome animal would be sure to eat himon the way back, he was so plump andtender.

"I'll tell you what you must do," saidMaster Lambikin; "you must make a littledrumikin out of the skin of my little brotherwho died, and then I can sit inside andtrundle along nicely, for I'm as tight as adrum myself."

So his Granny made a nice little drumikinout of his brother's skin, with the woolinside, and Lambikin curled himself upsnug and warm in the middle and trundledaway gayly. Soon he met with theEagle, who called out,--

"Drumikin! Drumikin! Have you seen Lambikin?"

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

"Fallen into the fire, and so will you

On little Drumikin! Tum-pa, tum-too!"

"How very annoying!" sighed the Eagle,thinking regretfully of the tender morselhe had let slip.

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

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

Every animal and bird he met asked himthe same question,--

"Drumikin! Drumikin! Have you seen Lambikin?"

And to each of them the little slybootsreplied,--

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

Then they all sighed to think of the tenderlittle morsel they had let slip.

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

"Drumikin! Drumikin! Have you seen Lambikin?"

And Lambikin, curled up in his snuglittle nest, replied gayly,--

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

But he never got any further, for theJackal recognized his voice at once, andcried, "Hullo! you've turned yourselfinside out, have you? Just you come outof that!"

Whereupon he tore open Drumikin andgobbled up Lambikin.

THE BLACKBERRY-BUSH[1]

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

A little boy sat at his mother's knees, bythe long western window, looking out intothe garden. It was autumn, and the windwas sad; and the golden elm leaves layscattered about among the grass, and onthe gravel path. The mother was knittinga little stocking; her fingers moved thebright needles; but her eyes were fixed onthe clear evening sky.

As the darkness gathered, the wee boylaid his head on her lap and kept so stillthat, at last, she leaned forward to lookinto his dear round face. He was notasleep, but was watching very earnestly ablackberry-bush, that waved its one tall,dark-red spray in the wind outside thefence.

"What are you thinking about, mydarling?" she said, smoothing his soft,honey-colored hair.

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

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

"`See, all my leaves are dark crimson.Every day they dry and wither more andmore; by and by they will be so weak theycan scarcely cling to my branches, and thenorth wind will tear them all away, andnobody will remember them any more.Then the snow will sink down and wrapme close. Then the snow will melt againand icy rain will clothe me, and the bitterwind will rattle my bare twigs up anddown.

"`I nod my head to all who pass, anddreary nights and dreary days go by; butin the happy house, so warm and bright,the little boy plays all day with books andtoys. His mother and his father cherishhim; he nestles on their knees in the redfirelight at night, while they read to himlovely stories, or sing sweet old songs tohim,--the happy little boy! And outsideI peep over the snow and see a stream ofruddy light from a crack in the window-shutter, and I nod out here alone in thedark, thinking how beautiful it is.

"`And here I wait patiently. I take thesnow and the rain and the cold, and I amnot sorry, but glad; for in my roots I feelwarmth and life, and I know that a storeof greenness and beauty is shut up safe inmy small brown buds. Day and night goagain and again; little by little the snowmelts all away; the ground grows soft;the sky is blue; the little birds fly overcrying, "It is spring! it is spring!" Ah!

then through all my twigs I feel the slowsap stirring.

"`Warmer grow the sunbeams, andsofter the air. The small blades of grasscreep thick about my feet; the sweet rainhelps swell my shining buds. More andmore I push forth my leaves, till out I burstin a gay green dress, and nod in joy andpride. The little boy comes running tolook at me, and cries, "Oh, mamma! thelittle blackberry-bush is alive and beautifuland green. Oh, come and see!" AndI hear; and I bow my head in the summerwind; and every day they watch me growmore beautiful, till at last I shake outblossoms, fair and fragrant.

"`A few days more, and I drop the whitepetals down among the grass, and, lo! thegreen tiny berries! Carefully I hold themup to the sun; carefully I gather the dewin the summer nights; slowly they ripen;they grow larger and redder and darker,and at last they are black, shining,delicious. I hold them as high as I can forthe little boy, who comes dancing out. Heshouts with joy, and gathers them in hisdear hand; and he runs to share them withhis mother, saying, "Here is what thepatient blackberry-bush bore for us: see hownice, mamma!"

"`Ah! then indeed I am glad, and wouldsay, if I could, "Yes, take them, dear littleboy; I kept them for you, held them longup to sun and rain to make them sweet andripe for you;" and I nod and nod in fullcontent, for my work is done. From thewindow he watches me and thinks, "Thereis the little blackberry-bush that was sokind to me. I see it and I love it. I knowit is safe out there nodding all alone, andnext summer it will hold ripe berries upfor me to gather again." '"

Then the wee boy smiled, and liked thelittle story. His mother took him up in herarms, and they went out to supper and leftthe blackberry-bush nodding up and downin the wind; and there it is nodding yet.

THE FAIRIES[1]

[1] By William Allingham.

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE ADVENTURES OF THE LITTLE FIELD MOUSE

Once upon a time, there was a little brownField Mouse; and one day he was out inthe fields to see what he could see. He wasrunning along in the grass, poking his noseinto everything and looking with his twoeyes all about, when he saw a smooth,shiny acorn, lying in the grass. It was sucha fine shiny little acorn that he thought

he would take it home with him; so he putout his paw to touch it, but the little acornrolled away from him. He ran after it, butit kept rolling on, just ahead of him, till itcame to a place where a big oak-tree hadits roots spread all over the ground. Thenit rolled under a big round root.

Little Mr. Field Mouse ran to the rootand poked his nose under after the acorn,and there he saw a small round hole inthe ground. He slipped through and sawsome stairs going down into the earth.The acorn was rolling down, with a softtapping sound, ahead of him, so down hewent too. Down, down, down, rolled theacorn, and down, down, down, went theField Mouse, until suddenly he saw a tinydoor at the foot of the stairs.

The shiny acorn rolled to the door andstruck against it with a tap. Quickly thelittle door opened and the acorn rolledinside. The Field Mouse hurried as fast ashe could down the last stairs, and pushedthrough just as the door was closing. Itshut behind him, and he was in a littleroom. And there, before him, stood aqueer little Red Man! He had a little redcap, and a little red jacket, and odd littlered shoes with points at the toes.

"You are my prisoner," he said to theField Mouse.

"What for?" said the Field Mouse.

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

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

"No, it isn't," said the little Red Man,

"I have it; you will never see it again."

The little Field Mouse looked all aboutthe room as fast as he could, but he couldnot see any acorn. Then he thought hewould go back up the tiny stairs to his ownhome. But the little door was locked, andthe little Red Man had the key. And hesaid to the poor mouse,--

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

So the little brown Mouse was the littleRed Man's servant, and every day he madethe little Red Man's bed and swept thelittle Red Man's room and cooked the littleRed Man's broth. And every day thelittle Red Man went away through the tinydoor, and did not come back till afternoon.But he always locked the door after him,and carried away the key.

At last, one day he was in such a hurrythat he turned the key before the door wasquite latched, which, of course, didn't lockit at all. He went away without noticing,--he was in such a hurry.

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

He took it quickly in his forepaws, andthen he took it in his mouth, and then he

ran away. He pushed open the little door;he climbed up, up, up the little stairs; hecame out through the hole under the root;he ran and ran through the fields; and atlast he came to his own house.

When he was in his own house he setthe shiny acorn on the table. I guess heset it down hard, for all at once, with a littlesnap, it opened!--exactly like a little box.

And what do you think! There was atiny necklace inside! It was a most beautifultiny necklace, all made of jewels, andit was just big enough for a lady mouse.So the little Field Mouse gave the tinynecklace to his little Mouse-sister. Shethought it was perfectly lovely. And whenshe wasn't wearing it she kept it in theshiny acorn box.

And the little Red Man never knew whathad become of it, because he didn't knowwhere the little Field Mouse lived.

ANOTHER LITTLE RED HEN[1]

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

Once upon a time there was a little RedHen, who lived on a farm all by herself.An old Fox, crafty and sly, had a den in therocks, on a hill near her house. Many andmany a night this old Fox used to lie awakeand think to himself how good that littleRed Hen would taste if he could once gether in his big kettle and boil her for dinner.But he couldn't catch the little Red Hen,because she was too wise for him. Everytime she went out to market she locked thedoor of the house behind her, and as soon

as she came in again she locked the doorbehind her and put the key in her apronpocket, where she kept her scissors and asugar cooky.

At last the old Fox thought up a wayto catch the little Red Hen. Early in themorning he said to his old mother, "Havethe kettle boiling when I come home to-night, for I'll be bringing the little RedHen for supper." Then he took a big bagand slung it over his shoulder, and walkedtill he came to the little Red Hen's house.The little Red Hen was just coming out ofher door to pick up a few sticks for kindlingwood. So the old Fox hid behind the wood-pile, and as soon as she bent down to get astick, into the house he slipped, and scurriedbehind the door.

In a minute the little Red Hen camequickly in, and shut the door and lockedit. "I'm glad I'm safely in," she said.Just as she said it, she turned round, andthere stood the ugly old Fox, with his bigbag over his shoulder. Whiff! how scaredthe little Red Hen was! She dropped herapronful of sticks, and flew up to the bigbeam across the ceiling. There she perched,and she said to the old Fox, down below,"You may as well go home, for you can'tget me."

"Can't I, though!" said the Fox. Andwhat do you think he did? He stood onthe floor underneath the little Red Henand twirled round in a circle after his owntail. And as he spun, and spun, and spun,faster, and faster, and faster, the poor littleRed Hen got so dizzy watching him thatshe couldn't hold on to the perch. Shedropped off, and the old Fox picked her upand put her in his bag, slung the bag overhis shoulder, and started for home, wherethe kettle was boiling.

He had a very long way to go, up hill,and the little Red Hen was still so dizzythat she didn't know where she was. Butwhen the dizziness began to go off, shewhisked her little scissors out of her apronpocket, and snip! she cut a little hole in thebag; then she poked her head out and sawwhere she was, and as soon as they cameto a good spot she cut the hole bigger andjumped out herself. There was a great bigstone lying there, and the little Red Henpicked it up and put it in the bag as quickas a wink. Then she ran as fast as shecould till she came to her own little farm-house, and she went in and locked the doorwith the big key.

The old Fox went on carrying the stoneand never knew the difference. My, but itbumped him well! He was pretty tiredwhen he got home. But he was so pleasedto think of the supper he was going to havethat he did not mind that at all. As soonas his mother opened the door he said, "Isthe kettle boiling?"

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

"I have," said the old Fox. "When Iopen the bag you hold the cover off the kettleand I'll shake the bag so that the Henwill fall in, and then you pop the cover on,before she can jump out."

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

The Fox lifted the big, heavy bag uptill it was over the open kettle, and gaveit a shake. Splash! thump! splash! Inwent the stone and out came the boilingwater, all over the old Fox and the old

Fox's mother!

And they were scalded to death.

But the little Red Hen lived happily everafter, in her own little farmhouse.

THE STORY OF THE LITTLE RID HIN[1]

[1] From Horace E. Scudder's Doings of the Bodley Family inTown and Country (Houghton, Mifflin & Co.).

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

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

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

This rashkill iv a Fox, He tuk it in his head He'd have the little Rid Hin: So, whin he wint to bed,

He laid awake and thaught What a foine thing 'twad be To fetch her home and bile her up For his ould marm and he.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dear me! she was so schared Wid such a wondrous sight, She dropped her apronful of shticks, An' flew up in a fright,

An' lighted on the bame Across on top the room; "Aha!" says she, "ye don't have me; Ye may as well go home."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE STORY OF EPAMINONDAS AND HIS AUNTIE[1]

[1] A Southern nonsense tale.

Epaminondas used to go to see his Auntie'most every day, and she nearly alwaysgave him something to take home to hisMammy.

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

Epaminondas took it in his fist and heldit all scrunched up tight, like this, andcame along home. By the time he got homethere wasn't anything left but a fistful ofcrumbs. His Mammy said,--

"What you got there, Epaminondas?"

"Cake, Mammy," said Epaminondas.

"Cake!" said his Mammy. "Epaminondas,you ain't got the sense you was bornwith! That's no way to carry cake. Theway to carry cake is to wrap it all up nicein some leaves and put it in your hat, andput your hat on your head, and come alonghome. You hear me, Epaminondas?"

"Yes, Mammy," said Epaminondas.

Next day Epaminondas went to see hisAuntie, and she gave him a pound ofbutter for his Mammy; fine, fresh, sweetbutter.

Epaminondas wrapped it up in leavesand put it in his hat, and put his hat on hishead, and came along home. It was a veryhot day. Pretty soon the butter began tomelt. It melted, and melted, and as itmelted it ran down Epaminondas' forehead;

then it ran over his face, and in hisears, and down his neck. When he gothome, all the butter Epaminondas had wasON HIM. His Mammy looked at him, andthen she said,--

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

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

"Butter!" said his Mammy. "Epaminondas,you ain't got the sense you wasborn with! Don't you know that's no wayto carry butter? The way to carry butteris to wrap it up in some leaves and takeit down to the brook, and cool it in thewater, and cool it in the water, and coolit in the water, and then take it onyour hands, careful, and bring it alonghome."

"Yes, Mammy," said Epaminondas.

By and by, another day, Epaminondaswent to see his Auntie again, and this timeshe gave him a little new puppy-dog totake home.

Epaminondas put it in some leaves andtook it down to the brook; and there hecooled it in the water, and cooled it in thewater, and cooled it in the water; then hetook it in his hands and came along home.When he got home, the puppy-dog wasdead. His Mammy looked at it, and shesaid,--

"Law's sake! Epaminondas, what yougot there?"

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

"A PUPPY-DOG!" said his Mammy. "My

gracious sakes alive, Epaminondas, youain't got the sense you was born with!That ain't the way to carry a puppy-dog!The way to carry a puppy-dog is to take along piece of string and tie one end of itround the puppy-dog's neck and put thepuppy-dog on the ground, and take holdof the other end of the string and comealong home, like this."

"All right, Mammy," said Epaminondas.

Next day, Epaminondas went to see hisAuntie again, and when he came to gohome she gave him a loaf of bread to carryto his Mammy; a brown, fresh, crusty loafof bread.

So Epaminondas tied a string around theend of the loaf and took hold of the end ofthe string and came along home, like this.(Imitate dragging something along theground.) When he got home his Mammylooked at the thing on the end of the string,and she said,--

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

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

"Bread!!!" said his Mammy. "OEpaminondas, Epaminondas, you ain't got thesense you was born with; you never didhave the sense you was born with; younever will have the sense you was bornwith! Now I ain't gwine tell you any moreways to bring truck home. And don't yougo see your Auntie, neither. I'll go seeher my own self. But I'll just tell you onething, Epaminondas! You see these heresix mince pies I done make? You see howI done set 'em on the doorstep to cool?Well, now, you hear me, Epaminondas,

YOU BE CAREFUL HOW YOU STEP ON THOSE PIES!"

"Yes, Mammy," said Epaminondas.

Then Epaminondas' Mammy put onher bonnet and her shawl and took a basketin her hand and went away to seeAuntie. The six mince pies sat cooling ina row on the doorstep.

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

He stepped (imitate)--right--in--the--middle--of--every--one. . . . . . . . .And, do you know, children, nobody knowswhat happened next! The person who toldme the story didn't know; nobody knows.But you can guess.

THE BOY WHO CRIED "WOLF!"

There was once a shepherd-boy whokept his flock at a little distance from thevillage. Once he thought he would play atrick on the villagers and have some funat their expense. So he ran toward thevillage crying out, with all his might,--

"Wolf! Wolf! Come and help! Thewolves are at my lambs!"

The kind villagers left their work andran to the field to help him. But whenthey got there the boy laughed at themfor their pains; there was no wolf there.

Still another day the boy tried the sametrick, and the villagers came running tohelp and got laughed at again.

Then one day a wolf did break into thefold and began killing the lambs. In greatfright, the boy ran for help. "Wolf! Wolf!"he screamed. "There is a wolf in the flock!Help!"

The villagers heard him, but they thoughtit was another mean trick; no one paid theleast attention, or went near him. And theshepherd-boy lost all his sheep.

That is the kind of thing that happensto people who lie: even when they tell thetruth no one believes them.

THE FROG KING

Did you ever hear the old story aboutthe foolish Frogs? The Frogs in a certainswamp decided that they needed a king;they had always got along perfectly wellwithout one, but they suddenly made uptheir minds that a king they must have.They sent a messenger to Jove and beggedhim to send a king to rule over them.

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

At the splash the Frogs were terriblyfrightened, and dove into their holes tohide from King Log. But after a while,when they saw that the king never moved,they got over their fright and went andsat on him. And as soon as they found hereally could not hurt them they began todespise him; and finally they sent anothermessenger to Jove to ask for a new king.

Jove sent an eel.

The Frogs were much pleased and agood deal frightened when King Eel camewriggling and swimming among them. Butas the days went on, and the eel wasperfectly harmless, they stopped being afraid;and as soon as they stopped fearing KingEel they stopped respecting him.

Soon they sent a third messenger toJove, and begged that they might have abetter king,--a king who was worthwhile.

It was too much; Jove was angry at theirstupidity at last. "I will give you a kingsuch as you deserve!" he said; and hesent them a Stork.

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

THE SUN AND THE WIND

The Sun and the Wind once had a quarrelas to which was the stronger. Eachbelieved himself to be the more powerful.While they were arguing they saw a travelerwalking along the country highway,wearing a great cloak.

"Here is a chance to test our strength,"said the Wind; "let us see which of us isstrong enough to make that traveler takeoff his cloak; the one who can do that shallbe acknowledged the more powerful."

"Agreed," said the Sun.

Instantly the Wind began to blow; he

puffed and tugged at the man's cloak, andraised a storm of hail and rain, to beat atit. But the colder it grew and the more itstormed, the tighter the traveler held hiscloak around him. The Wind could notget it off.

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

THE LITTLE JACKAL AND THE ALLIGATOR

The little Jackal was very fond of shell-fish. He used to go down by the river andhunt along the edges for crabs and suchthings. And once, when he was huntingfor crabs, he was so hungry that he put hispaw into the water after a crab withoutlooking first,--which you never shoulddo! The minute he put in his paw, SNAP!--the big Alligator who lives in the muddown there had it in his jaws.

"Oh, dear!" thought the little Jackal;"the big Alligator has my paw in hismouth! In another minute he will pull medown and gobble me up! What shall Ido? what shall I do?" Then he thought,suddenly, "I'll deceive him!"

So he put on a very cheerful voice, as ifnothing at all were the matter, and hesaid,--

"Ho! ho! Clever Mr. Alligator! SmartMr. Alligator, to take that old bulrushroot for my paw! I'll hope you'll find itvery tender!"

The old Alligator was hidden awaybeneath the mud and bulrush leaves, andhe couldn't see anything. He thought,"Pshaw! I've made a mistake." So heopened his mouth and let the little Jackalgo.

The little Jackal ran away as fast as hecould, and as he ran he called out,--

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

The old Alligator lashed with his tailand snapped with his jaws, but it wastoo late; the little Jackal was out ofreach.

