Chapters 15
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1 Andrew Jackson's Nick-Name 1:10
They say that the way General Jackson came to be nicknamed Old Hickory is as follows. During the Creek War, he had taken a severe cold, and his soldiers had made a shelter for him of hickory-bark. The next morning, a tipsy soldier, not knowing what he was about, kicked at the bark shelter, and over it went. Jackson, speechless with rage, sprang out of the hickory heap, and rushed towards the drunken offender. "'Why didn't I know you were in there, old hickory?' shouted the soldier. For an instant, a shout of laughter broke from the camp, but one soldier, quicker witted than the others, called, "'Three cheers for old hickory!' The drunken soldier was saved a punishment, Jackson's temper was quieted, his dignity maintained, and he received a new name.
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2 An Angel of Mercy 18:57
An Angel of Mercy by James Baldwin. Part I.
A Plucky Girl. One afternoon, many years ago, there was a timid knock at the door of an old-fashioned house in Boston. The knock was answered by the mistress herself, a gray-haired, stern-faced woman of sixty, who lived there all alone. She opened the door softly, her lips ready to say no to any expected beggar or other person who might ask her for help. But when she saw who was there, she started with surprise, and her face for a moment forgot to wear its accustomed look of severity. "'Why, Dorothy Dix,' she cried, "'where in the world did you come from?' Her tones, in spite of herself, were more kind than harsh. The child who stood on the doorstep was scarcely twelve years of age, a mere slip of a girl, slender and pale.
She was very poorly dressed. On her head was a little calico sunbonnet, faded and worn. On her feet were shoes so poor and ragged that they seemed really worse than none. She was covered with dust. She looked very tired and hot. "'Where in the world did you come from?' repeated the old lady, as she drew the child into the house and shut the door. "'Please, Grandmother,' was the answer. "'I have run away from home, and I have come to tell you about it.' "'Ran away from home, eh?' said the grandmother, taking off the child's bonnet. "'Well, I declare, that is a pretty tale to bring me. Come, sit down, and tell me about it.' "'Yes,' answered Dorothy. "'Things were so bad at our house that I couldn't stand it any longer.
Father has not earned anything for months. He does nothing but write tracts and talk, talk, talk, talk about the wickedness of the world. Mother is very feeble, and yet she works hard and tries to keep everything going. Oh, I cannot tell you of all our misery." "'I should think a girl of your age might help her mother,' said the grandmother severely. "'I have helped her all I could,' said Dorothy. "'But Father will not allow it. He insists that I shall help him. "'And so I am kept busy all day long folding tracts and sowing the leaves and tying them up in bundles. He says that he is going to save the world with those tracts.' "'I see,' said the grandmother. "'And while he is saving the world, he allows his wife and children to suffer for food.' "'That's just it, grandmother, and it's all a mistake.
I couldn't stand it any longer.' and I made up my mind to come and tell you about it. I didn't ask anybody's leave. I just kissed Mother and the boys and told them to be brave, and then I started. And did you walk all the way from Worcester?" Not all the way, Grandmother. The farmers who were driving toward Boston asked me to ride with them, and once a stage-driver took me up and carried me a long way. The people along the road were very kind. And now you are in Boston. What do you expect to do?" "'If you will let me stay with you—' "'Grandmother, I will do everything I can. I will work every hour to earn something to help poor Mother and the boys. I will study, too, so that I may help them more as I grow older.
And I will help you also, Grandmother.' "'You are a plucky girl,' said the Grandmother. "'And I will see what can be done. Since you are here, I cannot turn you away. You shall begin your work and your studies to-morrow.' Thus Dorothea Dix was received into her Grandmother's home. Life had been so hard with her that she had never known what it was to play. Her first remembrance was of work and worry, and of a cheerless home in which hunger and cold were frequent visitors. But she had the pluck which aroused her grandmother's admiration. She worked at whatever came to hand, and sent her earnings home to relieve the loved ones there. She spent her evenings at hard study, and soon knew more than many children of her age who had attended school all their lives.
When she was fourteen, she said to her grandmother, "'I am going back to Worcester tomorrow. I am going to teach a school of little children.' "'You are too young for that,' said the grandmother. "'I know you are old enough in your thinking and acting, but people won't send their children to a school kept by one who looks so girlish as you.' "'We shall see,' said Dorothea. Two days later she was at her mother's house in Worcester. She put on long dresses, she lengthened her sleeves, she tied her hair in a knot at the back of her head, Then she went out to solicit pupils for her school. She was so dignified and womanish that people did not think of her as merely a young girl. The school was opened.
The children loved their teacher, and they learned rapidly. At the end of the term, the patrons were so well pleased that they asked Dorothea to continue her work. But she said, "'I need to learn more so that I can teach better,' and she went back to Boston to study and to work. At nineteen she felt that she was well prepared for teaching. Her grandmother owned a little house in what is called Orange Court, and there Dorothea opened a boarding and day school. The school was so well kept that its fame soon spread to other towns in Massachusetts. Pupils came even from New Hampshire. The young teacher and her assistants had so much to do that any one but Dorothea Dix would have shrunk from undertaking more.
There were no great public schools in Boston at that time. Only a few pupils attended the free schools, and these were not well taught. The children of the poor were neglected, and many were allowed to run the streets and grow up in ignorance and vice. The heart of Dorothea Dix was touched, and she resolved to do what she could to help these unfortunates. She opened a free school in a barn belonging to her grandmother, and gathered as many of the street boys into it as she could. She was now twenty years old, and there was not a busier person in Boston. She arose before daylight, she taught her two schools, she cared for her grandmother, who was now growing feeble, she cared for her two young brothers, whom she had brought to Boston to support and educate.