After this the little Jackal kept awayfrom the river, out of danger. But afterabout a week he got such an appetite forcrabs that nothing else would do at all;he felt that he must have a crab. So hewent down by the river and looked allaround, very carefully. He didn't see theold Alligator, but he thought to himself,"I think I'll not take any chances." Sohe stood still and began to talk out loudto himself. He said,--

"When I don't see any little crabs onthe land I most generally see them stickingout of the water, and then I put mypaw in and catch them. I wonder if thereare any fat little crabs in the water today?"

The old Alligator was hidden down inthe mud at the bottom of the river, andwhen he heard what the little Jackal said,he thought, "Aha! I'll pretend to be alittle crab, and when he puts his paw in,I'll make my dinner of him." So he stuckthe black end of his snout above the waterand waited.

The little Jackal took one look, andthen he said,--

"Thank you, Mr. Alligator! Kind Mr.Alligator! You are EXCEEDINGLY kind toshow me where you are! I will have dinnerelsewhere." And he ran away like thewind.

The old Alligator foamed at the mouth,he was so angry, but the little Jackal wasgone.

For two whole weeks the little Jackalkept away from the river. Then, one dayhe got a feeling inside him that nothingbut crabs could satisfy; he felt that hemust have at least one crab. Verycautiously, he went down to the river andlooked all around. He saw no sign of theold Alligator. Still, he did not mean totake any chances. So he stood quite stilland began to talk to himself,--it wasa little way he had. He said,--

"When I don't see any little crabs onthe shore, or sticking up out of the water,I usually see them blowing bubbles fromunder the water; the little bubbles go PUFF,PUFF, PUFF, and then they go POP, POP, POP,and they show me where the little juicycrabs are, so I can put my paw in andcatch them. I wonder if I shall see anylittle bubbles to-day?"

The old Alligator, lying low in the mudand weeds, heard this, and he thought,"Pooh! THAT'S easy enough; I'll justblow some little crab-bubbles, and thenhe will put his paw in where I can get it."

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

The little Jackal didn't have to be toldwho was underneath those bubbles: hetook one quick look, and off he ran. Butas he went, he sang,--

"Thank you, Mr. Alligator! Kind Mr.Alligator! You are the kindest Alligatorin the world, to show me where you are, sonicely! I'll breakfast at another part ofthe river."

The old Alligator was so furious that hecrawled up on the bank and went afterthe little Jackal; but, dear, dear, hecouldn't catch the little Jackal; he ranfar too fast.

After this, the little Jackal did not like torisk going near the water, so he ate no morecrabs. But he found a garden of wild figs,which were so good that he went there everyday, and ate them instead of shell-fish.

Now the old Alligator found this out,and he made up his mind to have the littleJackal for supper, or to die trying. Sohe crept, and crawled, and dragged himselfover the ground to the garden of wild figs.There he made a huge pile of figs underthe biggest of the wild fig trees, and hidhimself in the pile.

After a while the little Jackal camedancing into the garden, very happy andcare-free,--BUT looking all around. Hesaw the huge pile of figs under the big figtree.

"H-m," he thought, "that lookssingularly like my friend, the Alligator. I'llinvestigate a bit."

He stood quite still and began to talkto himself,--it was a little way he had. Hesaid,--

"The little figs I like best are the fat,ripe, juicy ones that drop off when thebreeze blows; and then the wind blowsthem about on the ground, this way andthat; the great heap of figs over there isso still that I think they must be all badfigs."

The old Alligator, underneath his figpile, thought,--

"Bother the suspicious little Jackal,I shall have to make these figs roll about,so that he will think the wind movesthem." And straightway he humped himselfup and moved, and sent the little figsflying,--and his back showed through.

The little Jackal did not wait for asecond look. He ran out of the gardenlike the wind. But as he ran he calledback,--

"Thank you, again, Mr. Alligator; verysweet of you to show me where you are; Ican't stay to thank you as I should like:good-by!"

At this the old Alligator was besidehimself with rage. He vowed that hewould have the little Jackal for supperthis time, come what might. So he creptand crawled over the ground till he cameto the little Jackal's house. Then he creptand crawled inside, and hid himself therein the house, to wait till the little Jackalshould come home.

By and by the little Jackal came dancinghome, happy and care-free,--BUTlooking all around. Presently, as he camealong, he saw that the ground was allscratched up as if something very heavyhad been dragged over it. The little Jackal

stopped and looked.

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

Then he saw that the door of his housewas crushed at the sides and broken, asif something very big had gone through it.

"What's this? What's this?" the littleJackal said. "I think I'll investigate alittle!"

So he stood quite still and began to talkto himself (you remember, it was a littleway he had), but loudly. He said,--

"How strange that my little Housedoesn't speak to me! Why don't youspeak to me, little House? You alwaysspeak to me, if everything is all right,when I come home. I wonder if anythingis wrong with my little House?"

The old Alligator thought to himselfthat he must certainly pretend to be thelittle House, or the little Jackal wouldnever come in. So he put on as pleasanta voice as he could (which is not sayingmuch) and said,--

"Hullo, little Jackal!"

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

"It's the old Alligator," he said, "andif I don't make an end of him this time hewill certainly make an end of me. Whatshall I do?"

He thought very fast. Then he spokeout pleasantly.

"Thank you, little House," he said,"it's good to hear your pretty voice, dear

little House, and I will be in with you in aminute; only first I must gather somefirewood for dinner."

Then he went and gathered firewood,and more firewood, and more firewood;and he piled it all up solid against the doorand round the house; and then he set fireto it!

And it smoked and burned till it smokedthat old Alligator to smoked herring!

THE LARKS IN THE CORNFIELD

There was once a family of little Larkswho lived with their mother in a nest in acornfield. When the corn was ripe themother Lark watched very carefully to seeif there were any sign of the reapers'coming, for she knew that when they cametheir sharp knives would cut down thenest and hurt the baby Larks. So everyday, when she went out for food, she toldthe little Larks to look and listen veryclosely to everything that went on, and totell her all they saw and heard when shecame home.

One day when she came home the littleLarks were much frightened.

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

The mother Lark laughed. "Don't befrightened," she said; "if he waits for his

neighbors to reap the corn we shall haveplenty of time to move; tell me what hesays to-morrow."

The next night the little Larks were quitetrembling with fear; the moment theirmother got home they cried out, "Mother,you must surely move us to-night! Thefarmer came to-day and said, `The cornis getting too ripe; we cannot wait for ourneighbors; we must ask our relatives tohelp us.' And then he called his son andtold him to ask all the uncles and cousinsto come to-morrow and cut the corn. Shallwe not move to-night?"

"Don't worry," said the mother Lark;"the uncles and cousins have plenty ofreaping to do for themselves; we'll notmove yet."

The third night, when the mother Larkcame home, the baby Larks said, "Mother,dear, the farmer came to the field to-day,and when he looked at the corn he wasquite angry; he said, `This will never do!The corn is getting too ripe; it's no use towait for our relatives, we shall have to cutthis corn ourselves.' And then he calledhis son and said, `Go out to-night andhire reapers, and to-morrow we will beginto cut.'"

"Well," said the mother, "that isanother story; when a man begins to do hisown business, instead of asking somebodyelse to do it, things get done. I willmove you out to-night."

A TRUE STORY ABOUT A GIRL

Once there were four little girls who

lived in a big, bare house, in the country.They were very poor, but they had thehappiest times you ever heard of, because theywere very rich in everything except justmoney. They had a wonderful, wise father,who knew stories to tell, and who taughtthem their lessons in such a beautiful waythat it was better than play; they had alovely, merry, kind mother, who was nevertoo tired to help them work or watch themplay; and they had all the great greencountry to play in. There were dark,shadowy woods, and fields of flowers, anda river. And there was a big barn.

One of the little girls was named Louisa.She was very pretty, and ever so strong;she could run for miles through the woodsand not get tired. And she had a splendidbrain in her little head; it liked study, andit thought interesting thoughts all day long.

Louisa liked to sit in a corner by herself,sometimes, and write thoughts in herdiary; all the little girls kept diaries. Sheliked to make up stories out of her ownhead, and sometimes she made verses.

When the four little sisters had finishedtheir lessons, and had helped their mothersew and clean, they used to go to the bigbarn to play; and the best play of all wastheatricals. Louisa liked theatricals betterthan anything.

They made the barn into a theatre, andthe grown people came to see the plays theyacted. They used to climb up on the hay-mow for a stage, and the grown peoplesat in chairs on the floor. It was great fun.One of the plays they acted was Jack andthe Bean-Stalk. They had a ladder fromthe floor to the loft, and on the ladder theytied a squash vine all the way up to theloft, to look like the wonderful bean-stalk.

One of the little girls was dressed up tolook like Jack, and she acted that part.When it came to the place in the storywhere the giant tried to follow Jack, thelittle girl cut down the bean-stalk, anddown came the giant tumbling from theloft. The giant was made out of pillows,with a great, fierce head of paper, andfunny clothes.

Another story that they acted wasCinderella. They made a wonderful big pumpkinout of the wheelbarrow, trimmed withyellow paper, and Cinderella rolled awayin it, when the fairy godmother waved herwand.

One other beautiful story they used toplay. It was the story of Pilgrim's Progress;if you have never heard it, you mustbe sure to read it as soon as you can readwell enough to understand the old-fashionedwords. The little girls used to putshells in their hats for a sign they were ona pilgrimage, as the old pilgrims used todo; then they made journeys over the hillbehind the house, and through the woods,and down the lanes; and when the pilgrimagewas over they had apples and nuts toeat, in the happy land of home.

Louisa loved all these plays, and shemade some of her own and wrote themdown so that the children could act them.

But better than fun or writing Louisaloved her mother, and by and by, as thelittle girl began to grow into a big girl, shefelt very sad to see her dear mother workso hard. She helped all she could with thehousework, but nothing could really helpthe tired mother except money; she neededmoney for food and clothes, and some onegrown up, to help in the house. But therenever was enough money for these things,

and Louisa's mother grew more and moreweary, and sometimes ill. I cannot tell youhow much Louisa suffered over this.

At last, as Louisa thought about it,she came to care more about helping hermother and her father and her sistersthan about anything else in all the world.And she began to work very hard to earnmoney. She sewed for people, and whenshe was a little older she taught somelittle girls their lessons, and then she wrotestories for the papers. Every bit of moneyshe earned, except what she had to use,she gave to her dear family. It helped verymuch, but it was so little that Louisa neverfelt as if she were doing anything.

Every year she grew more unselfish, andevery year she worked harder. She likedwriting stories best of all her work, butshe did not get much money for them, andsome people told her she was wasting hertime.

At last, one day, a publisher askedLouisa, who was now a woman, to writea book for girls. Louisa was not very well,and she was very tired, but she alwayssaid, "I'll try," when she had a chance towork; so she said, "I'll try," to thepublisher. When she thought about the bookshe remembered the good times she usedto have with her sisters in the big, barehouse in the country. And so she wrote astory and put all that in it; she put herdear mother and her wise father in it, andall the little sisters, and besides the jollytimes and the plays, she put the sad, hardtimes in,--the work and worry and goingwithout things.

When the book was written, she calledit "Little Women," and sent it to the publisher.

And, children, the little book madeLouisa famous. It was so sweet andfunny and sad and real,--like our ownlives,--that everybody wanted to read it.Everybody bought it, and much moneycame from it. After so many years, littleLouisa's wish came true: she bought anice house for her family; she sent oneof her sisters to Europe, to study; shegave her father books; but best of all, shewas able to see to it that the belovedmother, so tired and so ill, could have restand happiness. Never again did the dearmother have to do any hard work, andshe had pretty things about her all the restof her life.

Louisa Alcott, for that was Louisa'sname, wrote many beautiful books afterthis, and she became one of the mostfamous women of America. But I think themost beautiful thing about her is what Ihave been telling you: that she loved hermother so well that she gave her wholelife to make her happy.

MY KINGDOM

The little Louisa I told you about, whowrote verses and stories in her diary, usedto like to play that she was a princess, andthat her kingdom was her own mind.When she had unkind or dissatisfiedthoughts, she tried to get rid of them byplaying they were enemies of the kingdom;and she drove them out with soldiers;the soldiers were patience, duty, and love.It used to help Louisa to be good to playthis, and I think it may have helped makeher the splendid woman she was afterward.Maybe you would like to hear apoem she wrote about it, when she wasonly fourteen years old.[1] It will help you,

too, to think the same thoughts.

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

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

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

Dear Father, help me with the love That casteth out my fear, Teach me to lean on thee, and feel That thou art very near,

That no temptation is unseen, No childish grief too small, Since thou, with patience infinite, Doth soothe and comfort all.

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

PICCOLA[1]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How good poor Piccola must have been!" She cried, as happy as any queen, While the starving sparrow she fed and warmed,

And danced with rapture, she was so charmed.

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

THE LITTLE FIR TREE

[When I was a very little girl some one,probably my mother, read to me HansChristian Andersen's story of the Little FirTree. It happened that I did not read itfor myself or hear it again during mychildhood. One Christmas day, when I wasgrown up, I found myself at a loss for the"one more" story called for by some littlechildren with whom I was spending the holiday.In the mental search for buried treasurewhich ensued, I came upon one ortwo word-impressions of the experiencesof the Little Fir Tree, and forthwith wovethem into what I supposed to be somethingof a reproduction of the original. The latterpart of the story had wholly faded from mymemory, so that I "made up" to suit thetastes of my audience. Afterward I told thestory to a good many children, at one timeor another, and it gradually took the shapeit has here. It was not until several yearslater that, in re-reading Andersen for otherpurposes, I came upon the real story ofthe Little Fir Tree, and read it formyself. Then indeed I was amused, andsomewhat distressed, to find how far I hadwandered from the text.

I give this explanation that the readermay know I do not presume to offer thelittle tale which follows as an "adaptation"of Andersen's famous story. I offer itplainly as a story which children have

liked, and which grew out of my earlymemories of Andersen's "The Little FirTree"].

Once there was a Little Fir Tree, slimand pointed, and shiny, which stood in thegreat forest in the midst of some big firtrees, broad, and tall, and shadowy green.The Little Fir Tree was very unhappybecause he was not big like the others. Whenthe birds came flying into the woods andlit on the branches of the big trees andbuilt their nests there, he used to call upto them,--

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

And when the splendid wind came blowingand singing through the forest, it bentand rocked and swung the tops of the bigtrees, and murmured to them. Then theLittle Fir Tree looked up, and called,--

"Oh, please, dear wind, come down andplay with me!" But he always said,--

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

And in the winter the white snow fellsoftly, softly, and covered the great treesall over with wonderful caps and coats ofwhite. The Little Fir Tree, close down inthe cover of the others, would call up,--

"Oh, please, dear snow, give me a cap,too! I want to play, too!" But the snowalways said,--

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

The worst of all was when men came

into the wood, with sledges and teams ofhorses. They came to cut the big treesdown and carry them away. And when onehad been cut down and carried away theothers talked about it, and nodded theirheads. And the Little Fir Tree listened,and heard them say that when you werecarried away so, you might become themast of a mighty ship, and go far away overthe ocean, and see many wonderful things;or you might be part of a fine house in agreat city, and see much of life. The LittleFir Tree wanted greatly to see life, but hewas always too little; the men passed him by.

But by and by, one cold winter's morning,men came with a sledge and horses,and after they had cut here and there theycame to the circle of trees round the LittleFir Tree, and looked all about.

"There are none little enough," theysaid.

Oh! how the Little Fir Tree prickedup his needles!

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

The Little Fir Tree was happy as a bird,because he knew they were about to cuthim down. And when he was being carriedaway on the sledge he lay wondering,SO contentedly, whether he should be themast of a ship or part of a fine city house.But when they came to the town he wastaken out and set upright in a tub andplaced on the edge of a sidewalk in a rowof other fir trees, all small, but none so littleas he. And then the Little Fir Tree beganto see life.

People kept coming to look at the trees

and to take them away. But always whenthey saw the Little Fir Tree they shooktheir heads and said,--

"It is too little, too little."

Until, finally, two children came along,hand in hand, looking carefully at all thesmall trees. When they saw the Little FirTree they cried out,--

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

They took him out of his tub and carriedhim away, between them. And thehappy Little Fir Tree spent all his timewondering what it could be that he was justlittle enough for; he knew it could hardlybe a mast or a house, since he was goingaway with children.

He kept wondering, while they took himin through some big doors, and set him upin another tub, on the table, in a bare littleroom. Pretty soon they went away, andcame back again with a big basket, carriedbetween them. Then some pretty ladies,with white caps on their heads and whiteaprons over their blue dresses, came bringinglittle parcels. The children took thingsout of the basket and began to play withthe Little Fir Tree, just as he had oftenbegged the wind and the snow and thebirds to do. He felt their soft little toucheson his head and his twigs and his branches.And when he looked down at himself, asfar as he could look, he saw that he wasall hung with gold and silver chains! Therewere strings of white fluffy stuff droopingaround him; his twigs held little gold nutsand pink, rosy balls and silver stars; hehad pretty little pink and white candles inhis arms; but last, and most wonderful ofall, the children hung a beautiful white,

floating doll-angel over his head! TheLittle Fir Tree could not breathe, for joyand wonder. What was it that he was,now? Why was this glory for him?

After a time every one went away andleft him. It grew dusk, and the Little FirTree began to hear strange sounds throughthe closed doors. Sometimes he heard achild crying. He was beginning to be lonely.It grew more and more shadowy.

All at once, the doors opened and thetwo children came in. Two of the prettyladies were with them. They came up tothe Little Fir Tree and quickly lighted allthe little pink and white candles. Thenthe two pretty ladies took hold of the tablewith the Little Fir Tree on it and pushedit, very smoothly and quickly, out of thedoors, across a hall, and in at another door.

The Little Fir Tree had a sudden sightof a long room with many little white bedsin it, of children propped up on pillows in thebeds, and of other children in great wheeledchairs, and others hobbling about or sittingin little chairs. He wondered why all thelittle children looked so white and tired;he did not know that he was in a hospital.But before he could wonder any more hisbreath was quite taken away by the shoutthose little white children gave.

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

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

He knew they must mean him, for alltheir shining eyes were looking straight athim. He stood as straight as a mast, andquivered in every needle, for joy. Presentlyone little weak child-voice called out,--

"It's the nicest Christmas tree I eversaw!"

And then, at last, the Little Fir Treeknew what he was; he was a Christmastree! And from his shiny head to his feethe was glad, through and through, becausehe was just little enough to be the nicestkind of tree in the world!

HOW MOSES WAS SAVED

Thousands of years ago, many yearsbefore David lived, there was a very wiseand good man of his people who was afriend and adviser of the king of Egypt.And for love of this friend, the king ofEgypt had let numbers of the Israelitessettle in his land. But after the king andhis Israelitish friend were dead, there was anew king, who hated the Israelites. Whenhe saw how strong they were, and howmany there were of them, he began to beafraid that some day they might numbermore than the Egyptians, and might takehis land from him.

Then he and his rulers did a wickedthing. They made the Israelites slaves.And they gave them terrible tasks to do,without proper rest, or food, or clothes.For they hoped that the hardship wouldkill off the Israelites. They thought theold men would die and the young menbe so ill and weary that they could notbring up families, and so the race wouldvanish away.

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

Then he did the wickedest thing of all.He ordered his soldiers to kill every boybaby that should be born in an Israelitishfamily; he did not care about the girls,because they could not grow up to fight.