She studied, studied, until the late hours of night. A much stronger person would have broken down under all this labor. It was only her great will-power that kept her up, and even that was not sufficient long. The strain was too heavy, and she was obliged to give up her schools before she had done a tenth part of what she had marked out to do. After this, we hear of her in various places, writing, serving as a governess in rich families, still studying, and doing all that her strength permitted. At length her mother died, and then her grandmother. Her brothers were grown up and doing well for themselves. There was no longer any one dependent upon her. She had sufficient means to support herself through life.
Most persons would have been inclined to cease studying and working. But not so, Dorothea Dix. A Courageous Woman Dorothea Dix was thirty-five years old when the great work of her life first came into her thoughts. She was thirty-nine when she began it. One day, by accident, she overheard some men talking about the manner in which insane people were treated in certain prisons and almshouses. Her interest was aroused, and she determined to learn more of the matter. At that time there were no great public asylums and hospitals where people with deranged minds could be kindly cared for and skilfully treated. There were private institutions where rich patients were received, but the insane poor were treated like beasts and criminals.
They were shut up in filthy jails, they were chained and flogged, they were denied all the comforts of life. Dorothea Dix determined to do something to lighten the sorrows of these most unfortunate people. She went to every important town in Massachusetts to see and learn for herself. What other woman with feelings so sensitive, so delicate, would have ventured to investigate conditions so touching and horrifying? Wherever she went, the prison doors were opened for her. The jailers seemed in some strange way to recognize her as an angel of mercy, having authority greater than their own. When she had finished her investigations, she sent to the Massachusetts legislature an account of what she had seen and learned.
"'Gentlemen,' she said, "'I call your attention to the present state of insane persons confined within this commonwealth in cages, closets, cellars, stalls, pens.' Chained, naked, beaten with rods, and lashed into obedience. Very much of what she wrote is too horrible to be repeated here. She told of women who were kept in chains, of men with iron collars riveted around their necks, or a lunatic half-frozen behind iron bars, of others who were fed like pigs in a filthy pen. People were shocked at the story. The almshouse keepers and the jailers said it was all a slanderous lie. But the best men and women in the state were convinced of its truth. The legislature passed laws to remedy some of the greatest of the evils, and provided money for the building and maintenance of public asylums.
Dorothea Dix knew that in other states the condition of the insane was even worse than it had been in Massachusetts. She could not rest while such evils existed anywhere. She went to Rhode Island. She found in Providence a small asylum, poorly managed. As had been the case in her own state, most of the insane people were confined in jails, and in almshouses which were but little better. She made up her mind that the asylum must be enlarged, but the legislature would not give the money. And where was it to come from? She called upon a noted millionaire who had never been known to give any of his money away. She told him the condition of things. She described the misery, the wretchedness of the poor beings she had visited.
He listened silently. When she had finished, he said, "'Well, Miss Dix, what do you want me to do? I want you to give fifty thousand dollars toward the enlargement of the asylum here in Providence.' "'I will do it,' was the answer. The enlargement was made, and the asylum was named Butler Hospital, in honor of the giver. Having thus started the good work in the New England states, Dorothea Dix went next to New Jersey. She visited the prisons, She wrote editorials for the leading newspapers. She sent letter after letter to the men of influence in the state. She petitioned the assembly to do something to allay the misery of the unfortunate insane.
Many people called her a meddler, and even worse than that. They wished she had stayed at home. They didn't propose to be taxed for crazy people, they said. But she went boldly before the lawmakers at Trenton, and told them what they must do. Some evenings, she wrote to a friend, I had at once twenty gentlemen for three hours steady conversation. The last evening a rough country member, who had announced in the house that the wants of the insane in New Jersey were all humbug, came to overwhelm me with his arguments. After listening an hour and a half, with wonderful patience, to my details, he suddenly moved into the middle of the parlour and thus delivered himself. "'Ma'am, I bid you good-night.
I do not want for my part to hear anything more. The others can stay if they want to. I am convinced. You've conquered me out and out. I shall vote for the hospital. If you'll come into the house and talk there as you have here, no man that isn't a brute can stand you. And so, when a man's convinced, that's enough. The Lord bless you." And thereupon he departed. The Assembly voted for the hospital. The hospital was built—the largest and best in America. And when the people saw the noble work which was being done through the efforts of Dorothea Dix, they called her a Heaven-sent Angel of Mercy, and the lawmakers at Trenton thanked her in behalf of the State. The next State to be visited was Pennsylvania, and there the same distressing things were seen and told, and the same grand work was performed.
Then a trip was made to the West and the South West, and the prisons and poor-houses in Illinois, Missouri, Arkansas, and Louisiana were examined. There were but few railroads at that time, and most of the journey was made in coaches and wagons. The roads were muddy and rough, the accommodations were poor and rude. Yet, in the interests of the friendless and unfortunate who could not speak for themselves, Dorothea Dix traveled thus for more than ten thousand miles, and visited scenes of misery and distress which strong men would have shuddered at and shunned. She went all over the country, writes a friend, with a moderate valise in her hand, and wearing a plain gray traveling dress with snow-white collar and cuffs.
Her trunk was sent a week ahead with the necessary changes of linen and one plain black silk dress for special occasions. Neatness in everything indicated her well-directed mind. After three years spent in the West, Dorothea Dix went to North Carolina. All opposition faded before her, and the good laws which she advocated were passed by a vote of ten to one. In Alabama she met with the same success. In Mississippi the lawmakers declared that they would not give a dime for the relief of the lunatics in the state. But after they had listened to her appeals, they voted to give all the land that was necessary for the erection of a hospital, three million bricks, and fifty thousand dollars. "'And we will name the asylum the Dix Hospital,' they said, but this she would not permit.
Tennessee, Kentucky, Indiana, Maryland were visited in turn, and everywhere the good work went on. But it is no easy task to persuade men to do justice and love mercy. Dorothea Dix met narrow-minded people everywhere who did all they could against her. They spoke of her unkindly, they placed every sort of obstacle in her way, but nothing discouraged her. "'The tonic I need,' she said, "'is the tonic of opposition.' At last, after many years of toil and perplexity, the one great work of her life seemed finished. In every state of the Union, laws were passed providing for the better care of the unfortunates within its limits. Instead of being confined in jails and pens, these poor people were now housed in large and comfortable asylums.
Instead of being chained and beaten and tortured, they were surrounded with comforts and cared for with kindness. Instead of being treated as criminals and beasts, they were regarded as unfortunate human beings deserving of sympathy and help. And all this had been brought about by the efforts of one woman, Dorothea Dix. She was not satisfied with having accomplished so much in her own country. There were foreign countries in which the old barbarous conditions still prevailed. She went to England. She visited the workhouses and prisons where lunatics and idiots were kept. She made a report of what she saw there—a report so full of distressing and horrifying facts that the whole nation was astonished.
The British government took up the matter, and the lunacy laws of 1857 were passed, providing for hospitals and asylums and humane care. Miss Dix then visited the other countries of Europe, carrying on her good work everywhere. "'I get into all the hospitals and all the prisons I have time to see or strength to explore,' she wrote. The Pope was so much interested in her work that he had a long talk with her, and visited the asylum in Rome in person. Even in Turkey she was received with marked kindness, as one whose life was devoted to the service of humanity. She went to Russia, Sweden, Norway, Denmark, Germany, spending all her time for the helpless and the suffering. She returned to America only a short time before the beginning of the great Civil War.
Scarcely had the first gun of the war been fired when Dorothea Dix, with a company of nurses, was at Washington, offering free service in the hospitals and on the field of battle. The Secretary of War appointed her superintendent of nurses in the military hospitals, and she entered upon her work with all the courage and pluck for which she had been noted through life. She had thousands of helpers to superintend. She distributed the gifts that came for the benefit of the sick and wounded. She made long journeys by land and water. She went from battlefield to battlefield, from camp to camp, carrying with her own hands for many a dying soldier. She took no vacations. Her whole soul was in her work.
Who can estimate the amount of misery that was relieved, or the amount of happiness that was conferred by this one woman? And she did it all—not for gain, but for the love of humanity. She took no pay for her services. She defrayed her expenses from her private purse. At the end of the war it was suggested that Congress should give her a vote of thanks and a large sum of money. "'I will accept nothing,' she said. But I should like the flag of my country. A pair of beautiful flags were therefore made for her, and to them was attached this inscription. In token and acknowledgment of the inestimable services rendered by Miss Dorothea L. Dix for the care, succor, and relief of the sick and wounded soldiers of the United States on the battlefield, in camps and hospitals, During the recent war, and of her benevolent and diligent labors and devoted efforts to whatever might contribute to their comfort and welfare.
These flags now stand in the Memorial Hall at Harvard University. After the war, Dorothea Dix went back to her old work of looking after the unfortunate, insane, and befriending the friendless. She had already been the means of founding thirty-two asylums in this country and in Europe. In her old age she founded two more, these being in Japan. On a large map of the world, it was her pleasure to mark the location of each asylum by a red cross. Her sympathies went out to all suffering creatures. Not only human beings, but animals were the objects of her love. In a crowded part of Boston, she planned a drinking fountain for horses and men, and for it the poet Whittier wrote these lines. Stranger and traveler, drink freely and bestow a kindly thought on her who bade this fountain flow, yet hath for it no claim save as the minister a blessing in God's name.
Drink, and in his peace go. Such a life as that of Dorothea Dix is its own reward, how supremely grand it is when compared with a life that is given to selfishness and ease. Her work lives after her. Its influence and blessing will be felt for ages yet to come.
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3 Babes in the Woods 6:10
Babes in the Woods by John Burroughs.
One day, in early May, Thad and I made an expedition to the Chateauga, a still, dark, deep stream that loiters silently through the woods not far from my cabin. As we paddled along, we were on the alert for any bit of wild life, of bird or beast, that might turn up. There were so many abandoned woodpecker chambers in the small dead trees as we went along that I determined to secure the section of a tree containing a good one to take home and put up for the bluebirds. "'Why don't the bluebirds occupy them here?' inquired Ted. "'Oh,' I replied, "'bluebirds do not come so far into the woods as this. They prefer nesting-places in the open, and near human habitations. After carefully scrutinizing several of the trees, we at last saw one that seemed to fill the bill.