Very soon after this evil order, a boybaby was born in a certain Israelitishfamily. When his mother first looked athim her heart was nearly broken, for hewas even more beautiful than most babiesare,--so strong and fair and sweet. Buthe was a boy! How could she save himfrom death?

Somehow, she contrived to keep himhidden for three whole months. But atthe end of that time, she saw that it wasnot going to be possible to keep him safeany longer. She had been thinking all thistime about what she should do, and nowshe carried out her plan.

First, she took a basket made ofbulrushes and daubed it all over with pitchso that it was water-tight, and then she laidthe baby in it; then she carried it to theedge of the river and laid it in the flags bythe river's brink. It did not show at all,unless one were quite near it. Then shekissed her little son and left him there.But his sister stood far off, not seeming towatch, but really watching carefully to seewhat would happen to the baby.

Soon there was the sound of talk andlaughter, and a train of beautiful womencame down to the water's edge. It was theking's daughter, come down to bathe inthe river, with her maidens. The maidenswalked along by the river's side.

As the king's daughter came near to thewater, she saw the strange little basket

lying in the flags, and she sent her maid tobring it to her. And when she had openedit, she saw the child; the poor baby wascrying. When she saw him, so helplessand so beautiful, crying for his mother,the king's daughter pitied him and lovedhim. She knew the cruel order of herfather, and she said at once, "This is oneof the Hebrews' children."

At that moment the baby's sister cameto the princess and said, "Shall I go andfind thee a nurse from the Hebrew women,so that she may nurse the child for thee?"Not a word did she say about whose childit was, but perhaps the princess guessed;I don't know. At all events, she told thelittle girl to go.

So the maiden went, and brought hermother!

Then the king's daughter said to thebaby's mother, "Take this child away andnurse it for me, and I will give thee wages."

Was not that a strange thing? And canyou think how happy the baby's motherwas? For now the baby would be knownonly as the princess's adopted child, andwould be safe.

And it was so. The mother kept himuntil he was old enough to be taken to theprincess's palace. Then he was broughtand given to the king's daughter, and hebecame her son. And she named him Moses.

But the strangest part of the whole storyis, that when Moses grew to be a man hebecame so strong and wise that it was hewho at last saved his people from the kingand conquered the Egyptians. The onechild saved by the king's own daughterwas the very one the king would most have

wanted to kill, if he had known.

THE TEN FAIRIES[1]

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

Once upon a time there was a dear littlegirl, whose name was Elsa. Elsa's fatherand mother worked very hard and becamerich. But they loved Elsa so much thatthey did not like to have her do any work;very foolishly, they let her play all thetime. So when Elsa grew up, she did notknow how to do anything; she could notmake bread, she could not sweep a room,she could not sew a seam; she could onlylaugh and sing. But she was so sweet andmerry that everybody loved her. And byand by, she married one of the people wholoved her, and had a house of her own totake care of.

Then, then, my dears, came hard timesfor Elsa! There were so many things tobe done in the house, and she did not knowhow to do any of them! And because shehad never worked at all it made her verytired even to try; she was tired beforethe morning was over, every day. Themaid would come and say, "How shall Ido this?" or "How shall I do that?"And Elsa would have to say, "I don'tknow." Then the maid would pretendthat she did not know, either; and whenshe saw her mistress sitting about doingnothing, she, too, sat about, idle.

Elsa's husband had a hard time of it;he did not have good things to eat, and theywere not ready at the right time, and thehouse looked all in a clutter. It made him

sad, and that made Elsa sad, for she wantedto do everything just right.

At last, one day, Elsa's husband wentaway quite cross; he said to her, as hewent out the door, "It is no wonder thatthe house looks so, when you sit all daywith your hands in your lap!"

Little Elsa cried bitterly when he wasgone, for she did not want to make herhusband unhappy and cross, and shewanted the house to look nice. "Oh, dear,"she sobbed, "I wish I could do thingsright! I wish I could work! I wish--Iwish I had ten good fairies to work for me!Then I could keep the house!"

As she said the words, a great gray manstood before her; he was wrapped in astrange gray cloak that covered him fromhead to foot; and he smiled at Elsa."What is the matter, dear?" he said. "Whydo you cry?"

"Oh, I am crying because I do not knowhow to keep the house," said Elsa. "Icannot make bread, I cannot sweep, Icannot sew a seam; when I was a littlegirl I never learned to work, and now Icannot do anything right. I wish I hadten good fairies to help me!"

"You shall have them, dear," said thegray man, and he shook his strange graycloak. Pouf! Out hopped ten tiny fairies,no bigger than that!

"These shall be your servants, Elsa,"said the gray man; "they are faithfuland clever, and they will do everythingyou want them to, just right. But theneighbors might stare and ask questions ifthey saw these little chaps running aboutyour house, so I will hide them away for

you. Give me your little useless hands."

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

"Now stretch out your little uselessfingers, dear!"

Elsa stretched out her pretty pink fingers.

The gray man touched each one of theten little fingers, and as he touched themhe said their names: "Little Thumb; Fore-finger; Thimble-finger; Ring-finger;Little Finger; Little Thumb; Forefinger;Thimble-finger; Ring-finger; Little Finger!"And as he named the fingers, oneafter another, the tiny fairies bowed theirtiny heads; there was a fairy for everyname.

"Hop! hide yourselves away!" said thegray man.

Hop, hop! The fairies sprang to Elsa'sknee, then to the palms of her hands, andthen-whisk! they were all hidden awayin her little pink fingers, a fairy in everyfinger! And the gray man was gone.

Elsa sat and looked with wonder at herlittle white hands and the ten uselessfingers. But suddenly the little fingersbegan to stir. The tiny fairies who werehidden away there weren't used to stayingstill, and they were getting restless.They stirred so that Elsa jumped up andran to the cooking table, and took holdof the bread board. No sooner had shetouched the bread board than the littlefairies began to work: they measured theflour, mixed the bread, kneaded the loaves,and set them to rise, quicker than youcould wink; and when the bread was done,it was the nicest you could wish. Then the

little fairy-fingers seized the broom, and ina twinkling they were making the houseclean. And so it went, all day. Elsa flewabout from one thing to another, and theten fairies did it all, just right.

When the maid saw her mistress working,she began to work, too; and when shesaw how beautifully everything was done,she was ashamed to do anything badlyherself. In a little while the housework wasgoing smoothly, and Elsa could laugh andsing again.

There was no more crossness in thathouse. Elsa's husband grew so proud ofher that he went about saying to everybody,"My grandmother was a fine housekeeper,and my mother was a fine housekeeper, butneither of them could hold a candle to mywife. She has only one maid, but, to seethe work done, you would think she hadas many servants as she has fingers on herhands!"

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

THE ELVES AND THE SHOEMAKER

Once upon a time there was an honestshoemaker, who was very poor. He workedas hard as he could, and still he could notearn enough to keep himself and his wife.At last there came a day when he hadnothing left but one piece of leather, bigenough to make one pair of shoes. Hecut out the shoes, ready to stitch, and leftthem on the bench; then he said his prayersand went to bed, trusting that he couldfinish the shoes on the next day and sellthem.

Bright and early the next morning, herose and went to his work-bench. Therelay a pair of shoes, beautifully made, andthe leather was gone! There was no signof any one's having been there. The shoemakerand his wife did not know what tomake of it. But the first customer whocame was so pleased with the beautifulshoes that he bought them, and paid somuch that the shoemaker was able to buyleather enough for two pairs.

Happily, he cut them out, and then, asit was late, he left the pieces on the bench,ready to sew in the morning. But whenmorning came, two pairs of shoes lay on thebench, most beautifully made, and no signof any one who had been there. The shoemakerand his wife were quite at a loss.

That day a customer came and boughtboth pairs, and paid so much for them thatthe shoemaker bought leather for fourpairs, with the money.

Once more he cut out the shoes and leftthem on the bench. And in the morningall four pairs were made.

It went on like this until the shoemakerand his wife were prosperous people. Butthey could not be satisfied to have so muchdone for them and not know to whom theyshould be grateful. So one night, after theshoemaker had left the pieces of leatheron the bench, he and his wife hid themselvesbehind a curtain, and left a light inthe room.

Just as the clock struck twelve the dooropened softly, and two tiny elves camedancing into the room, hopped on to thebench, and began to put the piecestogether. They were quite naked, but they

had wee little scissors and hammers andthread. Tap! tap! went the little hammers;stitch, stitch, went the thread, andthe little elves were hard at work. No oneever worked so fast as they. In almost notime all the shoes were stitched andfinished. Then the tiny elves took hold ofeach other's hands and danced round theshoes on the bench, till the shoemaker andhis wife had hard work not to laugh aloud.But as the clock struck two, the littlecreatures whisked away out of the window,and left the room all as it was before.

The shoemaker and his wife looked ateach other, and said, "How can we thankthe little elves who have made us happyand prosperous?"

"I should like to make them some prettyclothes," said the wife, "they are quitenaked."

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

That very day they set about it. Thewife cut out two tiny, tiny coats of green,two weeny, weeny waistcoats of yellow,two little pairs of trousers, of white, twobits of caps, bright red (for every oneknows the elves love bright colors), andher husband made two little pairs of shoeswith long, pointed toes. They made thewee clothes as dainty as could be, withnice little stitches and pretty buttons; andby Christmas time, they were finished.

On Christmas eve, the shoemaker cleanedhis bench, and on it, instead of leather,he laid the two sets of gay little fairy-clothes. Then he and his wife hid awayas before, to watch.

Promptly at midnight, the little naked

elves came in. They hopped upon thebench; but when they saw the little clothesthere, they laughed and danced for joy.Each one caught up his little coat andthings and began to put them on. Thenthey looked at each other and made allkinds of funny motions in their delight.At last they began to dance, and whenthe clock struck two, they danced quiteaway, out of the window.

They never came back any more, butfrom that day they gave the shoemakerand his wife good luck, so that they neverneeded any more help.

WHO KILLED THE OTTER'S BABIES[1]?

[1] Adapted from the story as told in Fables and Folk TalesFrom an Eastern Forest, by Walter Skeat.

Once the Otter came to the Mouse-deerand said, "Friend Mouse-deer, will youplease take care of my babies while I goto the river, to catch fish?"

"Certainly," said the Mouse-deer, "goalong."

But when the Otter came back from theriver, with a string of fish, he found hisbabies crushed flat.

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

"I am very sorry," said the Mouse-deer,"but you know I am Chief Dancer of theWar-dance, and the Woodpecker cameand sounded the war-gong, so I danced.

I forgot your children, and trod on them."

"I shall go to King Solomon," said theOtter, "and you shall be punished."

Soon the Mouse-deer was called beforeKing Solomon.

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

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

"How did it happen?" said the king.

"Your Majesty knows," said the Mouse-deer, "that I am Chief Dancer of theWar-dance. The Woodpecker came andsounded the war-gong, and I had to dance;and as I danced I trod on the Otter'schildren."

"Send for the Woodpecker," said KingSolomon. And when the Woodpeckercame, he said to him, "Was it you whosounded the war-gong?"

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

"Why?" said the king.

"Your Majesty knows," said the Woodpecker,"that I am Chief Beater of theWar-gong, and I sounded the gong becauseI saw the Great Lizard wearing hissword."

"Send for the Great Lizard," said KingSolomon. When the Great Lizard came,he asked him, "Was it you who were wearingyour sword?"

"Yes, your Majesty," said the Great

Lizard; "but I had to."

"Why?" said the king.

"Your Majesty knows," said the GreatLizard, "that I am Chief Protector of theSword. I wore my sword because theTortoise came wearing his coat of mail."

So the Tortoise was sent for.

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

"I put it on, your Majesty," said theTortoise, "because I saw the King-crabtrailing his three-edged pike."

Then the King-crab was sent for.

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

"Because, your Majesty," said theKingerab, "I saw that the Crayfish hadshouldered his lance."

Immediately the Crayfish was sent for.

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

"Because, your Majesty," said theCrayfish, "I saw the Otter coming down to theriver to kill my children."

"Oh," said King Solomon, "if that isthe case, the Otter killed the Otter's children.And the Mouse-deer cannot beheld, by the law of the land!"

EARLY[1]

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

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

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

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

THE BRAHMIN, THE TIGER, AND THE JACKAL

Do you know what a Brahmin is? ABrahmin is a very good and gentle kind ofman who lives in India, and who treats allthe beasts as if they were his brothers.There is a great deal more to know aboutBrahmins, but that is enough for the story.

One day a Brahmin was walking alonga country road when he came upon aTiger, shut up in a strong iron cage. Thevillagers had caught him and shut him upthere for his wickedness.

"Oh, Brother Brahmin, Brother Brahmin,"said the Tiger, "please let me out,to get a little drink! I am so thirsty, andthere is no water here."

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

"Never, Brother Brahmin!" said theTiger. "Never in the world would I dosuch an ungrateful thing! Just let me outa little minute, to get a little, little drinkof water, Brother Brahmin!"

So the Brahmin unlocked the door andlet the Tiger out. The moment he wasout he sprang on the Brahmin, and wasabout to eat him up.

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

"It is perfectly right and just," said theTiger, "and I shall eat you up."

However, the Brahmin argued so hardthat at last the Tiger agreed to wait andask the first five whom they should meet,whether it was fair for him to eat theBrahmin, and to abide by their decision.

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

"Brother Banyan," said the Brahmin,eagerly, "does it seem to you right or justthat this Tiger should eat me, when I sethim free from his cage?"

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

"In the summer," he said, "when thesun is hot, men come and sit in the cool ofmy shade and refresh themselves with the

fruit of my branches. But when eveningfalls, and they are rested, they break mytwigs and scatter my leaves, and stonemy boughs for more fruit. Men are anungrateful race. Let the Tiger eat theBrahmin."

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

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

Presently they came to a place where anold Bullock was lying by the road. TheBrahmin went up to him and said,--

"Brother Bullock, oh, Brother Bullock,does it seem to you a fair thing that thisTiger should eat me up, after I have justfreed him from a cage?"

The Bullock looked up, and answeredin a deep, grumbling voice,--

"When I was young and strong mymaster used me hard, and I served himwell. I carried heavy loads and carriedthem far. Now that I am old and weakand cannot work, he leaves me withoutfood or water, to die by the wayside. Menare a thankless lot. Let the Tiger eat theBrahmin."

The Tiger sprang, but the Brahminspoke very quickly:--

"Oh, but this is only the second, BrotherTiger; you promised to ask five."

The Tiger grumbled a good deal, but atlast he went on again with the Brahmin.And after a time they saw an Eagle, highoverhead. The Brahmin called up to himimploringly,--

"Oh, Brother Eagle, Brother Eagle!Tell us if it seems to you fair that thisTiger should eat me up, when I have justsaved him from a frightful cage?"

The Eagle soared slowly overhead amoment, then he came lower, and spokein a thin, clear voice.

"I live high in the air," he said, "and Ido no man any harm. Yet as often as theyfind my eyrie, men stone my young and robmy nest and shoot at me with arrows.Men are a cruel breed. Let the Tiger eatthe Brahmin!"

The Tiger sprang upon the Brahmin,to eat him up; and this time the Brahminhad very hard work to persuade him towait. At last he did persuade him,however, and they walked on together. Andin a little while they saw an old Alligator,lying half buried in mud and slime, at theriver's edge.

"Brother Alligator, oh, Brother Alligator!"said the Brahmin, "does it seemat all right or fair to you that this Tigershould eat me up, when I have just nowlet him out of a cage?"

The old Alligator turned in the mud,and grunted, and snorted; then he said,

"I lie here in the mud all day, asharmless as a pigeon; I hunt no man, yet everytime a man sees me, he throws stones atme, and pokes me with sharp sticks, andjeers at me. Men are a worthless lot. Letthe Tiger eat the Brahmin!"

At this the Tiger was bound to eat theBrahmin at once. The poor Brahminhad to remind him, again and again, that

they had asked only four.

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

Finally, the Tiger walked on with him.

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

"Oh, Brother Jackal, dear BrotherJackal," said the Brahmin, "give us youropinion! Do you think it right or fair thatthis Tiger should eat me, when I set himfree from a terrible cage?"

"Beg pardon?" said the little Jackal.

"I said," said the Brahmin, raising hisvoice, "do you think it is fair that theTiger should eat me, when I set him freefrom his cage?"

"Cage?" said the little Jackal, vacantly.

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

"Oh," said the little Jackal, "you wantmy opinion? Then may I beg you to speaka little more loudly, and make the matterquite clear? I am a little slow ofunderstanding. Now what was it?"

"Do you think," said the Brahmin, "itis right for this Tiger to eat me, when Iset him free from his cage?"

"What cage?" said the little Jackal.

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

"But I don't altogether understand,"said the little Jackal, "You `set him free,'

you say?"

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

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

"Oh, dear, dear!" interrupted the littleJackal; "I never can see through it, if yougo on like that, with a long story. If youreally want my opinion you must make thematter clear. What sort of cage was it?"

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

"That gives me no idea at all," said thelittle Jackal. "See here, my friends, if weare to get on with this matter you'd bestshow me the spot. Then I can understandin a jiffy. Show me the cage."

So the Brahmin, the Tiger, and the littleJackal walked back together to the spotwhere the cage was.

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

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

"Tiger, where were you?" said the littleJackal.

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

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

"I stood here," said the Tiger, leapinginto the cage, "with my head over myshoulder, so."

"Oh, thank you, thank you," said thelittle Jackal, "that makes it MUCH clearer;but I still don't QUITE understand--forgivemy slow mind--why did you not comeout, by yourself?"

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

"Oh, I do beg your pardon," said thelittle Jackal. "I know I am very slow; Ican never understand things well unless Isee just how they were if you could showme now exactly how that door works I amsure I could understand. How does itshut?"

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

"Yes; but I don't see any lock," saidthe little Jackal, "does it lock on theoutside?"

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

"Oh, does it, indeed?" said the littleJackal. "Does it, INDEED! Well, BrotherBrahmin, now that it is locked, I shouldadvise you to let it stay locked! As foryou, my friend," he said to the Tiger, "Ithink you will wait a good while beforeyou'll find any one to let you out again!

Then he made a very low bow to the Brahmin.

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

THE LITTLE JACKAL AND THE CAMEL

All these stories about the little Jackalthat I have told you, show how clever thelittle Jackal was. But you know--if youdon't, you will when you are grown up--that no matter how clever you are, sooneror later you surely meet some one who iscleverer. It is always so in life. And itwas so with the little Jackal. This is whathappened.

The little Jackal was, as you know,exceedingly fond of shell-fish, especially ofriver crabs. Now there came a time whenhe had eaten all the crabs to be found onhis own side of the river. He knew theremust be plenty on the other side, if hecould only get to them, but he could notswim.

One day he thought of a plan. He wentto his friend the Camel, and said,--

"Friend Camel, I know a spot where thesugar-cane grows thick; I'll show you theway, if you will take me there."

"Indeed I will," said the Camel, whowas very fond of sugar-cane. "Where isit?"

"It is on the other side of the river,"said the little Jackal; "but we can manageit nicely, if you will take me on your backand swim over."