It was a small dead tree trunk, seven or eight inches in diameter, that leaned out over the water and from which the top had been broken. The hole, round and firm, was ten or twelve feet above us. After considerable effort I succeeded in breaking the stub off near the ground, and brought it down into the boat. Just the thing, I said. Surely the bluebirds will prefer this to an artificial box. But lo and behold, it already had bluebirds in it. We had not heard a sound or seen a feather till the trunk was in our hands, when on peering into the cavity we discovered two young bluebirds about half grown. This was a predicament, indeed. Well, The only thing we could do was to stand the tree-trunk up again as well as we could, and as near as we could to where it had stood before.
This was no easy thing, but after a time we had it fairly well replaced, one end standing in the mud of the shallow water and the other resting against a tree. This left the hole to the nest about ten feet below and to one side of its former position. Just then we heard the voice of one of the parent birds, and we quickly paddled to the other side of the stream, fifty feet away, to watch her proceedings, saying to each other, "'Too bad, too bad!' The mother bird had a large beetle in her beak. She alighted upon a limb a few feet above the former site of her nest, looked down upon us, uttered a note or two, and then dropped down confidently to the point in the vacant air where the entrance to her nest had been but a few minutes before.
Here she hovered on the wing a second or two, looking for something that was not there, and then returned to the perch she had just left, apparently not a little disturbed. She hammered the beetle rather excitedly upon the limb a few times, as if it were in some way at fault, then dropped down to try for her nest again. Only vacant air there. She hovers and hovers, her blue wings flickering in the checkered light, Surely that precious hole must be there. But no, again she is baffled, and again she returns to her perch, and mauls the poor beetle till it must be reduced to a pulp. Then she makes a third attempt, then a fourth, and a fifth, and a sixth, till she becomes very much excited. What could have happened?
Am I dreaming? Has that beetle hoot-oed me? she seems to say. And in her dismay she lets the bug drop, and looks bewilderingly about her. Then she flies away through the woods, calling. "'Going for her mate,' I said to Ted. "'She is in deep trouble, and she wants sympathy and help.' In a few minutes we heard her mate answer, and presently the two birds came hurrying to the spot, both with loaded beaks. They perched upon the familiar limb above the side of the nest, and the mate seemed to say, "'My dear, what has happened to you?' I can find that nest. And he dived down and brought up in the empty air just as the mother had done. How he winnowed it with his eager wings! How he seemed to bear on to that blank space!
His mate sat regarding him intently—confident, I think—that he would find the clue. But he did not. Baffled and excited, he returned to the perch beside her. Then she tried again—and Then he rushed down once more, then they both assaulted the place, but it would not give up its secret. They talked, they encouraged each other, and they kept up the search—now one, now the other, now both together. Sometimes they dropped down to within a few feet of the entrance to the nest, and we thought they would surely find it. No, their minds and eyes were intent only upon that square foot of space where the nest had been. Soon they withdrew to a large limb many feet higher up, and seemed to say to themselves, "'Well, it is not there, but it must be here somewhere.
Let us look about.' A few minutes elapsed, when we saw the mother-bird spring from her perch and go straight as an arrow to the nest. Her maternal eye had proved the quicker. She had found her young. Something like reason and common sense had come to her rescue. She had taken time to look about, and behold— There was that precious doorway. She thrust her head into it, then sent back a call to her mate, then went farther in, then withdrew. "'Yes, it is true. They are here—they are here.' Then she went in again, gave them the food in her beak, and then gave place to her mate, who, after similar demonstrations of joy, also gave them his morsel. Ted and I breathed freer. A burden had been taken from our minds and hearts, and we went cheerfully on our way.
We had learned something, too. We had learned that when in the deep woods you think of bluebirds, bluebirds may be nearer than you think.
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4 The Bee Man Of Orn 30:12
The Bee Man of Oren by Frank R Stockton. CHAPTER One. In the ancient country of Orn, There lived an old man who was called the Bee Man, because his whole time was spent in the company of bees. He lived in a small hut, which was nothing more than an immense bee hive, for these little creatures had built their honeycombs in every corner of the one room it contained, on the shelves, under the little table, all about the rough bench on which the old man sat, and even about the headboard and along the sides of his low bed. All day the air of the room was thick with buzzing insects, but this did not interfere in any way with the old bee-man, who walked in among them, ate his meals, and went to sleep without the slightest fear of being stung.
He had lived with the bees so long They had become so accustomed to him, and his skin was so tough and hard, that the bees no more thought of stinging him than they would of stinging a tree or a stone. A swarm of bees had made their hive in a pocket of his old leathern doublet, and when he put on this coat to take one of his long walks in the forest in search of wild bees' nests, he was very glad to have this hive with him, for If he did not find any wild honey, he would put his hand in his pocket and take out a piece of a comb for luncheon. The bees in his pocket worked very industriously, and he was always certain of having something to eat with him wherever he went.
He lived, principally, upon honey, and when he needed bread or meat, He carried some fine combs to a village not far away, and bartered them for other food. He was ugly, untidy, shriveled, and brown. He was poor, and the bees seemed to be his only friends. But for all that he was happy and contented. He had all the honey he wanted, and his bees, whom he considered the best company in the world, were as friendly and sociable as they could be. and seemed to increase in number every day.
One day there stopped at the hut of the Bee Man a junior sorcerer. This young person, who was a student of magic, necromancy, and the kindred arts, was much interested in the Bee Man, whom he had frequently noticed in his wanderings, and he considered him an admirable subject for study. He had got a great deal of useful practice by endeavoring to find out, by the various rules and laws of sorcery, exactly why the old bee-man did not happen to be something that he was not, and why he was what he happened to be. He had studied a long time at this matter, and had found out something. "'Do you know,' he said when the bee-man came out of his hut, That you have been transformed? What do you mean by that?
said the other, much surprised. You have surely heard of animals and human beings who have been magically transformed into different kinds of creatures.
Yes, I have heard of such things, said the bee-man. But what have I been transformed from?
That is more than I know. said the junior sorcerer. But one thing is certain. You ought to be changed back. If you will find out what you have been transformed from, I will see that you are made all right again. Nothing would please me better than to attend to such a case.
And, having a great many things to study and investigate, the junior sorcerer went his way.
This information greatly disturbed the mind of the bee-man. If he had been changed from something else, he ought to be that other thing, whatever it was. He ran after the young man, and overtook him. "'If you know, kind sir,' he said, "'that I have been transformed, you surely are able to tell me what it is that I was.' "'No,' said the junior sorcerer. My studies have not proceeded far enough for that. When I become a senior I can tell you all about it. But in the meantime, it will be well for you to try to discover for yourself your original form, and when you have done that I will get some of the learned masters of my art to restore you to it. It will be easy enough to do that, but you could not expect them to take the time and trouble to find out what it was.
And with these words he hurried away, and was soon lost to view.
Greatly disquieted, the bee-man retraced his steps and went to his hut. Never before had he heard anything which had so troubled him. I wonder what I was transformed from, he thought, seating himself on his rough bench. Could it have been a giant? Or a powerful prince, or some gorgeous being whom the magicians or the fairies wished to punish. It may be that I was a dog or a horse, or perhaps a fiery dragon or a horrid snake. I hope it was not one of these. But, whatever it was, every one has certainly a right to his original form, and I am resolved to find out mine. I will start out early tomorrow morning, and I am sorry now that I have not more pockets to my old doublet, so that I might carry more bees and more honey for my journey.
He spent the rest of the day in making a hive of twigs and straw, and having transferred to this a number of honeycombs and a colony of bees which had just swarmed, he rose before sunrise the next day, and having put on his leathern doublet, And having bound his new hive to his back, he set forth on his quest. The bees were to accompany him, buzzing around him like a cloud. As the Bee-Man passed through the little village, the people greatly wondered at his queer appearance, with the hive upon his back. The Bee-Man is going on a long expedition this time, they said. But no one imagined the strange business on which he was bent.
About noon he sat down under a tree near a beautiful meadow covered with blossoms and ate a little honey. Then he untied his hive and stretched himself out on the grass to rest.
As he gazed upon his bees hovering about him, some going out to the blossoms in the sunshine and some returning laden with the sweet pollen, he said to himself, "'They know just what they have to do, and they do it. But alas for me, I know not what I may have to do. And yet, whatever it may be, I am determined to do it. In some way or other, I will find out what was my original form, and then I will have myself changed back to it.
And now the thought came to him that perhaps his original form might have been something very disagreeable, or even horrid.
But it does not matter, he said sturdily. Whatever I was, that shall I be again. It is not right for any one to retain a form which does not properly belong to him. I have no doubt I shall discover my original form in the same way that I find the trees in which the wild bees hive. When I first catch sight of a bee-tree, I am drawn towards it. I know not how. Something says to me, That is what you are looking for. In the same way, I believe that I shall find my original form. When I see it, I shall be drawn towards it. Something will say to me, That is it.
When the bee-man was rested, he started off again, and in about an hour he entered a fair domain. Around him were beautiful lawns. Grand trees and lovely gardens, while at a little distance stood the stately palace of the Lord of the Domain. Richly dressed people were walking about or sitting in the shade of the trees and arbors. Splendidly comparisoned horses were waiting for their riders, and everywhere were seen signs of opulence and gaiety.
I think, said the bee-man to himself, that I should like to stop here for a time. If it should happen that I was originally like any of these happy creatures, it would please me much. He untied his hive, and hid it behind some bushes, and taking off his old doublet, laid them beside it. It would not do to have his bees flying about him if he wished to go among the inhabitants of this fair domain.
For two days the bee-man wandered about the palace and its grounds, avoiding notice as much as possible, but looking at everything. He saw handsome men and lovely ladies, the finest horses, dogs and cattle that were ever known, beautiful birds in cages, and fishes in crystal globes, and it seemed to him that the best of all living things were here collected.
At the close of the second day, the bee-man said to himself, There is one being here toward whom I feel very much drawn, and that is the lord of the domain. I cannot feel certain that I was once like him, but it would be a very fine thing if it were so, and it seems impossible for me to be drawn toward any other being in the domain when I look upon him, so handsome, rich, and powerful. But I must observe him more closely and feel more sure of the matter, before applying to the sorcerers to change me back into a lord of a fair domain.
The next morning, the bee-man saw the lord of the domain walking in his gardens. He slipped along the shady paths and followed him so as to observe him closely and find out if he were really drawn toward this noble and handsome being. The Lord of the Domain walked on for some time, not noticing that the Bee-Man was behind him. But suddenly turning, he saw the little old man. "'What are you doing here, you vile beggar?' he cried, and he gave him a kick that sent him into some bushes that grew by the side of the path. The Bee-Man scrambled to his feet, and ran as fast as he could to the place where he had hidden his hive and his old doublet. If I am certain of anything, he thought, it is that I was never a person who would kick a poor old man.