The Camel was perfectly willing, so thelittle Jackal jumped on his back, and theCamel swam across the river, carrying him.When they were safely over, the little Jackal

jumped down and showed the Camel thesugar-cane field; then he ran swiftlyalong the river bank, to hunt for crabs;the Camel began to eat sugar-cane. He atehappily, and noticed nothing around him.

Now, you know, a Camel is very big,and a Jackal is very little. Consequently,the little Jackal had eaten his fill by thetime the Camel had barely taken a mouthful.The little Jackal had no mind to waitfor his slow friend; he wanted to be offhome again, about his business. So he ranround and round the sugar-cane field, andas he ran he sang and shouted, and madea great hullabaloo.

Of course, the villagers heard him atonce.

"There is a Jackal in the sugar-cane,"they said; "he will dig holes and destroythe roots; we must go down and drive himout." So they came down, with sticks andstones. When they got there, there was noJackal to be seen; but they saw the greatCamel, eating away at the juicy sugar-cane. They ran at him and beat him, andstoned him, and drove him away halfdead.

When they had gone, leaving the poorCamel half killed, the little Jackal camedancing back from somewhere or other.

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

"Well, you ARE a pretty friend!" said theCamel. "The idea of your making sucha noise, with your shouting and singing!You brought this upon me. What in theworld made you do it? Why did you shoutand sing?"

"Oh, I don't know WHY," said the littleJackal,--"I always sing after dinner!"

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

He took the little Jackal kindly on hisback and started into the water. Whenhe began to swim he swam out to wherethe river was the very deepest. There hestopped, and said,--

"Oh, Jackal!"

"Yes," said the little Jackal.

"I have the strangest feeling," said theCamel,--"I feel as if I must roll over."

"`Roll over'!" cried the Jackal. "Mygoodness, don't do that! If you do that,you'll drown me! What in the world makesyou want to do such a crazy thing? Whyshould you want to roll over?"

"Oh, I don't know WHY," said the Camelslowly, "but I always roll over after dinner!"

So he rolled over.

And the little Jackal was drowned, forhis sins, but the Camel came safely home.

THE GULLS OF SALT LAKE

The story I am going to tell you is aboutsomething that really happened, manyyears ago, when most of the mothers andfathers of the children here were not born,themselves. At that time, nearly all thepeople in the United States lived betweenthe Atlantic Ocean and the Mississippi

River. Beyond were plains, reaching to thefoot of the mighty Rocky Mountains, whereIndians and wild beasts roamed. The onlywhite men there were a few hunters andtrappers.

One year a brave little company of peopletraveled across the plains in big coveredwagons with many horses, and finallysucceeded in climbing to the top of thegreat Rockies and down again into a valleyin the very midst of the mountains. Itwas a valley of brown, bare, desert soil,in a climate where almost no rain falls;but the snows on the mountain-tops sentdown little streams of pure water, the windswere gentle, and lying like a blue jewel atthe foot of the western hills was a marvelouslake of salt water,--an inland sea.So the pioneers settled there and built themhuts and cabins for the first winter.

It had taken them many months to makethe terrible journey; many had died ofweariness and illness on the way; manydied of hardship during the winter; and theprovisions they had brought in their wagonswere so nearly gone that, by spring, theywere living partly on roots, dug from theground. All their lives now depended onthe crops of grain and vegetables whichthey could raise in the valley. They madethe barren land good by spreading waterfrom the little streams over it,--what wecall "irrigating;" and they planted enoughcorn and grain and vegetables for all thepeople. Every one helped, and every onewatched for the sprouting, with hopes, andprayers, and careful eyes.

In good time the seeds sprouted, andthe dry, brown earth was covered with acarpet of tender, green, growing things.No farmer's garden at home in the Eastcould have looked better than the great

garden of the desert valley. And from dayto day the little shoots grew and flourishedtill they were all well above the ground.

Then a terrible thing happened. Oneday the men who were watering the cropssaw a great number of crickets swarmingover the ground at the edge of the gardensnearest the mountains. They were hoppingfrom the barren places into the young,green crops, and as they settled down theyate the tiny shoots and leaves to the ground.More came, and more, and ever more, andas they came they spread out till theycovered a big corner of the grain field. Andstill more and more, till it was like anarmy of black, hopping, crawling crickets,streaming down the side of the mountainto kill the crops.

The men tried to kill the crickets bybeating the ground, but the numbers wereso great that it was like beating at the sea.Then they ran and told the terrible news,and all the village came to help. Theystarted fires; they dug trenches and filledthem with water; they ran wildly about inthe fields, killing what they could. Butwhile they fought in one place new armiesof crickets marched down the mountain-sides and attacked the fields in other places.And at last the people fell on their kneesand wept and cried in despair, for they sawstarvation and death in the fields.

A few knelt to pray. Others gatheredround and joined them, weeping. Moreleft their useless struggles and kneltbeside their neighbors. At last nearly all thepeople were kneeling on the desolate fieldspraying for deliverance from the plague ofcrickets.

Suddenly, from far off in the air towardthe great salt lake, there was the sound

of flapping wings. It grew louder. Someof the people looked up, startled. Theysaw, like a white cloud rising from the lake,a flock of sea gulls flying toward them.Snow-white in the sun, with great wingsbeating and soaring, in hundreds andhundreds, they rose and circled and came on.

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

The gulls flew overhead, with a shrillchorus of whimpering cries, and then, ina marvelous white cloud of spread wingsand hovering breasts, they settled downover the seeded ground.

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

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

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

It was true. The gulls devoured thecrickets in dozens, in hundreds, in swarms.They ate until they were gorged, and thenthey flew heavily back to the lake, only tocome again with new appetite. And whenat last they finished, they had stripped thefields of the cricket army; and the peoplewere saved.

To this day, in the beautiful city of SaltLake, which grew out of that pioneer village,the little children are taught to lovethe sea gulls. And when they learn drawingand weaving in the schools, their firstdesign is often a picture of a cricket and agull.

THE NIGHTINGALE[1]

[1] Adapted from Hans Christian Andersen.

A long, long time ago, as long ago as whenthere were fairies, there lived an emperorin China, who had a most beautiful palace,all made of crystal. Outside the palacewas the loveliest garden in the whole world,and farther away was a forest where thetrees were taller than any other trees in theworld, and farther away, still, was a deepwood. And in this wood lived a littleNightingale. The Nightingale sang sobeautifully that everybody who heard herremembered her song better than anythingelse that he heard or saw. People camefrom all over the world to see the crystalpalace and the wonderful garden and thegreat forest; but when they went homeand wrote books about these things theyalways wrote, "But the Nightingale is thebest of all."

At last it happened that the Emperorcame upon a book which said this, and heat once sent for his Chamberlain.

"Who is this Nightingale?" said theEmperor. "Why have I never heard himsing?"

The Chamberlain, who was a veryimportant person, said, "There cannot beany such person; I have never heard hisname."

"The book says there is a Nightingale,"said the Emperor. "I command that theNightingale be brought here to sing for methis evening."

The Chamberlain went out and askedall the great lords and ladies and pageswhere the Nightingale could be found, butnot one of them had ever heard of him.So the Chamberlain went back to the Emperorand said, "There is no such person."

"The book says there is a Nightingale,"said the Emperor; "if the Nightingale isnot here to sing for me this evening I willhave the court trampled upon, immediatelyafter supper."

The Chamberlain did not want to betrampled upon, so he ran out and askedeverybody in the palace about the Nightingale.At last, a little girl who worked inthe kitchen to help the cook's helper, said,"Oh, yes, I know the Nightingale verywell. Every night, when I go to carryscraps from the kitchen to my mother,who lives in the wood beyond the forest,I hear the Nightingale sing."

The Chamberlain asked the little cook-maid to take him to the Nightingale'shome, and many of the lords and ladiesfollowed after. When they had gone alittle way, they heard a cow moo.

"Ah!" said the lords and ladies, "thatmust be the Nightingale; what a largevoice for so small a creature!"

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

A little farther on they heard some bull-frogs, in a swamp. "Surely that is theNightingale," said the courtiers; "it reallysounds like church-bells!"

"Oh, no," said the little girl, "those arebullfrogs, croaking."

At last they came to the wood where theNightingale was. "Hush!" said the littlegirl, "she is going to sing." And, sureenough, the little Nightingale began tosing. She sang so beautifully that youhave never in all your life heard anythinglike it.

"Dear, dear," said the courtiers, "thatis very pleasant; does that little gray birdreally make all that noise? She is so palethat I think she has lost her color for fearof us."

The Chamberlain asked the little Nightingaleto come and sing for the Emperor.The little Nightingale said she could singbetter in her own greenwood, but she wasso sweet and kind that she came with them.

That evening the palace was all trimmedwith the most beautiful flowers you canimagine, and rows and rows of little silverbells, that tinkled when the wind blewin, and hundreds and hundreds and hundredsof wax candles, that shone like tinystars. In the great hall there was a goldperch for the Nightingale, beside theEmperor's throne.

When all the people were there, theEmperor asked the Nightingale to sing. Thenthe little gray Nightingale filled her throatfull, and sang. And, my dears, she sangso beautifully that the Emperor's eyesfilled up with tears! And, you know,emperors do not cry at all easily. So he askedher to sing again, and this time she sangso marvelously that the tears came out ofhis eyes and ran down his cheeks. Thatwas a great success. They asked the littleNightingale to sing, over and over again,and when they had listened enough theEmperor said that she should be made"Singer in Chief to the Court." She was

to have a golden perch near the Emperor'sbed, and a little gold cage, and wasto be allowed to go out twice every day.But there were twelve servants appointedto wait on her, and those twelve servantswent with her every time she went out, andeach of the twelve had hold of the endof a silken string which was tied to thelittle Nightingale's leg! It was not so verymuch fun to go out that way!

For a long, long time the Nightingalesang every evening to the Emperor and hiscourt, and they liked her so much thatthe ladies all tried to sound like her; theyused to put water in their mouths and thenmake little sounds like this: glu-glu-glug.And when the courtiers met each other inthe halls, one would say "Night," andthe other would say "ingale," and thatwas conversation.

At last, one day, there came a little packageto the Emperor, on the outside of whichwas written, "The Nightingale." Insidewas an artificial bird, something like aNightingale, only it was made of gold, andsilver, and rubies, and emeralds, anddiamonds. When it was wound up it playeda waltz tune, and as it played it moved itslittle tail up and down. Everybody in thecourt was filled with delight at the musicof the new nightingale. They made it singthat same tune thirty-three times, and stillthey had not had enough. They wouldhave made it sing the tune thirty-four times,but the Emperor said, "I should like tohear the real Nightingale sing, now."

But when they looked about for the reallittle Nightingale, they could not find heranywhere! She had taken the chance,while everybody was listening to the waltztunes, to fly away through the window toher own greenwood.

"What a very ungrateful bird!" said thelords and ladies. "But it does not matter;the new nightingale is just as good."

So the artificial nightingale was giventhe real Nightingale's little gold perch, andevery night the Emperor wound her up,and she sang waltz tunes to him. Thepeople in the court liked her even betterthan the old Nightingale, because theycould all whistle her tunes,--which youcan't do with real nightingales.

About a year after the artificial nightingalecame, the Emperor was listening toher waltz-tune, when there was a SNAPand WHIR-R-R inside the bird, and the musicstopped. The Emperor ran to his doctorbut he could not do anything. Then heran to his clock-maker, but he could notdo much. Nobody could do much. Thebest they could do was to patch the goldnightingale up so that it could sing oncea year; even that was almost too much,and the tune was pretty shaky. Still, theEmperor kept the gold nightingale on theperch in his own room.

A long time went by, and then, at last,the Emperor grew very ill, and was aboutto die. When it was sure that he couldnot live much longer, the people chose anew emperor and waited for the old oneto die. The poor Emperor lay, quite coldand pale, in his great big bed, with velvetcurtains, and tall candlesticks all about.He was quite alone, for all the courtiershad gone to congratulate the new emperor,and all the servants had gone to talk itover.

When the Emperor woke up, he felt aterrible weight on his chest. He openedhis eyes, and there was Death, sitting on

his heart. Death had put on the Emperor'sgold crown, and he had the gold sceptre inone hand, and the silken banner in theother; and he looked at the Emperor withhis great hollow eyes. The room was fullof shadows, and the shadows were full offaces. Everywhere the Emperor looked,there were faces. Some were very, veryugly, and some were sweet and lovely;they were all the things the Emperor haddone in his life, good and bad. And as helooked at them they began to whisper.They whispered, "DO YOU REMEMBER THIS?""DO YOU REMEMBER THAT?" The Emperorremembered so much that he cried out loud,"Oh, bring the great drum! Make music,so that I may not hear these dreadfulwhispers!" But there was nobody thereto bring the drum.

Then the Emperor cried, "You littlegold nightingale, can you not sing somethingfor me? I have given you gifts ofgold and jewels, and kept you always bymy side; will you not help me now?" Butthere was nobody to wind the little goldnightingale up, and of course it could notsing.

The Emperor's heart grew colder andcolder where Death crouched upon it,and the dreadful whispers grew louder andlouder, and the Emperor's life was almostgone. Suddenly, through the open window,there came a most lovely song. It was sosweet and so loud that the whispers diedquite away. Presently the Emperor felthis heart grow warm, then he felt the bloodflow through his limbs again; he listenedto the song until the tears ran down hischeeks; he knew that it was the little realNightingale who had flown away from himwhen the gold nightingale came.

Death was listening to the song, too;

and when it was done and the Emperorbegged for more, Death, too, said, "Pleasesing again, little Nightingale!"

"Will you give me the Emperor's goldcrown for a song?" said the little Nightingale.

"Yes," said Death; and the little Nightingalebought the Emperor's crown for a song.

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

"Will you give me the Emperor's sceptrefor another song?" said the little grayNightingale.

"Yes," said Death; and the little Nightingalebought the Emperor's sceptre foranother song.

Once more Death begged for a song,and this time the little Nightingale got thebanner for her singing. Then she sang onemore song, so sweet and so sad that itmade Death think of his garden in thechurchyard, where he always liked bestto be. And he rose from the Emperor'sheart and floated away through the window.

When Death was gone, the Emperorsaid to the little Nightingale, "Oh, dearlittle Nightingale, you have saved me fromDeath! Do not leave me again. Stay withme on this little gold perch, and sing to mealways!"

"No, dear Emperor," said the littleNightingale, "I sing best when I am free;I cannot live in a palace. But every nightwhen you are quite alone, I will comeand sit in the window and sing to you, andtell you everything that goes on in yourkingdom: I will tell you where the poor

people are who ought to be helped, andwhere the wicked people are who oughtto be punished. Only, dear Emperor, besure that you never let anybody know thatyou have a little bird who tells you everything."

After the little Nightingale had flownaway, the Emperor felt so well and strongthat he dressed himself in his royal robesand took his gold sceptre in his hand.And when the courtiers came in to see if hewere dead, there stood the Emperor withhis sword in one hand and his sceptre inthe other, and said, "Good-morning!"

MARGERY'S GARDEN[1]

[1] I have always been inclined to avoid, in my work amongchildren, the "how to make" and "how to do" kind of story;it is too likely to trespass on the ground belonging by right toits more artistic and less intentional kinsfolk. Nevertheless,there is a legitimate place for the instruction-story. Withinits own limits, and especially in a school use, it has a realpurpose to serve, and a real desire to meet. Children have agenuine taste for such morsels of practical information, if thebites aren't made too big and too solid. And to the teacher ofthe first grades, from whom so much is demanded in the way ofpractical instruction, I know that these stories are a boon.They must be chosen with care, and used with discretion, but theyneed never be ignored.

I venture to give some little stories of this type, which I hopemay be of use in the schools where country life and countrywork is an unknown experience to the children.

There was once a little girl named Margery,who had always lived in the city.The flat where her mother and father livedwas at the top of a big apartment-house,and you couldn't see a great deal from thewindows, except clothes-lines on other people'sroofs. Margery did not know much

about trees and flowers, but she lovedthem dearly; whenever it was a pleasantSunday she used to go with her motherand father to the park and look at thelovely flower-beds. They seemed alwaysto be finished, though, and Margerywas always wishing she could see themgrow.

One spring, when Margery was nine,her father's work changed so that he couldmove into the country, and he took a littlehouse a short distance outside the townwhere his new position was. Margery wasdelighted. And the very first thing shesaid, when her father told her about it,was, "Oh, may I have a garden? MAYI have a garden?"

Margery's mother was almost as eagerfor a garden as she was, and Margery'sfather said he expected to live on theirvegetables all the rest of his life! So it wassoon agreed that the garden should be thefirst thing attended to.

Behind the little house were apple trees,a plum tree, and two or three pear trees;then came a stretch of rough grass, andthen a stone wall, with a gate leading intothe pasture. It was in the grassy land thatthe garden was to be. A big piece was to beused for corn and peas and beans, and alittle piece at the end was to be saved forMargery.

"What shall we have in it?" asked hermother.

"Flowers," said Margery, with shiningeyes,--"blue, and white, and yellow, andpink,--every kind of flower!"

"Surely, flowers," said her mother,"and shall we not have a little salad garden

in the midst, as they do in England?"

"What is a salad garden?" Margery asked.

"It is a garden where you have all thethings that make nice salad," said hermother, laughing, for Margery was fond ofsalads; "you have lettuce, and endive, andromaine, and parsley, and radishes, andcucumbers, and perhaps little beets andyoung onions."

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

That very evening, Margery's father tookpencil and paper, and drew out a plan forher garden; first, they talked it all over,then he drew what they decided on; itlooked like the diagram on the next page.

"The outside strip is for flowers," saidMargery's father, "and the next marksmean a footpath, all the way round thebeds; that is so you can get at the flowersto weed and to pick; there is a wider paththrough the middle, and the rest is all forrows of salad vegetables."

"Papa, it is glorious!" said Margery.

Papa laughed. "I hope you will stillthink it glorious when the weeding timecomes," he said, "for you know, you andmother have promised to take care of thisgarden, while I take care of the big one."

"I wouldn't NOT take care of it foranything!" said Margery. "I want to feel thatit is my very own."

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

Two evenings after that, when Margery

was called in from her first ramble in a"really, truly pasture," she found theexpressman at the door of the little house.

"Something for you, Margery," saidher mother, with the look she had whensomething nice was happening.

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

MISS MARGERY BROWN, WOODVILLE, MASS.

From Seeds and Plants Company, Boston.

Margery could hardly wait to open it.It was filled with little packages, all withprinted labels; and in the packages, ofcourse, were seeds. It made Margerydance, just to read the names,--nasturtium,giant helianthus, coreopsis, calendula,Canterbury bells: more names thanI can tell you, and other packages,bigger, that said, "Peas: Dwarf Telephone,"and "Sweet Corn," and such things! Margerycould almost smell the posies, shewas so excited. Only, she had seen solittle of flowers that she did not alwaysknow what the names meant. She did notknow that a helianthus was a sunflowertill her mother told her, and she had neverseen the dear, blue, bell-shaped flowersthat always grow in old-fashioned gardens,and are called Canterbury bells. Shethought the calendula must be a strange,grand flower, by its name; but her mothertold her it was the gay, sturdy, every-dayishlittle posy called a marigold. There wasa great deal for a little city girl to besurprised about, and it did seem as if morningwas a long way off!

"Did you think you could plant them in

the morning?" asked her mother. "Youknow, dear, the ground has to be madeready first; it takes a little time,--it maybe several days before you can plant."

That was another surprise. Margeryhad thought she could begin to sow theseed right off.

But this was what was done. Early thenext morning, a man came driving intothe yard, with two strong white horses; inhis wagon was a plough. I suppose youhave seen ploughs, but Margery never had,and she watched with great interest, whilethe man and her father took the plough fromthe cart and harnessed the horses to it.It was a great, three-cornered piece ofsharp steel, with long handles coming upfrom it, so that a man could hold it inplace. It looked like this:--

"I brought a two-horse plough becauseit's green land," the man said. Margerywondered what in the world he meant; itwas green grass, of course, but what hadthat to do with the kind of plough? "Whatdoes he mean, father?" she whispered,when she got a chance. "He means thatthis land has not been ploughed before, ornot for many years; it will be hard to turnthe soil, and one horse could not pull theplough," said her father. So Margery hadlearned what "green land" was.

The man was for two hours ploughingthe little strip of land. He drove the sharpend of the plough into the soil, and held itfirmly so, while the horses dragged it alongin a straight line. Margery found itfascinating to see the long line of dark earthand green grass come rolling up and turnover, as the knife passed it. She could seethat it took real skill and strength to keepthe line even, and to avoid the stones.

Sometimes the plough struck a hidden stone,and then the man was jerked almost offhis feet. But he only laughed, and said,"Tough piece of land; be a lot better thesecond year."

When he had ploughed, the man wentback to his cart and unloaded anotherfarm implement. This one was like athree-cornered platform of wood, with along, curved, strong rake under it. It wascalled a harrow, and it looked like this:--

The man harnessed the horses to it, andthen he stood on the platform and drove allover the strip of land. It was fun to watch,but perhaps it was a little hard to do. Theman's weight kept the harrow steady, andlet the teeth of the rake scratch and cutthe ground up, so that it did not stay inridges.

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

"It needs scrambling," laughed herfather. "We are going to get more weedsthan we want on this green land, and themore the ground is broken, the fewer therewill be."

After the ploughing and harrowing, theman drove off, and Margery's father saidhe would do the rest of the work in thelate afternoons, when he came home frombusiness; they could not afford too muchhelp, he said, and he had learned to takecare of a garden when he was a boy. SoMargery did not see any more done untilthe next day.

But the next day there was hard workfor Margery's father! Every bit of that"scrambled" turf had to be broken upstill more with a mattock and a spade,

and then the pieces which were full ofgrass-roots had to be taken on a fork andshaken, till the earth fell out; then thegrass was thrown to one side. That wouldnot have had to be done if the land hadbeen ploughed in the fall; the grass wouldhave rotted in the ground, and would havemade fertilizer for the plants. Now,Margery's father put the fertilizer on the top,and then raked it into the earth.

At last, it was time to make the place forthe seeds. Margery and her mother helped.Father tied one end of a cord to a littlestake, and drove the stake in the groundat one end of the garden. Then he tookthe cord to the other end of the gardenand pulled it tight, tied it to another stake,and drove that down. That made a straightline for him to see. Then he hoed a trench,a few inches deep, the whole length of thecord, and scattered fertilizer in it. Prettysoon the whole garden was in lines oflittle trenches.

"Now for the corn," said father.

Margery ran and brought the seedbox, and found the package of corn. Itlooked like kernels of gold, when it wasopened.

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

"If you watch me sow one row, I thinkyou can do the next," said her father.

So Margery watched. Her father took ahandful of kernels, and, stooping, walkedslowly along the line, letting the kernelsfall, five or six at a time, in spots about afoot apart; he swung his arm with a gentle,throwing motion, and the golden seedstrickled out like little showers, very

exactly. It was pretty to watch; it madeMargery think of a photograph her teacherhad, a photograph of a famous picturecalled "The Sower." Perhaps you haveseen it.

Putting in the seed was not so easy to doas to watch; sometimes Margery got in toomuch, and sometimes not enough; buther father helped fix it, and soon she didbetter.

They planted peas, beans, spinach,carrots, and parsnips. And Margery's fathermade a row of holes, after that, for thetomato plants. He said those had to betransplanted; they could not be sown fromseed.

When the seeds were in the trenchesthey had to be covered up, and Margeryreally helped at that. It is fun to do it.You stand beside the little trench andwalk backward, and as you walk you hoethe loose earth back over the seeds; thesame dirt that was hoed up you pull backagain. Then you rake very gently overthe surface, with the back of a rake, toeven it all off. Margery liked it, becausenow the garden began to look LIKE agarden.

But best of all was the work next day,when her own little particular garden wasbegun. Father Brown loved Margery andMargery's mother so much that he wantedtheir garden to be perfect, and that meanta great deal more work. He knew verywell that the old grass would begin tocome through again on such "green"soil, and that it would make terribly hardweeding. He was not going to have anysuch thing for his two "little girls," as hecalled them. So he fixed that little gardenvery fine! This is what he did.

After he had thrown out all the turf, heshoveled clean earth on to the garden,--as much as three solid inches of it; not abit of grass was in that. Then it was readyfor raking and fertilizing, and for the lines.The little footpaths were marked out byFather Brown's feet; Margery and hermother laughed well when they saw it, forit looked like some kind of dance. Mr.Brown had seen gardeners do it when hewas a little boy, and he did it very nicely:he walked along the sides of the square,with one foot turned a little out, and theother straight, taking such tiny steps thathis feet touched each other all the time.This tramped out a path just wide enoughfor a person to walk.

The wider path was marked with linesand raked.

Margery thought, of course, all theflowers would be put in as the vegetableswere; but she found that it was not so.For some, her father poked little holeswith his finger; for some, he made veryshallow ditches; and some very small seedswere just scattered lightly over the top ofthe ground.

Margery and her mother had taken somuch pains in thinking out how the flowerswould look prettiest, that maybe you willlike to hear just how they designed thatgarden. At the back were the sweet peas,which would grow tall, like a screen; on thetwo sides, for a kind of hedge, were yellowsunflowers; and along the front edge werethe gay nasturtiums. Margery plannedthat, so that she could look into the gardenfrom the front, but have it shut awayfrom the vegetable patch by the tall flowerson the sides. The two front cornershad coreopsis in them. Coreopsis is a tall,

pretty, daisy-like flower, very dainty andbright. And then, in little square patchesall round the garden, were planted whitesweet alyssum, blue bachelor's buttons,yellow marigolds, tall larkspur, many-colored asters and zinnias. All these lovelyflowers used to grow in our grandmothers'gardens, and if you don't know what theylook like, I hope you can find out nextsummer.

Between the flowers and the middlepath went the seeds for that wonderfulsalad garden; all the things Mrs. Brownhad named to Margery were there. Margeryhad never seen anything so cunningas the little round lettuce-seeds. Theylooked like tiny beads; it did not seempossible that green lettuce leaves couldcome from those. But they surely would.

Mother and father and Margery wereall late to supper that evening. But theywere all so happy that it did not matter.The last thing Margery thought of, as shewent to sleep at night, was the dear,smooth little garden, with its funny foot-path, and with the little sticks standingat the end of the rows, labeled "lettuce,""beets," "helianthus," and so on.

"I have a garden! I have a garden!"thought Margery, and then she went offto dreamland.

THE LITTLE COTYLEDONS

This is another story about Margery'sgarden.

The next morning after the garden wasplanted, Margery was up and out at six

o'clock. She could not wait to look at hergarden. To be sure, she knew that theseeds could not sprout in a single night,but she had a feeling that SOMETHING mighthappen while she was not looking. Thegarden was just as smooth and brown asthe night before, and no little seeds werein sight.

But a very few mornings after that,when Margery went out, there was a funnylittle crack opening up through the earth,the whole length of the patch. Quicklyshe knelt down in the footpath, to see.Yes! Tiny green leaves, a whole row ofthem, were pushing their way through thecrust! Margery knew what she had putthere: it was the radish-row; these mustbe radish leaves. She examined them veryclosely, so that she might know a radishnext time. The little leaves, no biggerthan half your little-finger nail, grew intwos,--two on each tiny stem; they werealmost round.

Margery flew back to her mother, to saythat the first seeds were up. And hermother, nearly as excited as Margery,came to look at the little crack.

Each day, after that, the row of radishesgrew, till, in a week, it stood as high asyour finger, green and sturdy. But aboutthe third day, while Margery was stoopingover the radishes, she saw something very,very small and green, peeping aboveground, where the lettuce was planted.Could it be weeds? No, for on lookingvery closely she saw that the wee leavesfaintly marked a regular row. They didnot make a crack, like the radishes; theyseemed too small and too far apart to pushthe earth up like that. Margery leaneddown and looked with all her eyes at thebaby plants. The tiny leaves grew two on

a stem, and were almost round. The moreshe looked at them the more it seemed toMargery that they looked exactly as theradish looked when it first came up. "Doyou suppose," Margery said to herself,"that lettuce and radish look alike? Theydon't look alike in the market!"

Day by day the lettuce grew, and soonthe little round leaves were easier toexamine; they certainly were very much likeradish leaves.

Then, one morning, while she wassearching the ground for signs of seeds,Margery discovered the beets. In irregularpatches on the row, hints of green werecoming. The next day and the next theygrew, until the beet leaves were big enoughto see.

Margery looked. Then she looked again.Then she wrinkled her forehead. "Canwe have made a mistake?" she thought."Do you suppose we can have planted allradishes?"

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

It was too much for Margery. She ran tothe house and found her father. Her littleface was so anxious that he thought somethingunpleasant had happened. "Papa,"she said, all out of breath, "do you thinkwe could have made a mistake about mygarden? Do you think we could have putradishes in all the rows?"

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

"Papa," said Margery, "the little leaves

all look exactly alike! every plant has justtwo tiny leaves on it, and shaped the same;they are roundish, and grow out of thestem at the same place."

Papa's eyes began to twinkle. "Manyof the dicotyledonous plants look alike atthe beginning," he said, with a little drawlon the big word. That was to tease Margery,because she always wanted to knowthe big words she heard.

"What's `dicotyledonous'?" saidMargery, carefully.

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

That evening Margery was waitingeagerly for him, when her father finishedhis supper. Together they went to thegarden, and father examined the seedlingscarefully. Then he pulled up a littleradish plant and a tiny beet.

"These little leaves," he said, "are notthe real leaves of the plant; they are onlylittle food-supply leaves, little pockets tohold food for the plant to live on till it getsstrong enough to push up into the air. Assoon as the real leaves come out and beginto draw food from the air, these littlesubstitutes wither up and fall off. These twolie folded up in the little seed from thebeginning, and are full of plant food. Theydon't have to be very special in shape, yousee, because they don't stay on the plantafter it is grown up."

"Then every plant looks like this atfirst?" said Margery.

"No, dear, not every one; plants aredivided into two kinds: those which havetwo food leaves, like these plants, and

those which have only one; these are calleddicotyledonous, and the ones which havebut one food leaf are monocotyledonous.Many of the dicotyledons look alike."

"I think that is interesting," saidMargery. "I always supposed the plants weredifferent from the minute they began togrow."

"Indeed, no," said father. "Even someof the trees look like this when they firstcome through; you would not think abirch tree could look like a vegetable or aflower, would you? But it does, at first;it looks so much like these things that inthe great nurseries, where trees are raisedfor forests and parks, the workmen haveto be very carefully trained, or else theywould pull up the trees when they areweeding. They have to be taught thedifference between a birch tree and a weed."

"How funny!" said Margery dimpling.

"Yes, it sounds funny," said father;"but you see, the birch tree is dicotyledonous,and so are many weeds, and thedicotyledons look much alike at first."

"I am glad to know that, father," saidMargery, soberly. "I believe maybe I shalllearn a good deal from living in the country;don't you think so?"

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

And that was all that happened, that day.

THE TALKATIVE TORTOISE[1]

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

Once upon a time, a Tortoise lived in apond with two Ducks, who were her verygood friends. She enjoyed the companyof the Ducks, because she could talk withthem to her heart's content; the Tortoiseliked to talk. She always had somethingto say, and she liked to hear herself say it.

After many years of this pleasant living,the pond became very low, in a dry season;and finally it dried up. The two Duckssaw that they could no longer live there,so they decided to fly to another region,where there was more water. They wentto the Tortoise to bid her good-by.

"Oh, don't leave me behind!" beggedthe Tortoise. "Take me with you; I mustdie if I am left here."

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

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

The Ducks felt so sorry for her that atlast they thought of a way to take her."We have thought of a way which willbe possible," they said, "if only you canmanage to keep still long enough. We willeach take hold of one end of a stout stick,and do you take the middle in your mouth;then we will fly up in the air with you andcarry you with us. But remember not totalk! If you open your mouth, you arelost."

The Tortoise said she would not say aword; she would not so much as move hermouth; and she was very grateful. So the

Ducks brought a strong little stick andtook hold of the ends, while the Tortoisebit firmly on the middle. Then the twoDucks rose slowly in the air and flew awaywith their burden.

When they were above the treetops,the Tortoise wanted to say, "How highwe are!" But she remembered, and keptstill. When they passed the church steepleshe wanted to say, "What is that whichshines?" But she remembered, and heldher peace. Then they came over the villagesquare, and the people looked up andsaw them. "Look at the Ducks carryinga Tortoise!" they shouted; and every oneran to look. The Tortoise wanted to say,"What business is it of yours?" But shedidn't. Then she heard the people shout,"Isn't it strange! Look at it! Look!"

The Tortoise forgot everything exceptthat she wanted to say, "Hush, you foolishpeople!" She opened her mouth,--and fell to the ground. And that was theend of the Tortoise.

It is a very good thing to be able to holdone's tongue!

ROBERT OF SICILY[1]

[1] Adapted from Longfellow's poem.

An old legend says that there was oncea king named Robert of Sicily, who wasbrother to the great Pope of Rome andto the Emperor of Allemaine. He wasa very selfish king, and very proud; hecared more for his pleasures than for theneeds of his people, and his heart was so

filled with his own greatness that he hadno thought for God.

One day, this proud king was sitting inhis place at church, at vesper service; hiscourtiers were about him, in their brightgarments, and he himself was dressed inhis royal robes. The choir was chantingthe Latin service, and as the beautifulvoices swelled louder, the king noticed oneparticular verse which seemed to berepeated again and again. He turned to alearned clerk at his side and asked whatthose words meant, for he knew no Latin.

"They mean, `He hath put down themighty from their seats, and hath exaltedthem of low degree,'" answered the clerk.

"It is well the words are in Latin, then,"said the king angrily, "for they are a lie.There is no power on earth or in heavenwhich can put me down from my seat!"And he sneered at the beautiful singing,as he leaned back in his place.

Presently the king fell asleep, while theservice went on. He slept deeply and long.When he awoke the church was dark andstill, and he was all alone. He, the king,had been left alone in the church, to awakein the dark! He was furious with rage andsurprise, and, stumbling through the dimaisles, he reached the great doors and beatat them, madly, shouting for his servants.

The old sexton heard some one shoutingand pounding in the church, and thoughtit was some drunken vagabond who hadstolen in during the service. He came tothe door with his keys and called out,"Who is there?"

"Open! open! It is I, the king!" camea hoarse, angry voice from within.

"It is a crazy man," thought the sexton;and he was frightened. He opened thedoors carefully and stood back, peeringinto the darkness. Out past him rushedthe figure of a man in tattered, scantyclothes, with unkempt hair and white,wild face. The sexton did not know thathe had ever seen him before, but he lookedlong after him, wondering at his wildnessand his haste.

In his fluttering rags, without hat orcloak, not knowing what strange thinghad happened to him, King Robert rushedto his palace gates, pushed aside thestartled servants, and hurried, blind withrage, up the wide stair and through thegreat corridors, toward the room wherehe could hear the sound of his courtiers'voices. Men and women servants tried tostop the ragged man, who had somehowgot into the palace, but Robert did noteven see them as he fled along. Straightto the open doors of the big banquet hallhe made his way, and into the midst ofthe grand feast there.

The great hall was filled with lights andflowers; the tables were set with everythingthat is delicate and rich to eat; the courtiers,in their gay clothes, were laughingand talking; and at the head of the feast,on the king's own throne, sat a king. Hisface, his figure, his voice were exactly likeRobert of Sicily; no human being couldhave told the difference; no one dreamedthat he was not the king. He was dressedin the king's royal robes, he wore the royalcrown, and on his hand was the king'sown ring. Robert of Sicily, half naked,ragged, without a sign of his kingship onhim, stood before the throne and staredwith fury at this figure of himself.

The king on the throne looked at him."Who art thou, and what dost thou here?"he asked. And though his voice was justlike Robert's own, it had something in itsweet and deep, like the sound of bells.

"I am the king!" cried Robert of Sicily."I am the king, and you are an impostor!"

The courtiers started from their seats,and drew their swords. They would havekilled the crazy man who insulted theirking; but he raised his hand and stoppedthem, and with his eyes looking intoRobert's eyes he said, "Not the king; youshall be the king's jester! You shall wearthe cap and bells, and make laughter formy court. You shall be the servant ofthe servants, and your companion shall bethe jester's ape."

With shouts of laughter, the courtiersdrove Robert of Sicily from the banquethall; the waiting-men, with laughter, too,pushed him into the soldiers' hall; and therethe pages brought the jester's wretchedape, and put a fool's cap and bells onRobert's head. It was like a terrible dream;he could not believe it true, he could notunderstand what had happened to him.And when he woke next morning, he believedit was a dream, and that he wasking again. But as he turned his head,he felt the coarse straw under his cheekinstead of the soft pillow, and he saw thathe was in the stable, with the shiveringape by his side. Robert of Sicily was ajester, and no one knew him for the king.

Three long years passed. Sicily washappy and all things went well under theking, who was not Robert. Robert wasstill the jester, and his heart was harderand bitterer with every year. Many times,during the three years, the king, who had

his face and voice, had called him tohimself, when none else could hear, and hadasked him the one question, "Who artthou?" And each time that he asked ithis eyes looked into Robert's eyes, to findhis heart. But each time Robert threwback his head and answered, proudly,"I am the king!" And the king's eyesgrew sad and stern.

At the end of three years, the Pope badethe Emperor of Allemaine and the Kingof Sicily, his brothers, to a great meetingin his city of Rome. The King of Sicilywent, with all his soldiers and courtiersand servants,--a great procession ofhorsemen and footmen. Never had been agayer sight than the grand train, men inbright armor, riders in wonderful cloaksof velvet and silk, servants, carryingmarvelous presents to the Pope. And at thevery end rode Robert, the jester. Hishorse was a poor old thing, many-colored,and the ape rode with him. Every onein the villages through which they passedran after the jester, and pointed andlaughed.

The Pope received his brothers andtheir trains in the square before SaintPeter's. With music and flags andflowers he made the King of Sicily welcome,and greeted him as his brother. In themidst of it, the jester broke through thecrowd and threw himself before the Pope."Look at me!" he cried; "I am yourbrother, Robert of Sicily! This man isan impostor, who has stolen my throne.I am Robert, the king!"

The Pope looked at the poor jesterwith pity, but the Emperor of Allemaineturned to the King of Sicily, and said, "Isit not rather dangerous, brother, to keepa madman as jester?" And again Robert

was pushed back among the serving-men.