I will leave this place. I was transformed from nothing that I see here.
He now travelled for a day or two longer. And then he came to a great black mountain, near the bottom of which was an opening like the mouth of a cave.
This mountain, he had heard, was filled with caverns and underground passages, which were the abodes of dragons, evil spirits, horrid creatures of all kinds. "'Ah, me,' said the bee-man with a sigh, "'I suppose I ought to visit this place.' If I am going to do this thing properly, I should look on all sides of the subject, and I may have been one of those horrid creatures myself. Thereupon he went to the mountain, and as he approached the opening of the passage which led into its inmost recesses, he saw, sitting upon the ground and leaning his back against a tree, a languid youth. "'Good day.' said this individual when he saw the bee-man. Are you going inside? Yes, said the bee-man. That is what I intend to do.
Then, said the languid youth, slowly rising to his feet, I think I will go with you. I was told that if I went in there I should get my energies toned up, and they need it very much, but I did not feel equal. to entering by myself, and I thought I would wait until someone came along. I am very glad to see you, and we will go in together. So the two went into the cave, and they had proceeded but a short distance when they met a very little creature, whom it was easy to recognize as a very imp. He was about two feet high, and resembled in color a freshly polished pair of boots. He was extremely lively and active, and came bounding toward them. "'What did you two people come here for?' he asked.
"'I came,' said the languid youth, "'to have my energies toned up.' "'You have come to the right place,' said the very imp. "'We will tone you up.' And what does the old Bee-man want? He has been transformed from something, and wants to find out what it is. He thinks he may have been one of the things in here.
I should not wonder if that were so, said the very imp, rolling his head on one side and eyeing the Bee-man with a critical gaze. All right, said the very imp. He can go around and pick out his previous existence. We have here all sorts of vile creepers, crawlers, hissers, and snorters. I suppose he thinks anything will be better than a bee-man.
It is not because I want to be better than I am, said the bee-man, that I started out on this search. I have simply an honest desire to become what I originally was.
Oh! "'That is it, is it?' said the other. "'There is an idiotic moon-calf here with a clam-head, which must be just like what you used to be.' "'Nonsense,' said the bee-man. "'You have not the least idea what an honest purpose is. I shall go about and see for myself.' "'Go ahead,' said the very imp, "'and I will attend this fellow who wants to be toned up.' So saying, He joined the languid youth. "'Look here,' said that individual, regarding him with interest. "'Do you black and shine yourself every morning?' "'No,' said the other. "'It is waterproof varnish. "'You want to be invigorated, don't you? "'Well, I will tell you a splendid way to begin. "'You see, that bee-man has put down his hive in his coat with the bees in it.' Just wait till he gets out of sight, and then catch a lot of those bees and squeeze them flat.
If you spread them on a sticky rag and make a plaster and put it on the small of your back, it will invigorate you like everything, especially if some of those bees are not quite dead. "'Yes,' said the languid youth, looking at him with his mild eyes. "'But if I had energy enough to catch a bee—' I would be satisfied. Suppose you catch the lot for me. The subject is changed," said the very imp. We are now about to visit the spacious chamber of the King of the Snapdragons.
That is a flower," said the languid youth. You will find him a gay old blossom," said the other. When he has chased you round his room, and has blown sparks at you, and has snorted and howled and cracked his tail and snapped his jaws like a pair of anvils, your energies will be toned up higher than ever before in your life.
No doubt of it, said the languid youth. But I think I will begin with something a little milder.
Well, then, said the other, There is a flat-tailed demon of the gorge in here. He is generally asleep, and if you say so, you can slip into the farthest corner of his cave, and I'll solder his tail to the opposite wall. Then he will rage and roar, but he can't get at you, for he doesn't reach all the way across his cave. I have measured him. It will tone you up wonderfully to sit there and watch him.
Very likely. said the languid youth. But I would rather stay outside and let you go up in the corner. The performance in that way will be more interesting to me. You are dreadfully hard to please, said the very imp. I have offered them to you loose, and I have offered them fastened to a wall, and now the best thing I can do is to give you a chance at one of— Them that can't move at all. It is the ghastly griffin, and is enchanted. He can't stir so much as the tip of his whiskers for a thousand years. You can go to his cave and examine him just as if he were stuffed, and then you can sit on his back and think how it would be if he should live to be a thousand years old, and he should wake up while you are sitting there.
It would be easy to imagine a lot of horrible things that he would do to you when you look at his open mouth with its awful fangs, his dreadful claws, and his horrible wings all covered with spikes.
"'I think that might suit me,' said the languid youth. "'I would much rather imagine the exercises of these monsters than to see them really going on.' Come on, then," said the very imp, and he led the way to the cave of the ghastly griffin.
The bee-man went by himself through a great part of the mountain, and looked into many of its gloomy caves in recesses, recoiling in horror from most of the dreadful monsters who met his eyes.
While he was wandering about, An awful roar was heard resounding through the passages of the mountain, and soon there came flapping along an enormous dragon, with body black as night and wings and tail fiery red.
In his great foreclaws he bore a little baby. "'Horrible!' exclaimed the bee-man. "'He is taking that little creature to his cave to devour it!' He saw the dragon enter a cave not far away, and following looked in. The dragon was crouched upon the ground with a little baby lying before him. It did not seem to be hurt, but was frightened and crying. The monster was looking upon it with delight, as if he intended to make a dainty meal of it as soon as his appetite should be a little stronger.