It was Holy Week, and the king andthe emperor, with all their trains, wentevery day to the great services in thecathedral. Something wonderful and holyseemed to make all these services morebeautiful than ever before. All the peopleof Rome felt it: it was as if the presenceof an angel were there. Men thought ofGod, and felt his blessing on them. Butno one knew who it was that brought thebeautiful feeling. And when Easter Daycame, never had there been so lovely, soholy a day: in the great churches, filledwith flowers, and sweet with incense, thekneeling people listened to the choirssinging, and it was like the voices of angels;their prayers were more earnest than everbefore, their praise more glad; there wassomething heavenly in Rome.

Robert of Sicily went to the serviceswith the rest, and sat in the humblestplace with the servants. Over and overagain he heard the sweet voices of thechoirs chant the Latin words he had heardlong ago: "He hath put down the mightyfrom their seat, and hath exalted them oflow degree." And at last, as he listened,his heart was softened. He, too, felt thestrange blessed presence of a heavenlypower. He thought of God, and of hisown wickedness; he remembered howhappy he had been, and how little goodhe had done; he realized, that his powerhad not been from himself, at all. OnEaster night, as he crept to his bed of straw,he wept, not because he was so wretched,but because he had not been a better kingwhen power was his.

At last all the festivities were over, andthe King of Sicily went home to his ownland again, with his people. Robert the

jester came home too.

On the day of their home-coming, therewas a special service in the royal church,and even after the service was over forthe people, the monks held prayers ofthanksgiving and praise. The sound oftheir singing came softly in at the palacewindows. In the great banquet room, theking sat, wearing his royal robes and hiscrown, while many subjects came to greethim. At last, he sent them all away, sayinghe wanted to be alone; but he commandedthe jester to stay. And when they werealone together the king looked into Robert'seyes, as he had done before, and said,softly, "Who art thou?"

Robert of Sicily bowed his head. "Thouknowest best," he said, "I only know thatI have sinned."

As he spoke, he heard the voices of themonks singing, "He hath put down themighty from their seat,"--and his headsank lower. But suddenly the musicseemed to change; a wonderful light shoneall about. As Robert raised his eyes, hesaw the face of the king smiling at himwith a radiance like nothing on earth,and as he sank to his knees before the gloryof that smile, a voice sounded with themusic, like a melody throbbing on a singlestring:--

"I am an angel, and thou art the king!"

Then Robert of Sicily was alone. Hisroyal robes were upon him once more;he wore his crown and his royal ring. Hewas king. And when the courtiers cameback they found their king kneeling byhis throne, absorbed in silent prayer.

THE JEALOUS COURTIERS[1]

[1] Adapted from the facts given in the German of H. A. Guerber'sMarchen und Erzahlungen (D. C. Heath & Co.).

I wonder if you have ever heard theanecdote about the artist of Dusseldorf andthe jealous courtiers. This is it. It seemsthere was once a very famous artist wholived in the little town of Dusseldorf. Hedid such fine work that the Elector, PrinceJohann Wilhelm, ordered a portrait statueof himself, on horseback, to be done inbronze. The artist was overjoyed at thecommission, and worked early and lateat the statue.

At last the work was done, and the artisthad the great statue set up in the publicsquare of Dusseldorf, ready for theopening view. The Elector came on theappointed day, and with him came his favoritecourtiers from the castle. Then the statuewas unveiled. It was very beautiful,--so beautiful that the prince exclaimed insurprise. He could not look enough, andpresently he turned to the artist and shookhands with him, like an old friend. "HerrGrupello," he said, "you are a great artist,and this statue will make your fame evengreater than it is; the portrait of me is perfect!"

When the courtiers heard this, and sawthe friendly hand-grasp, their jealousy ofthe artist was beyond bounds. Their onethought was, how could they safely dosomething to humiliate him. They darednot pick flaws in the portrait statue, forthe prince had declared it perfect. But atlast one of them said, with an air of greatfrankness, "Indeed, Herr Grupello, theportrait of his Royal Highness is perfect;but permit me to say that the statue of the

horse is not quite so successful: the headis too large; it is out of proportion."

"No," said another, "the horse is reallynot so successful; the turn of the neck,there, is awkward."

"If you would change the right hind-foot, Herr Grupello," said a third, "itwould be an improvement."

Still another found fault with the horse'stail.

The artist listened, quietly. When theyhad all finished, he turned to the prince andsaid, "Your courtiers, Prince, find a goodmany flaws in the statue of the horse;will you permit me to keep it a few daysmore, to do what I can with it?"

The Elector assented, and the artistordered a temporary screen built aroundthe statue, so that his assistants couldwork undisturbed. For several days thesound of hammering came steadily frombehind the enclosure. The courtiers, whotook care to pass that way, often, weredelighted. Each one said to himself, "Imust have been right, really; the artisthimself sees that something was wrong;now I shall have credit for saving theprince's portrait by my artistic taste!"

Once more the artist summoned theprince and his courtiers, and once more thestatue was unveiled. Again the Electorexclaimed at its beauty, and then he turnedto his courtiers, one after another, to seewhat they had to say.

"Perfect!" said the first. "Now thatthe horse's head is in proportion, thereis not a flaw."

"The change in the neck was just whatwas needed," said the second; "it is verygraceful now."

"The rear right foot is as it should be,now," said a third, "and it adds so muchto the beauty of the whole!"

The fourth said that he considered thetail greatly improved.

"My courtiers are much pleased now,"said the prince to Herr Grupello; "theythink the statue much improved by thechanges you have made."

Herr Grupello smiled a little. "I amglad they are pleased," he said, "but thefact is, I have changed nothing!"

"What do you mean?" said the princein surprise. "Have we not heard the soundof hammering every day? What were youhammering at then?"

"I was hammering at the reputation ofyour courtiers, who found fault simplybecause they were jealous," said the artist."And I rather think that their reputationis pretty well hammered to pieces!"

It was, indeed. The Elector laughedheartily, but the courtiers slunk away,one after another, without a word.

PRINCE CHERRY[1]

[1] A shortened version of the familiar tale.

There was once an old king, so wise andkind and true that the most powerfulgood fairy of his land visited him and

asked him to name the dearest wish of hisheart, that she might grant it.

"Surely you know it," said the goodking; "it is for my only son, Prince Cherry;do for him whatever you would have donefor me."

"Gladly," said the great fairy; "choosewhat I shall give him. I can make him therichest, the most beautiful, or the mostpowerful prince in the world; choose."

"None of those things are what I want,"said the king. "I want only that he shallbe good. Of what use will it be to him tobe beautiful, rich, or powerful, if he growsinto a bad man? Make him the best princein the world, I beg you!"

"Alas, I cannot make him good," saidthe fairy; "he must do that for himself.I can give him good advice, reprove himwhen he does wrong, and punish him if hewill not punish himself; I can and will behis best friend, but I cannot make himgood unless he wills it."

The king was sad to hear this, but herejoiced in the friendship of the fairy forhis son. And when he died, soon after,he was happy to know that he left PrinceCherry in her hands.

Prince Cherry grieved for his fatherand often lay awake at night, thinking ofhim. One night, when he was all alonein his room, a soft and lovely lightsuddenly shone before him, and a beautifulvision stood at his side. It was the goodfairy. She was clad in robes of dazzlingwhite, and on her shining hair she worea wreath of white roses.

"I am the Fairy Candide," she said to

the prince. "I promised your father thatI would be your best friend, and as longas you live I shall watch over your happiness.I have brought you a gift; it is notwonderful to look at, but it has a wonderfulpower for your welfare; wear it, andlet it help you."

As she spoke, she placed a small goldring on the prince's little finger. "Thisring," she said, "will help you to be good;when you do evil, it will prick you, toremind you. If you do not heed its warningsa worse thing will happen to you, forI shall become your enemy." Then shevanished.

Prince Cherry wore his ring, and saidnothing to any one of the fairy's gift. Itdid not prick him for a long time, becausehe was good and merry and happy. ButPrince Cherry had been rather spoiled byhis nurse when he was a child; she hadalways said to him that when he shouldbecome king he could do exactly as hepleased. Now, after a while, he began tofind out that this was not true, and it madehim angry.

The first time that he noticed that evena king could not always have his own waywas on a day when he went hunting. Ithappened that he got no game. This puthim in such a bad temper that he grumbledand scolded all the way home. Thelittle gold ring began to feel tight anduncomfortable. When he reached the palacehis pet dog ran to meet him.

"Go away!" said the prince, crossly.

But the little dog was so used to beingpetted that he only jumped up on hismaster, and tried to kiss his hand. Theprince turned and kicked the little creature.

At the instant, he felt a sharp prick in hislittle finger, like a pin prick.

"What nonsense!" said the prince tohimself. "Am I not king of the wholeland? May I not kick my own dog, if Ichoose? What evil is there in that?"

A silver voice spoke in his ear: "Theking of the land has a right to do good,but not evil; you have been guilty of badtemper and of cruelty to-day; see thatyou do better to-morrow."

The prince turned sharply, but no onewas to be seen; yet he recognized the voiceas that of Fairy Candide.

He followed her advice for a little, butpresently he forgot, and the ring prickedhim so sharply that his finger had a dropof blood on it. This happened again andagain, for the prince grew more self-willedand headstrong every day; he had somebad friends, too, who urged him on, in thehope that he would ruin himself and givethem a chance to seize the throne. Hetreated his people carelessly and his servantscruelly, and everything he wantedhe felt that he must have.

The ring annoyed him terribly; it wasembarrassing for a king to have a dropof blood on his finger all the time! Atlast he took the ring off and put it outof sight. Then he thought he should beperfectly happy, having his own way; butinstead, he grew more unhappy as he grewless good. Whenever he was crossed, orcould not have his own way instantly, heflew into a passion,

Finally, he wanted something that hereally could not have. This time it was amost beautiful young girl, named Zelia;

the prince saw her, and loved her so muchthat he wanted at once to make her hisqueen. To his great astonishment, sherefused.

"Am I not pleasing to you?" asked theprince in surprise.

"You are very handsome, very charming,Prince," said Zelia; "but you are notlike the good king, your father; I fear youwould make me very miserable if I wereyour queen."

In a great rage, Prince Cherry orderedthe young girl put in prison; and the key ofher dungeon he kept. He told one of hisfriends, a wicked man who flattered himfor his own purposes, about the thing,and asked his advice.

"Are you not king?" said the bad friend,"May you not do as you will? Keep thegirl in a dungeon till she does as you command,and if she will not, sell her as aslave."

"But would it not be a disgrace for meto harm an innocent creature?" said theprince.

"It would be a disgrace to you to haveit said that one of your subjects dareddisobey you!" said the courtier.

He had cleverly touched the Prince'sworst trait, his pride. Prince Cherry wentat once to Zelia's dungeon, prepared todo this cruel thing.

Zelia was gone. No one had the keysave the prince himself; yet she was gone.The only person who could have daredto help her, thought the prince, was hisold tutor, Suliman, the only man left who

ever rebuked him for anything. In fury,he ordered Suliman to be put in fettersand brought before him.

As his servants left him, to carry outthe wicked order, there was a clash, as ofthunder, in the room, and then a blindinglight. Fairy Candide stood before him.Her beautiful face was stern, and her silvervoice rang like a trumpet, as she said,"Wicked and selfish prince, you havebecome baser than the beasts you hunt;you are furious as a lion, revengeful as aserpent, greedy as a wolf, and brutal as abull; take, therefore, the shape of thosebeasts whom you resemble!"

With horror, the prince felt himselfbeing transformed into a monster. He triedto rush upon the fairy and kill her, butshe had vanished with her words. As hestood, her voice came from the air, saying,sadly, "Learn to conquer your pride bybeing in submission to your own subjects."At the same moment, Prince Cherry felthimself being transported to a distantforest, where he was set down by a clearstream. In the water he saw his ownterrible image; he had the head of a lion, withbull's horns, the feet of a wolf, and a taillike a serpent. And as he gazed in horror,the fairy's voice whispered, "Your soulhas become more ugly than your shape is;you yourself have deformed it."

The poor beast rushed away from thesound of her words, but in a moment hestumbled into a trap, set by bear-catchers.When the trappers found him they weredelighted to have caught a curiosity, andthey immediately dragged him to the palacecourtyard. There he heard the wholecourt buzzing with gossip. Prince Cherryhad been struck by lightning and killed,was the news, and the five favorite courtiers

had struggled to make themselvesrulers, but the people had refused them,and offered the crown to Suliman, thegood old tutor.

Even as he heard this, the prince sawSuliman on the steps of the palace, speakingto the people. "I will take the crownto keep in trust," he said. "Perhaps theprince is not dead."

"He was a bad king; we do not wanthim back," said the people.

"I know his heart," said Suliman, "itis not all bad; it is tainted, but not corrupt;perhaps he will repent and come back tous a good king."

When the beast heard this, it touchedhim so much that he stopped tearing athis chains, and became gentle. He let hiskeepers lead him away to the royalmenagerie without hurting them.

Life was very terrible to the prince, now,but he began to see that he had broughtall his sorrow on himself, and he tried tobear it patiently. The worst to bear wasthe cruelty of the keeper. At last, onenight, this keeper was in great danger; atiger got loose, and attacked him. "Goodenough! Let him die!" thought PrinceCherry. But when he saw how helplessthe keeper was, he repented, and sprangto help. He killed the tiger and saved thekeeper's life.

As he crouched at the keeper's feet, avoice said, "Good actions never gounrewarded!" And the terrible monster waschanged into a pretty little white dog.

The keeper carried the beautiful littledog to the court and told the story, and

from then on, Cherry was carefully treated,and had the best of everything. But inorder to keep the little dog from growing,the queen ordered that he should be fedvery little, and that was pretty hard forthe poor prince. He was often half starved,although so much petted.

One day he had carried his crust ofbread to a retired spot in the palace woods,where he loved to be, when he saw a poorold woman hunting for roots, and seemingalmost starved.

"Poor thing," he thought, "she is evenhungrier than I;" and he ran up anddropped the crust at her feet.

The woman ate it, and seemed greatlyrefreshed.

Cherry was glad of that, and he wasrunning happily back to his kennel whenhe heard cries of distress, and suddenly hesaw some rough men dragging along ayoung girl, who was weeping and crying forhelp. What was his horror to see that theyoung girl was Zelia! Oh, how he wishedhe were the monster once more, so thathe could kill the men and rescue her! Buthe could do nothing except bark, and biteat the heels of the wicked men. Thatcould not stop them; they drove him off,with blows, and carried Zelia into a palacein the wood.

Poor Cherry crouched by the steps, andwatched. His heart was full of pity andrage. But suddenly he thought, "I wasas bad as these men; I myself put Zelia inprison, and would have treated her worsestill, if I had not been prevented." Thethought made him so sorry and ashamedthat he repented bitterly the evil he haddone.

Presently a window opened, and Cherrysaw Zelia lean out and throw down a pieceof meat. He seized it and was just goingto devour it, when the old woman to whomhe had given his crust snatched it awayand took him in her arms. "No, you shallnot eat it, you poor little thing," she said,"for every bit of food in that house ispoisoned."

At the same moment, a voice said, "Goodactions never go unrewarded!" Andinstantly Prince Cherry was transformedinto a little white dove.

With great joy, he flew to the openpalace window to seek out his Zelia, to tryto help her. But though he hunted inevery room, no Zelia was to be found.He had to fly away, without seeing her.He wanted more than anything else tofind her, and stay near her, so he flew outinto the world, to seek her.

He sought her in many lands, until oneday, in a far eastern country, he foundher sitting in a tent, by the side of an old,white-haired hermit. Cherry was wild withdelight. He flew to her shoulder, caressedher hair with his beak, and cooed in herear.

"You dear, lovely little thing!" saidZelia. "Will you stay with me? If you will,I will love you always."

"Ah, Zelia, see what you have done!"laughed the hermit. At that instant, thewhite dove vanished, and Prince Cherrystood there, as handsome and charmingas ever, and with a look of kindness andmodesty in his eyes which had never beenthere before. At the same time, the hermitstood up, his flowing hair changed to shining

gold, and his face became a lovelywoman's face; it was the Fairy Candide."Zelia has broken your spell," she said tothe Prince, "as I meant she should, whenyou were worthy of her love."

Zelia and Prince Cherry fell at the fairy'sfeet. But with a beautiful smile she badethem come to their kingdom. In a trice,they were transported to the Prince's palace,where King Suliman greeted them withtears of joy. He gave back the throne,with all his heart, and King Cherry ruledagain, with Zelia for his queen.

He wore the little gold ring all the restof his life, but never once did it have toprick him hard enough to make his fingerbleed.

THE GOLD IN THE ORCHARD[1]

[1] An Italian folk tale.

There was once a farmer who had a fineolive orchard. He was very industrious,and the farm always prospered underhis care. But he knew that his threesons despised the farm work, and wereeager to make wealth fast, through adventure.

When the farmer was old, and felt thathis time had come to die, he called thethree sons to him and said, "My sons,there is a pot of gold hidden in the oliveorchard. Dig for it, if you wish it."

The sons tried to get him to tell themin what part of the orchard the gold washidden; but he would tell them nothing more.

After the farmer was dead, the sons

went to work to find the pot of gold; sincethey did not know where the hiding-placewas, they agreed to begin in a line, at oneend of the orchard, and to dig until one ofthem should find the money.

They dug until they had turned up thesoil from one end of the orchard to theother, round the tree-roots and betweenthem. But no pot of gold was to be found.It seemed as if some one must have stolenit, or as if the farmer had been wanderingin his wits. The three sons were bitterlydisappointed to have all their work fornothing.

The next olive season, the olive trees inthe orchard bore more fruit than they hadever given; the fine cultivating they hadhad from the digging brought so muchfruit, and of so fine a quality, that when itwas sold it gave the sons a whole pot of gold!

And when they saw how much moneyhad come from the orchard, they suddenlyunderstood what the wise father had meantwhen he said, "There is gold hidden inthe orchard; dig for it."

MARGARET OF NEW ORLEANS

If you ever go to the beautiful cityof New Orleans, somebody will be sureto take you down into the old businesspart of the city, where there are banksand shops and hotels, and show you astatue which stands in a little square there.It is the statue of a woman, sitting in a lowchair, with her arms around a child, wholeans against her. The woman is not atall pretty: she wears thick, common shoes,a plain dress, with a little shawl, and a

sun-bonnet; she is stout and short, andher face is a square-chinned Irish face;but her eyes look at you like your mother's.

Now there is something very surprisingabout this statue: it was the first one thatwas ever made in this country in honor of awoman. Even in old Europe there are notmany monuments to women, and most ofthe few are to great queens or princesses,very beautiful and very richly dressed.You see, this statue in New Orleans is notquite like anything else.

It is the statue of a woman namedMargaret. Her whole name was MargaretHaughery, but no one in New Orleansremembers her by it, any more than youthink of your dearest sister by her fullname; she is just Margaret. This is herstory, and it tells why people made amonument for her.

When Margaret was a tiny baby, herfather and mother died, and she wasadopted by two young people as poor andas kind as her own parents. She lived withthem until she grew up. Then she married,and had a little baby of her own. But verysoon her husband died, and then the babydied, too, and Margaret was all alone inthe world. She was poor, but she wasstrong, and knew how to work.

All day, from morning until evening,she ironed clothes in a laundry. And everyday, as she worked by the window, shesaw the little motherless children from theorphan asylum, near by, working and playingabout. After a while, there came agreat sickness upon the city, and so manymothers and fathers died that there weremore orphans than the asylum couldpossibly take care of. They needed a goodfriend, now. You would hardly think,

would you, that a poor woman who workedin a laundry could be much of a friendto them? But Margaret was. She wentstraight to the kind Sisters who had theasylum and told them she was going togive them part of her wages and wasgoing to work for them, besides. Pretty soonshe had worked so hard that she had somemoney saved from her wages. With this,she bought two cows and a little deliverycart. Then she carried her milk to hercustomers in the little cart every morning;and as she went, she begged the left-overfood from the hotels and rich houses, andbrought it back in the cart to the hungrychildren in the asylum. In the very hardesttimes that was often all the food thechildren had.

A part of the money Margaret earnedwent every week to the asylum, and after afew years that was made very much largerand better. And Margaret was so carefuland so good at business that, in spiteof her giving, she bought more cows andearned more money. With this, she builta home for orphan babies; she called ither baby house.

After a time, Margaret had a chanceto get a bakery, and then she became abread-woman instead of a milk-woman.She carried the bread just as she hadcarried the milk, in her cart. And still shekept giving money to the asylum. Thenthe great war came, our Civil War. In allthe trouble and sickness and fear of thattime, Margaret drove her cart of bread;and somehow she had always enough togive the starving soldiers, and for herbabies, besides what she sold. Anddespite all this, she earned enough so thatwhen the war was over she built a bigsteam factory for her bread. By this timeeverybody in the city knew her. The children

all over the city loved her; the businessmen were proud of her; the poor peopleall came to her for advice. She used tosit at the open door of her office, in a calicogown and a little shawl, and give a goodword to everybody, rich or poor.

Then, by and by, one day, Margaretdied. And when it was time to read herwill, the people found that, with all hergiving, she had still saved a great deal ofmoney, and that she had left every centof it to the different orphan asylums ofthe city,--each one of them was givensomething. Whether they were for whitechildren or black, for Jews, Catholics, orProtestants, made no difference; forMargaret always said, "They are all orphansalike." And just think, dears, that splendid,wise will was signed with a crossinstead of a name, for Margaret had neverlearned to read or write!

When the people of New Orleans knewthat Margaret was dead, they said, "Shewas a mother to the motherless; she wasa friend to those who had no friends;she had wisdom greater than schools canteach; we will not let her memory go fromus." So they made a statue of her, just asshe used to look, sitting in her own officedoor, or driving in her own little cart. Andthere it stands to-day, in memory of thegreat love and the great power of plainMargaret Haughery, of New Orleans.

THE DAGDA'S HARP[1]

[1] The facts from which this story was constructed are foundin the legend as given in Ireland's Story, Johnston and Spencer(Houghton, Mifflin, & Co.).

You know, dears, in the old countriesthere are many fine stories about thingswhich happened so very long ago thatnobody knows exactly how much of them istrue. Ireland is like that. It is so old thateven as long ago as four thousand yearsit had people who dug in the mines, andknew how to weave cloth and to makebeautiful ornaments out of gold, and whocould fight and make laws; but we donot know just where they came from, norexactly how they lived. These people leftus some splendid stories about their kings,their fights, and their beautiful women;but it all happened such a long time agothat the stories are mixtures of things thatreally happened and what people said aboutthem, and we don't know just which iswhich. The stories are called LEGENDS. Oneof the prettiest legends is the story I amgoing to tell you about the Dagda's harp.

It is said that there were two quitedifferent kinds of people in Ireland: one setof people with long dark hair and darkeyes, called Fomorians--they carried longslender spears made of golden bronzewhen they fought--and another race ofpeople who were golden-haired and blue-eyed, and who carried short, blunt, heavyspears of dull metal.

The golden-haired people had a greatchieftain who was also a kind of highpriest, who was called the Dagda. Andthis Dagda had a wonderful magic harp.The harp was beautiful to look upon,mighty in size, made of rare wood, andornamented with gold and jewels; and ithad wonderful music in its strings, whichonly the Dagda could call out. When themen were going out to battle, the Dagdawould set up his magic harp and sweephis hand across the strings, and a war songwould ring out which would make every

warrior buckle on his armor, brace hisknees, and shout, "Forth to the fight!"Then, when the men came back from thebattle, weary and wounded, the Dagdawould take his harp and strike a fewchords, and as the magic music stole outupon the air, every man forgot his wearinessand the smart of his wounds, andthought of the honor he had won, and ofthe comrade who had died beside him,and of the safety of his wife and children.Then the song would swell out louder,and every warrior would remember onlythe glory he had helped win for the king;and each man would rise at the great tableshis cup in his hand, and shout "Long livethe King!"

There came a time when the Fomoriansand the golden-haired men were at war;and in the midst of a great battle, whilethe Dagda's hall was not so well guardedas usual, some of the chieftains of theFomorians stole the great harp from thewall, where it hung, and fled away withit. Their wives and children and some fewof their soldiers went with them, and theyfled fast and far through the night, untilthey were a long way from the battlefield.Then they thought they were safe, and theyturned aside into a vacant castle, by theroad, and sat down to a banquet, hangingthe stolen harp on the wall.

The Dagda, with two or three of hiswarriors, had followed hard on their track.And while they were in the midst of theirbanqueting, the door was suddenly burstopen, and the Dagda stood there, with hismen. Some of the Fomorians sprang totheir feet, but before any of them couldgrasp a weapon, the Dagda called out tohis harp on the wall, "Come to me, O myharp!"

The great harp recognized its master'svoice, and leaped from the wall. Whirlingthrough the hall, sweeping aside and killingthe men who got in its way, it sprang to itsmaster's hand. And the Dagda took hisharp and swept his hand across the stringsin three great, solemn chords. The harpanswered with the magic Music of Tears.As the wailing harmony smote upon theair, the women of the Fomorians bowedtheir heads and wept bitterly, the strongmen turned their faces aside, and the littlechildren sobbed.

Again the Dagda touched the strings,and this time the magic Music of Mirthleaped from the harp. And when theyheard that Music of Mirth, the youngwarriors of the Fomorians began to laugh;they laughed till the cups fell from theirgrasp, and the spears dropped from theirhands, while the wine flowed from thebroken bowls; they laughed until theirlimbs were helpless with excess of glee.

Once more the Dagda touched his harp,but very, very softly. And now a musicstole forth as soft as dreams, and as sweetas joy: it was the magic Music of Sleep.When they heard that, gently, gently, theFomorian women bowed their heads inslumber; the little children crept to theirmothers' laps; the old men nodded; andthe young warriors drooped in their seatsand closed their eyes: one after anotherall the Fomorians sank into sleep.

When they were all deep in slumber,the Dagda took his magic harp, and he andhis golden-haired warriors stole softlyaway, and came in safety to their ownhomes again.

THE TAILOR AND THE THREE BEASTS[1]

[1] From Beside the Fire, Douglas Hyde (David Nutt, London).

There was once a tailor in Galway, andhe started out on a journey to go to theking's court at Dublin.

He had not gone far till he met a whitehorse, and he saluted him.

"God save you," said the tailor.

"God save you," said the horse. "Whereare you going?"

"I am going to Dublin," said the tailor,"to build a court for the king and to get alady for a wife, if I am able to do it." For,it seems the king had promised his daughterand a great lot of money to any one whoshould be able to build up his court. Thetrouble was, that three giants lived in thewood near the court, and every night theycame out of the wood and threw downall that was built by day. So nobody couldget the court built.

"Would you make me a hole," saidthe old white garraun, "where I could goa-hiding whenever the people are for bringingme to the mill or the kiln, so that theywon't see me; for they have me perisheddoing work for them."

"I'll do that, indeed," said the tailor,"and welcome."

He brought his spade and shovel, andhe made a hole, and he said to the old whitehorse to go down into it till he would seeif it would fit him. The white horse wentdown into the hole, but when he tried tocome up again, he was not able.

"Make a place for me now," said thewhite horse, "by which I'll come up outof the hole here, whenever I'll be hungry."

"I will not," said the tailor; "remainwhere you are until I come back, and I'lllift you up."

The tailor went forward next day, andthe fox met him.

"God save you," said the fox.

"God save you," said the tailor.

"Where are you going," said the fox.

"I'm going to Dublin, to try will I beable to make a court for the king."

"Would you make a place for me whereI'd go hiding?" said the fox. "The restof the foxes do be beating me, and theydon't allow me to eat anything withthem."

"I'll do that for you," said the tailor.

He took his axe and his saw, and hemade a thing like a crate, and he told thefox to get into it till he would see whetherit would fit him. The fox went into it,and when the tailor got him down, heshut him in. When the fox was satisfied atlast that he had a nice place of it within,he asked the tailor to let him out, and thetailor answered that he would not.

"Wait there until I come back again,"says he.

The tailor went forward the next day,and he had not walked very far until hemet a modder-alla; and the lion greeted

him.

"God save you," said the lion.

"God save you," said the tailor.

"Where are you going?" said the lion.

"I'm going to Dublin till I make a courtfor the king if I'm able to make it," saidthe tailor.

"If you were to make a plough for me,"said the lion, "I and the other lions couldbe ploughing and harrowing until we'dhave a bit to eat in the harvest."

"I'll do that for you," said the tailor.

He brought his axe and his saw, and hemade a plough. When the plough wasmade he put a hole in the beam of it, andhe said to the lion to go in under the ploughtill he'd see was he any good of a ploughman.He placed the lion's tail in the holehe had made for it, and then clapped in apeg, and the lion was not able to draw outhis tail again.

"Loose me out now," said the lion, "andwe'll fix ourselves and go ploughing."

The tailor said he would not loose himout until he came back himself. He lefthim there then, and he came to Dublin.

When he came to Dublin, he got workmenand began to build the court. At theend of the day he had the workmen put agreat stone on top of the work. When thegreat stone was raised up, the tailor putsome sort of contrivance under it, that hemight be able to throw it down as soon asthe giant would come as far as it. Theworkpeople went home then, and the tailor

went in hiding behind the big stone.

When the darkness of the night was come,he saw the three giants arriving, and theybegan throwing down the court until theycame as far as the place where the tailorwas in hiding up above, and a man of themstruck a blow of his sledge on the placewhere he was. The tailor threw down thestone, and it fell on him and killed him.They went home then and left all of thecourt that was remaining without throwingit down, since a man of themselves wasdead.

The tradespeople came again the nextday, and they were working until night,and as they were going home the tailortold them to put up the big stone on thetop of the work, as it had been the nightbefore. They did that for him, went home,and the tailor went in hiding the same ashe did the evening before.

When the people had all gone to rest, thetwo giants came, and they were throwingdown all that was before them, and as soonas they began, they put two shouts out ofthem. The tailor was going on manoeuvringuntil he threw down the great stone,and it fell upon the skull of the giant thatwas under him, and it killed him. Therewas only the one giant left in it then, andhe never came again until the court wasfinished.

Then when the work was over, the tailorwent to the king and told him to give himhis wife and his money, as he had the courtfinished; and the king said he would notgive him any wife until he would kill theother giant, for he said that it was not byhis strength he killed the two giantsbefore that, and that he would give himnothing now until he killed the other one

for him. Then the tailor said that hewould kill the other giant for him, andwelcome; that there was no delay at allabout that.

The tailor went then till he came to theplace where the other giant was, and askeddid he want a servant-boy. The giant saidhe did want one, if he could get one whowould do everything that he would do himself.

"Anything that you will do, I will doit," said the tailor.

They went to their dinner then, andwhen they had it eaten, the giant askedthe tailor "would it come with him to swallowas much broth as himself, up out ofits boiling." The tailor said, "It will comewith me to do that, but that you must giveme an hour before we begin on it." Thetailor went out then, and he got a sheep-skin, and he sewed it up till he made a bagof it, and he slipped it down under hiscoat. He came in then and said to the giantto drink a gallon of the broth himself first.The giant drank that up out of its boiling."I'll do that," said the tailor. He wasgoing on until he had it all poured into theskin, and the giant thought he had it drunk.The giant drank another gallon then, andthe tailor let another gallon down into theskin, but the giant thought he was drinking it.

"I'll do a thing now that it won't comewith you to do," said the tailor.

"You will not," said the giant. "Whatis it you would do?"

"Make a hole and let out the brothagain," said the tailor.

"Do it yourself first," said the giant.

The tailor gave a prod of the knife, andhe let the broth out of the skin.

"Do that you," said he.

"I will," said the giant, giving such aprod of the knife into his own stomachthat he killed himself. That is the waythe tailor killed the third giant.

He went to the king then, and desiredhim to send him out his wife and his money,for that he would throw down the courtagain unless he should get the wife. Theywere afraid then that he would throw downthe court, and they sent the wife to him.

When the tailor was a day gone,himself and his wife, they repented andfollowed him to take his wife off him again.The people who were after him werefollowing him till they came to the placewhere the lion was, and the lion said tothem: "The tailor and his wife were hereyesterday. I saw them going by, and if yeloose me now, I am swifter than ye, and Iwill follow them till I overtake them."When they heard that, they loosed out thelion.

The lion and the people of Dublin wenton, and they were pursuing him, until theycame to the place where the fox was, andthe fox greeted them, and said: "The tailorand his wife were here this morning, andif ye will loose me out, I am swifter thanye, and I will follow them, and overtakethem." They loosed out the fox then.

The lion and the fox and the army ofDublin went on then, trying would theycatch the tailor, and they were going tillthey came to the place where the old whitegarraun was, and the old white garraunsaid to them that the tailor and his wife

were there in the morning, and "Loose meout," said he; "I am swifter than ye, andI'll overtake them." They loosed out theold white garraun then, and the old whitegarraun, the fox, the lion, and the armyof Dublin pursued the tailor and his wifetogether, and it was not long till they cameup with him, and saw himself and the wifeout before them.

When the tailor saw them coming, hegot out of the coach with his wife, and hesat down on the ground.

When the old white garraun saw thetailor sitting down on the ground, he said,"That's the position he had when he madethe hole for me, that I couldn't come upout of, when I went down into it. I'll gono nearer to him."

"No!" said the fox, "but that's the wayhe was when he was making the thing forme, and I'll go no nearer to him."

"No!" says the lion, "but that's the veryway he had, when he was making the ploughthat I was caught in. I'll go no nearerto him."

They all went from him then andreturned. The tailor and his wife came hometo Galway.

THE CASTLE OF FORTUNE[1]

[1] Adapted from the German of Der Faule und der Fleissigeby Robert Reinick.

One lovely summer morning, just as thesun rose, two travelers started on a journey.They were both strong young men, but one

was a lazy fellow and the other was aworker.

As the first sunbeams came over thehills, they shone on a great castle standingon the heights, as far away as the eyecould see. It was a wonderful and beautifulcastle, all glistening towers that gleamedlike marble, and glancing windows thatshone like crystal. The two young menlooked at it eagerly, and longed to gonearer.

Suddenly, out of the distance, somethinglike a great butterfly, of white and gold,swept toward them. And when it camenearer, they saw that it was a most beautifullady, robed in floating garments as fine ascobwebs and wearing on her head a crownso bright that no one could tell whetherit was of diamonds or of dew. She stood,light as air, on a great, shining, golden ball,which rolled along with her, swifter thanthe wind. As she passed the travelers, sheturned her face to them and smiled.

"Follow me!" she said.

The lazy man sat down in the grasswith a discontented sigh. "She has an easytime of it!" he said.

But the industrious man ran after thelovely lady and caught the hem of herfloating robe in his grasp. "Who are you,and whither are you going?" he asked.

"I am the Fairy of Fortune," thebeautiful lady said, "and that is my castle. Youmay reach it to-day, if you will; there istime, if you waste none. If you reach itbefore the last stroke of midnight, I willreceive you there, and will be your friend.But if you come one second after midnight,it will be too late."

When she had said this, her robe slippedfrom the traveler's hand and she was gone.

The industrious man hurried back to hisfriend, and told him what the fairy hadsaid.

"The idea!" said the lazy man, and helaughed; "of course, if a body had a horsethere would be some chance, but WALK allthat way? No, thank you!"

"Then good-by," said his friend, "I amoff." And he set out, down the roadtoward the shining castle, with a good steadystride, his eyes straight ahead.

The lazy man lay down in the soft grass,and looked rather wistfully at the farawaytowers. "If I only had a good horse!"he sighed.

Just at that moment he felt somethingwarm nosing about at his shoulder, andheard a little whinny. He turned round,and there stood a little horse! It was adainty creature, gentle-looking, and finelybuilt, and it was saddled and bridled.

"Hola!" said the lazy man. "Luckoften comes when one isn't looking forit!" And in an instant he had leaped onthe horse, and headed him for the castleof fortune. The little horse started at afine pace, and in a very few minutes theyovertook the other traveler, plodding alongon foot.

"How do you like shank's mare?"laughed the lazy man, as he passed hisfriend.

The industrious man only nodded, andkept on with his steady stride, eyes straight

ahead.

The horse kept his good pace, and bynoon the towers of the castle stood outagainst the sky, much nearer and morebeautiful. Exactly at noon, the horseturned aside from the road, into a shadygrove on a hill, and stopped.

"Wise beast," said his rider; "`hastemakes waste,' and all things are betterin moderation. I'll follow your example,and eat and rest a bit." He dismountedand sat down in the cool moss, with hisback against a tree. He had a lunch in histraveler's pouch, and he ate it comfortably.Then he felt drowsy from the heat and theearly ride, so he pulled his hat over hiseyes, and settled himself for a nap. "Itwill go all the better for a little rest," hesaid.

That WAS a sleep! He slept like the sevensleepers, and he dreamed the most beautifulthings you could imagine. At last, hedreamed that he had entered the castle offortune and was being received with greatfestivities. Everything he wanted wasbrought to him, and music played whilefireworks were set off in his honor. Themusic was so loud that he awoke. Hesat up, rubbing his eyes, and behold, thefireworks were the very last rays of thesetting sun, and the music was the voiceof the other traveler, passing the groveon foot!

"Time to be off," said the lazy man,and looked about him for the pretty horse.No horse was to be found. The only livingthing near was an old, bony, gray donkey.The man called, and whistled, and looked,but no little horse appeared. After a longwhile he gave it up, and, since there wasnothing better to do, he mounted the old

gray donkey and set out again.

The donkey was slow, and he was hardto ride, but he was better than nothing;and gradually the lazy man saw thetowers of the castle draw nearer.

Now it began to grow dark; in the castlewindows the lights began to show. Thencame trouble! Slower, and slower, went thegray donkey; slower, and slower, till, inthe very middle of a pitch-black wood, hestopped and stood still. Not a step wouldhe budge for all the coaxing and scoldingand beating his rider could give. At lastthe rider kicked him, as well as beat him,and at that the donkey felt that he had hadenough. Up went his hind heels, and downwent his head, and over it went the lazyman on to the stony ground.

There he lay groaning for many minutes,for it was not a soft place, I can assureyou. How he wished he were in a soft,warm bed, with his aching bonescomfortable in blankets! The very thought ofit made him remember the castle of fortune,for he knew there must be fine bedsthere. To get to those beds he was evenwilling to bestir his bruised limbs, so hesat up and felt about him for the donkey.