It is too bad, thought the bee-man. Somebody ought to do something. And turning around, he ran away as fast as he could.
He ran through various passages until he came to the spot where he had left his beehive. Picking it up, he hurried back, carrying the hive in his two hands before him. When he reached the cave of the dragon, he looked in and saw the monster still crouched over the weeping child. Without a moment's hesitation, the bee-man rushed into the cave and threw his hive straight into the face of the dragon. The bees, enraged by the shock, rushed out in an angry crowd and immediately fell upon the head, mouth, eyes, and nose of the dragon. The great monster, astounded by the sudden attack, and driven almost while by the numberless stings of the bees, sprang back to the farthest portion of his cave, still followed by his relentless enemies, at whom he flapped wildly with his great wings, and struck with his paws.
While the dragon was thus engaged with the bees, the bee-man rushed forward, and seizing the child, he hurried away. He did not stop to pick up his doublet, but kept on until he reached the entrance of the caves. There he saw the very imp hopping along on one leg, and rubbing his back and shoulders with his hands, and stopped to inquire what was the matter, and what had become of the languid youth. "'He is no kind of a fellow,' said the very imp. "'He disappointed me dreadfully. I took him up to the ghastly griffin, and told him the thing was enchanted, and that he might sit on its back and think about what it could do if it was awake.' And when he came near it, the wretched creature opened its eyes, and raised its head, and then you ought to have seen how mad that simpleton was.
He made a dash at me, and seized me by the ears. He kicked and beat me till I can scarcely move.
His energies must have been toned up a good deal, said the bee-man. Toned up? I should say so, cried the other. I raised a howl, and a scissor-jawed clipper came out of his hole, and got after him. But that lazy fool ran so fast that he could not be caught." The bee-man now ran on, and soon overtook the languid youth. "'You need not be in a hurry now,' said the latter, "'for the rules of this institution don't allow the creatures inside to come out of this opening, or to hang around it. If they did, they would frighten away visitors.' They go in and out of holes in the upper part of the mountain.
The two proceeded on their way. "'What are you going to do with that baby?' said the languid youth. "'I shall carry it along with me,' said the bee-man, "'as I go along with my search, and perhaps I may find its mother. If I do not, I shall give it to somebody in that little village yonder.' Anything would be better than leaving it to be devoured by that horrid dragon.
Let me carry it. I feel quite strong enough now to carry a baby.
Thank you," said the bee-man, but I can take it myself. I like to carry something, and I have now neither my hive nor my doublet. It is very well that you had to leave them behind, said the youth. For the bees would have stung the baby. "'My bees never sting babies,' said the other. "'They probably never had a chance,' remarked his companion. They soon entered the village, and after walking a short distance the youth exclaimed, "'Do you see that woman over there sitting at the door of her house? She has beautiful hair, and she is tearing it all to pieces. She should not be allowed to do that.' No, said the bee-man. Her friends should tie her hands.
Perhaps she is the mother of this child, said the youth, and if you give it to her she will no longer think of tearing her hair. But, said the bee-man, you don't really think this is her child. Suppose you go over and see, said the other.
The bee-man hesitated a moment. And then he walked toward the woman. Hearing him coming, she raised her head, and when she saw the child she rushed toward it, snatched it into her arms, and screaming with joy she covered it with kisses. Then with happy tears she begged to know the story of the rescue of her child, whom she had never expected to see again. And she loaded the bee-man with thanks and blessings. The friends and neighbors gathered around, and there was great rejoicing. The mother urged the bee-man and the youth to stay with her, and rest and refresh themselves, which they were glad to do, as they were tired and hungry.
They remained at the cottage all night, and in the afternoon of the next day the bee-man said to the youth, "'It may seem an odd thing to you, But never in all my life have I felt myself drawn towards any living being as I am drawn towards this baby. Therefore I believe that I have been transformed from a baby.
Good," cried the youth. It is my opinion that you have hit the truth. And now would you like to be changed back to your original form? Indeed I would. said the bee-man. I have the strongest yearning to be what I originally was. The youth, who had now lost every trace of languid feeling, took a great interest in the matter, and early the next morning started off to inform the junior sorcerer that the bee-man had discovered what he had been transformed from, and desired to be changed back to it. The junior sorcerer and his learned masters were filled with enthusiasm when they had heard this report, and they at once set out for the mother's cottage. And there by magic arts the bee-man was changed back into a baby.
The mother was so grateful for what the bee-man had done for her that she agreed to take charge of this baby, and to bring it up as her own.
It will be a grand thing for him. said the junior sorcerer, and I am glad that I studied his case. He will now have a fresh start in life, and will have a chance to become something better than a miserable old man living in a wretched hut with no friends or companions but buzzing bees.
The junior sorcerer and his masters then returned to their homes, happy in the success of their great performance. And the youth went back to his home, anxious to begin a life of activity and energy.
Years and years afterwards, when the junior sorcerer had become a senior and was very old indeed, he passed through the country of Orne, and noticed a small hut about which swarms of bees were flying. He approached it, And looking in at the door, he saw an old man in a leathern doublet sitting at a table, eating honey. By his magic art he knew this was the baby which had been transformed from the bee-man. "'Upon my word!' exclaimed the sorcerer. "'He has grown into the same thing again.'" End of The Bee-Man of Oran by Frank R. Stockton Read to you by Patrick Reinhart.