No donkey was to be found.

The lazy man crept round and roundthe spot where he had fallen, scratched hishands on the stumps, tore his face in thebriers, and bumped his knees on the stones.But no donkey was there. He would havelain down to sleep again, but he couldhear now the howls of hungry wolves inthe woods; that did not sound pleasant.Finally, his hand struck againstsomething that felt like a saddle. He graspedit, thankfully, and started to mount his

donkey.

The beast he took hold of seemed verysmall, and, as he mounted, he felt thatits sides were moist and slimy. It gavehim a shudder, and he hesitated; but atthat moment he heard a distant clock strike.It was striking eleven! There was stilltime to reach the castle of fortune, but nomore than enough; so he mounted his newsteed and rode on once more. The animalwas easier to sit on than the donkey, andthe saddle seemed remarkably high behind;it was good to lean against. Buteven the donkey was not so slow as this;the new steed was slower than he. Aftera while, however, he pushed his way out ofthe woods into the open, and there stoodthe castle, only a little way ahead! All itswindows were ablaze with lights. A rayfrom them fell on the lazy man's beast,and he saw what he was riding: it was agigantic snail! a snail as large as a calf!

A cold shudder ran over the lazy man'sbody, and he would have got off his horridanimal then and there, but just then theclock struck once more. It was the firstof the long, slow strokes that mark mid-night! The man grew frantic when heheard it. He drove his heels into the snail'ssides, to make him hurry. Instantly, thesnail drew in his head, curled up in hisshell, and left the lazy man sitting in a heapon the ground!

The clock struck twice. If the man hadrun for it, he could still have reached thecastle, but, instead, he sat still and shoutedfor a horse.

"A beast, a beast!" he wailed, "any kindof a beast that will take me to the castle!"

The clock struck three times. And as it

struck the third note, something camerustling and rattling out of the darkness,something that sounded like a horse withharness. The lazy man jumped on its back,a very queer, low back. As he mounted, hesaw the doors of the castle open, and sawhis friend standing on the threshold,waving his cap and beckoning to him.

The clock struck four times, and thenew steed began to stir; as it struck five,he moved a pace forward; as it strucksix, he stopped; as it struck seven, heturned himself about; as it struck eight,he began to move backward, away fromthe castle!

The lazy man shouted, and beat him,but the beast went slowly backward. Andthe clock struck nine. The man tried toslide off, then, but from all sides of hisstrange animal great arms came reachingup and held him fast. And in the next rayof moonlight that broke the dark clouds, hesaw that he was mounted on a monster crab!

One by one, the lights went out, in thecastle windows. The clock struck ten.Backward went the crab. Eleven! Stillthe crab went backward. The clock strucktwelve! Then the great doors shut with aclang, and the castle of fortune was closedforever to the lazy man.

What became of him and his crab noone knows to this day, and no one cares.But the industrious man was received bythe Fairy of Fortune, and made happy inthe castle as long as he wanted to stay.And ever afterward she was his friend,helping him not only to happiness forhimself, but also showing him how to helpothers, wherever he went.

DAVID AND GOLIATH[1]

[1] From the text of the King James version of the OldTestament, with introduction and slight interpolations, changesof order, and omissions.

A long time ago, there was a boy namedDavid, who lived in a country far east ofthis. He was good to look upon, for hehad fair hair and a ruddy skin; and hewas very strong and brave and modest.He was shepherd-boy for his father, andall day--often all night--he was out inthe fields, far from home, watching overthe sheep. He had to guard them fromwild animals, and lead them to the rightpastures, and care for them.

By and by, war broke out between thepeople of David's country and a peoplethat lived near at hand; these men werecalled Philistines, and the people of David'scountry were named Israel. All the strongmen of Israel went up to the battle, tofight for their king. David's three olderbrothers went, but he was only a boy, sohe was left behind to care for the sheep.

After the brothers had been gone sometime, David's father longed very much tohear from them, and to know if they weresafe; so he sent for David, from the fields,and said to him, "Take now for thy brothersan ephah of this parched corn, andthese ten loaves, and run to the camp,where thy brothers are; and carry theseten cheeses to the captain of their thousand,and see how thy brothers fare, and bringme word again." (An ephah is about threepecks.)

David rose early in the morning, andleft the sheep with a keeper, and took the

corn and the loaves and the cheeses, as hisfather had commanded him, and went tothe camp of Israel.

The camp was on a mountain; Israelstood on a mountain on the one side, andthe Philistines stood on a mountain on theother side; and there was a valley betweenthem. David came to the place where theIsraelites were, just as the host was goingforth to the fight, shouting for the battle.So he left his gifts in the hands of the keeperof the baggage, and ran into the army,amongst the soldiers, to find his brothers.When he found them, he saluted them andbegan to talk with them.

But while he was asking them thequestions his father had commanded, therearose a great shouting and tumult amongthe Israelites, and men came running backfrom the front line of battle; everythingbecame confusion. David looked to seewhat the trouble was, and he saw a strangesight: on the hillside of the Philistines, awarrior was striding forward, calling outsomething in a taunting voice; he was agigantic man, the largest David had everseen, and he was all dressed in armor,that shone in the sun: he had a helmet ofbrass upon his head, and he was armedwith a coat of mail, and he had greaves ofbrass upon his legs, and a target of brassbetween his shoulders; his spear was sotremendous that the staff of it was like aweaver's beam, and his shield so great thata man went before him, to carry it.

"Who is that?" asked David.

"It is Goliath, of Gath, champion ofthe Philistines," said the soldiers about."Every day, for forty days, he has comeforth, so, and challenged us to send a managainst him, in single combat; and since

no one dares to go out against him alone,the armies cannot fight." (That was oneof the laws of warfare in those times.)

"What!" said David, "does none darego out against him?"

As he spoke, the giant stood still, onthe hillside opposite the Israelitish host,and shouted his challenge, scornfully. Hesaid, "Why are ye come out to set yourbattle in array? Am I not a Philistine,and ye servants of Saul? Choose you aman for you, and let him come downto me. If he be able to fight with me,and to kill me, then will we be yourservants; but if I prevail against him, andkill him, then shall ye be our servants,and serve us. I defy the armies of Israelthis day; give me a man, that we mayfight together!"

When King Saul heard these words, hewas dismayed, and all the men of Israel,when they saw the man, fled from himand were sore afraid. David heard themtalking among themselves, whispering andmurmuring. They were saying, "Have yeseen this man that is come up? Surelyif any one killeth him that man will theking make rich; perhaps he will give himhis daughter in marriage, and make hisfamily free in Israel!"

David heard this, and he asked the menif it were so. It was surely so, they said.

"But," said David, "who is this Philistine,that he should defy the armies ofthe living God?" And he was stirred withanger.

Very soon, some of the officers told theking about the youth who was asking somany questions, and who said that a mere

Philistine should not be let defy the armiesof the living God. Immediately Saul sentfor him. When David came before Saul,he said to the king, "Let no man's heartfail because of him; thy servant will go andfight with this Philistine."

But Saul looked at David, and said,"Thou art not able to go against thisPhilistine, to fight with him, for thou art but ayouth, and he has been a man of war fromhis youth."

Then David said to Saul, "Once I waskeeping my father's sheep, and there camea lion and a bear, and took a lamb out ofthe flock; and I went out after the lion,and struck him, and delivered the lambout of his mouth, and when he arose againstme, I caught him by the beard, and struckhim, and slew him! Thy servant slew boththe lion and the bear; and this Philistineshall be as one of them, for he hath defiedthe armies of the living God. The Lord,who delivered me out of the paw of thelion and out of the paw of the bear, he willdeliver me out of the hand of this Philistine."

"Go," said Saul, "and the Lord be withthee!"

And he armed David with his own armor,--he put a helmet of brass upon his head,and armed him with a coat of mail. Butwhen David girded his sword upon hisarmor, and tried to walk, he said to Saul,"I cannot go with these, for I am notused to them." And he put them off.

Then he took his staff in his hand andwent and chose five smooth stones out ofthe brook, and put them in a shepherd'sbag which he had; and his sling was in hishand; and he went out and drew near tothe Philistine.

And the Philistine came on and drewnear to David; and the man that bore hisshield went before him. And when thePhilistine looked about and saw David, hedisdained him, for David was but a boy,and ruddy, and of a fair countenance. Andhe said to David, "Am I a dog, that thoucomest to me with a cudgel?" And withcurses he cried out again, "Come to me,and I will give thy flesh unto the fowls ofthe air, and to the beasts of the field."

But David looked at him, and answered,"Thou comest to me with a sword, andwith a spear, and with a shield; but I cometo thee in the name of the Lord of hosts,the God of the armies of Israel, whomthou hast defied. This day will the Lorddeliver thee into my hand; and I will smitethee, and take thy head from thee, and Iwill give the carcasses of the host of thePhilistines this day unto the fowls of theair, and to the wild beasts of the earth,that all the earth may know that there is aGod in Israel! And all this assembly shallknow that the Lord saveth not with swordand spear; for the battle is the Lord's,and he will give you into our hands."

And then, when the Philistine arose,and came, and drew nigh to meet David,David hasted, and ran toward the armyto meet the Philistine. And when he wasa little way from him, he put his hand inhis bag, and took thence a stone, and putit in his sling, and slung it, and smote thePhilistine in the forehead, so that the stonesank into his forehead; and he fell on hisface to the earth.

And David ran, and stood upon thePhilistine, and took his sword, and drewit out of its sheath, and slew him with it.

Then, when the Philistines saw that theirchampion was dead, they fled. But thearmy of Israel pursued them, and victorywas with the men of Israel.

And after the battle, David was takento the king's tent, and made a captain overmany men; and he went no more to hisfather's house, to herd the sheep, but becamea man, in the king's service.

THE SHEPHERD'S SONG

David had many fierce battles to fightfor King Saul against the enemies of Israel,and he won them all. Then, later, he hadto fight against the king's own soldiers, tosave himself, for King Saul grew wickedlyjealous of David's fame as a soldier, andtried to kill him. Twice, when David hada chance to kill the king, he let him gosafe; but even then, Saul kept on trying totake his life, and David was kept awayfrom his home and land as if he were anenemy.

But when King Saul died, the peoplechose David for their king, because therewas no one so brave, so wise, or so faithfulto God. King David lived a long time,and made his people famous for victoryand happiness; he had many troublesand many wars, but he always trustedthat God would help him, and he neverdeserted his own people in any hardplace.

After a battle, or when it was a holiday,or when he was very thankful forsomething, King David used to make songs,and sing them before the people. Someof these songs were so beautiful that they

have never been forgotten. After all thesehundreds and hundreds of years, we singthem still; we call them Psalms.

Often, after David had made a song, hischief musician would sing with him, as thepeople gathered to worship God. Sometimesthe singers were divided into twogreat choruses, and went to the service intwo processions; then one chorus wouldsing a verse of David's song, and theother procession would answer with thenext, and then both would sing together;it was very beautiful to hear. Even now,we sometimes do that with the songs ofDavid in our churches.

One of the Psalms that everybody lovesis a song that David made when he rememberedthe days before he came to Saul'scamp. He remembered the days and nightshe used to spend in the fields with thesheep, when he was just a shepherd boy;and he thought to himself that God hadtaken care of him just as carefully as heused to care for the little lambs. It is abeautiful song; I wish we knew the musicthat David made for it, but we onlyknow his words. I will tell it to you now,and then you may learn it, to say foryourselves.

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall notwant.

He maketh me to lie down in greenpastures; he leadeth me beside the stillwaters.

He restoreth my soul; he leadeth mein the paths of righteousness for hisname's sake.

Yea, though I walk through the valleyof the shadow of death, I will fear no evil;

for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staffthey comfort me.

Thou preparest a table before me in thepresence of mine enemies: thou anointestmy head with oil; my cup runneth over.

Surely goodness and mercy shall followme all the days of my life; and I willdwell in the house of the Lord for ever.

THE HIDDEN SERVANTS[1]

[1] Adapted, with quotations, from the poem in The HiddenServants, by Francesca Alexander (Little, Brown & Co.).

This is a legend about a hermit who livedlong ago. He lived high up on the mountain-side in a tiny cave; his food was rootsand acorns, a bit of bread given by apeasant, or a cheese brought by a womanwho wanted his prayers; his work waspraying, and thinking about God. Forforty years he lived so, preaching to thepeople, praying for them, comforting themin trouble, and, most of all, worshipingin his heart. There was just one thing hecared about: it was to make his soul sopure and perfect that it could be one of thestones in God's great Temple of Heaven.

One day, after the forty years, he had agreat longing to know how far along hehad got with his work,--how it looked tothe Heavenly Father. And he prayed thathe might be shown a man--

"Whose soul in the heavenly grace had grown To the selfsame measure as his own; Whose treasure on the celestial shore Could neither be less than his nor more."

As he looked up from his prayer, awhite-robed angel stood in the path beforehim. The hermit bowed before themessenger with great gladness, for he knewthat his wish was answered. "Go to thenearest town," the angel said, "and there,in the public square, you will find amountebank (a clown) making the people laughfor money. He is the man you seek, hissoul has grown to the selfsame stature asyour own; his treasure on the celestialshore is neither less than yours nor more."

When the angel had faded from sight,the hermit bowed his head again, but thistime with great sorrow and fear. Had hisforty years of prayer been a terriblemistake, and was his soul indeed like a clown,fooling in the market-place? He knew notwhat to think. Almost he hoped he shouldnot find the man, and could believe that hehad dreamed the angel vision. But whenhe came, after a long, toilful walk, to thevillage, and the square, alas! there was theclown, doing his silly tricks for the crowd.

The hermit stood and looked at himwith terror and sadness, for he felt that hewas looking at his own soul. The face hesaw was thin and tired, and though it kepta smile or a grin for the people, it seemedvery sad to the hermit. Soon the man feltthe hermit's eyes; he could not go on withhis tricks. And when he had stopped andthe crowd had left, the hermit went anddrew the man aside to a place where theycould rest; for he wanted more thananything else on earth to know what the man'ssoul was like, because what it was, his was.

So, after a little, he asked the clown, verygently, what his life was, what it had been.And the clown answered, very sadly, thatit was just as it looked,--a life of foolish

tricks, for that was the only way of earninghis bread that he knew.

"But have you never been anythingdifferent?" asked the hermit, painfully.

The clown's head sank in his hands."Yes, holy father," he said, "I have beensomething else. I was a thief! I oncebelonged to the wickedest band of mountainrobbers that ever tormented the land, andI was as wicked as the worst."

Alas! The hermit felt that his heart wasbreaking. Was this how he looked to theHeavenly Father,--like a thief, a cruelmountain robber? He could hardly speak,and the tears streamed from his old eyes,but he gathered strength to ask one morequestion. "I beg you," he said, "if youhave ever done a single good deed inyour life, remember it now, and tell itto me;" for he thought that even onegood deed would save him from utterdespair.

"Yes, one," the clown said, "but it wasso small, it is not worth telling; my lifehas been worthless."

"Tell me that one!" pleaded the hermit.

"Once," said the man, "our band brokeinto a convent garden and stole away oneof the nuns, to sell as a slave or to keep fora ransom. We dragged her with us overthe rough, long way to our mountain camp,and set a guard over her for the night. Thepoor thing prayed to us so piteously tolet her go! And as she begged, she lookedfrom one hard face to another with trusting,imploring eyes, as if she could notbelieve men could be really bad. Father,when her eyes met mine something piercedmy heart! Pity and shame leaped up, for

the first time, within me. But I made myface as hard and cruel as the rest, and sheturned away, hopeless.

"When all was dark and still, I stole likea cat to where she lay bound. I put myhand on her wrist and whispered, `Trustme, and I will take you safely home.'I cut her bonds with my knife, and shelooked at me to show that she trusted.Father, by terrible ways that I knew,hidden from the others, I took her safeto the convent gate. She knocked; theyopened; and she slipped inside. And, asshe left me, she turned and said, `God willremember.'

"That was all. I could not go back tothe old bad life, and I had never learnedan honest way to earn my bread. So Ibecame a clown, and must be a clown untilI die."

"No! no! my son," cried the hermit,and now his tears were tears of joy. "Godhas remembered; your soul is in his sighteven as mine, who have prayed andpreached for forty years. Your treasurewaits for you on the heavenly shore justas mine does."

"As YOURS? Father, you mock me!"said the clown.

But when the hermit told him the storyof his prayer and the angel's answer, thepoor clown was transfigured with joy,for he knew that his sins were forgiven.And when the hermit went home to hismountain, the clown went with him. He,too, became a hermit, and spent his timein praise and prayer.

Together they lived, and worked, andhelped the poor. And when, after two

years, the man who had been a clowndied, the hermit felt that he had lost abrother holier than himself.

For ten years more the hermit lived inhis mountain hut, thinking always of God,fasting and praying, and doing no leastthing that was wrong. Then, one day, thewish once more came, to know how hiswork was growing, and once more heprayed that he might see a being--

"Whose soul in the heavenly grace had grown To the selfsame measure as his own; Whose treasure on the celestial shore Could neither be less than his nor more."

Once more his prayer was answered.The angel came to him, and told him togo to a certain village on the other sideof the mountain, and to a small farmin it, where two women lived. In themhe should find two souls like his own, inGod's sight.

When the hermit came to the door of thelittle farm, the two women who lived therewere overjoyed to see him, for every oneloved and honored his name. They puta chair for him on the cool porch, andbrought food and drink. But the hermitwas too eager to wait. He longed greatlyto know what the souls of the two womenwere like, and from their looks he couldsee only that they were gentle and honest.One was old, and the other of middle age.

Presently he asked them about theirlives. They told him the little there was totell: they had worked hard always, in thefields with their husbands, or in the house;they had many children; they had seenhard times,--sickness, sorrow; but theyhad never despaired.

"But what of your good deeds," thehermit asked,--"what have you done forGod?"

"Very little," they said, sadly, for theywere too poor to give much. To be sure,twice every year, when they killed a sheepfor food, they gave half to their poorerneighbors.

"That is very good, very faithful," thehermit said. "And is there any other gooddeed you have done?"

"Nothing," said the older woman,"unless, unless--it might be called a gooddeed--" She looked at the youngerwoman, who smiled back at her.

"What?" said the hermit.

Still the woman hesitated; but at lastshe said, timidly, "It is not much to tell,father, only this, that it is twenty yearssince my sister-in-law and I came to livetogether in the house; we have broughtup our families here; and in all thetwenty years there has never been a crossword between us, or a look that wasless than kind."

The hermit bent his head before thetwo women, and gave thanks in his heart."If my soul is as these," he said, "I amblessed indeed."

And suddenly a great light came intothe hermit's mind, and he saw how manyways there are of serving God. Someserve him in churches and in hermit's cells,by praise and prayer; some poor souls whohave been very wicked turn from theirwickedness with sorrow, and serve himwith repentance; some live faithfully and

gently in humble homes, working, bringingup children, keeping kind and cheerful;some bear pain patiently, for his sake.Endless, endless ways there are, that onlythe Heavenly Father sees.

And so, as the hermit climbed the mountainagain, he thought,--

"As he saw the star-like glow Of light, in the cottage windows far, How many God's hidden servants are!"