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5 The Boy who Drew Cats 7:31
The Boy Who Drew Cats by Lefcadio Hearn. A long, long time ago, in a small country village in Japan, there lived a poor farmer and his wife. who were very good people. They had a number of children, and found it hard to feed them all. The elder son was strong enough when only fourteen years old to help his father, and the little girls learned to help their mother almost as soon as they could walk. But the youngest child, a little boy, did not seem to be fit for hard work. He was very clever, cleverer than all his brothers and sisters. But he was quite weak and small. And people said that he could never grow very big. So his parents thought that it would be better for him to become a priest than to become a farmer.
They took him with them to the village temple one day, and asked the good old priest who lived there if he would have their little boy for his pupil, and teach him all that a priest should know. The old man spoke kindly to the lad, and asked him some hard questions. So clever were the answers that the priest agreed to take the little fellow into the temple as an acolyte and to educate him for the priesthood. The boy learned quickly what the old priest taught him and was very obedient in most things. But he had one fault. He liked to draw cats during study hours, and to draw cats when cats ought not to have been drawn at all. Whenever he found himself alone, he drew cats. He drew them on the margins of the priest's books, and on all the screens of the temple, on the walls and on the pillars.
Several times the priest told him that this was not right, but he did not stop drawing cats. He drew them because he could not really help it. He had what is called the genius of an artist, and just for that reason he was not quite fit to be an acolyte. A good acolyte should study books. One day, after he had drawn some very clever pictures of cats upon a paper screen, the old priest said to him severely, "'My boy, you must go away from this temple at once. You will never make a good priest, but perhaps you will become a great artist. Now, let me give you a last piece of advice, and be sure you never forget it. Avoid large places at night. Keep to small.' The boy did not know what the priest meant by saying, Avoid large places, keep to small.
He thought and thought, while he was tying up his little bundle of clothes to go away. But he could not understand those words, and he was afraid to speak to the priest any more except to say goodbye. He left the temple very sorrowfully, and began to wonder what he should do. If he went straight home, he felt his father would punish him for having been disobedient to the priest. So he was afraid to go home. All at once he remembered that at the next village, twelve miles away, there was a very big temple. He had heard that there were several priests at that temple, and he made up his mind to go to them and ask them to take him for their acolyte. Now that big temple was closed up, but the boy did not know this fact.
The reason it had been closed up was that a goblin had frightened the priests away. and had taken possession of the place. Some brave warriors had afterwards gone to the temple at night to kill the goblin, but they had never been seen alive again. Nobody had ever told these things to the boy, so he walked all the way to the village, hoping to be kindly treated by the priest. When he got to the village, it was already dark, and all the people were in bed. But he saw the big temple on a hill on the other end of the principal street. And he saw there was a light in the temple. People who tell the story say the goblins used to make that light in order to tempt lonely travelers to ask for shelter.
The boy went at once to the temple and knocked. There was no sound inside. He knocked and knocked again, but still nobody came. At last he pushed gently at the door and was glad to find that it had not been fastened. So he went in and saw a lamp burning, but no priest. He thought that some priests would be sure to come very soon, and he sat down and waited. Then he noticed that everything in the temple was gray with dust and thickly spun over with cobwebs. So he thought to himself that the priests would certainly like to have an acolyte to keep the place clean. He wondered why they had allowed the place to get so dusty. What most pleased him, however, were some big white screens good to paint cats upon.
Though he was tired, he looked at once for a writing-box and found one, and ground some ink, and began to paint cats. He painted a great many cats upon the screens, and then he began to feel very, very sleepy. He was just on the point of lying down to sleep beside one of the screens when he suddenly remembered the words, Avoid large places, keep to small. The temple was very large. He was alone, and as he thought of these words, though he could not quite understand them, he began to feel, for the first time, a little afraid, and he resolved to look for a small place in which to sleep. He found a little cabinet with a sliding door and went into it and shut himself up. Then he lay down and fell fast asleep.
Very late in the night he was awakened by a most terrible noise. A noise of fighting and screaming. It was so dreadful that he was afraid to even look through a chink of the little cabinet. He lay very still, holding his breath for fright. The light that had been in the temple went out, but the awful sounds continued and became more awful, and all the temple shook. After a long time, silence came, but the boy was still afraid to move. He did not move until the light of the morning sun shone into the cabinet through the chinks of the little door. Then he got out of his hiding-place very cautiously and looked about. The first thing he saw was that all the floor of the temple was covered with blood, and then he saw, lying dead in the middle of it, an enormous, monstrous rat, a goblin rat, bigger than a cow.
But who or what could have killed it? There was no man or other creature to be seen. Suddenly, the boy observed that the mouths of all the cats that he had drawn the night before were red and wet with blood. Then he knew that the goblin had been killed by the cats which he had drawn, and then also, for the first time, he understood why the wise old priest had said to him, Avoid large places at night. Keep to small. Afterwards, that boy became a very famous artist. Some of the cats which he drew are still shown to travelers in Japan. End of The Boy Who Drew Cats by Lafcadio Hearn
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6 Daniel and the Lions 2:07
Daniel and the Lions by Anonymous.
When Darius came to the throne, upon the death of Belshazzar, he set over the kingdom a hundred and twenty princes. Over these he appointed three presidents, of whom Daniel was first. Now the princesses and other presidents were jealous of Daniel, and sought to find some fault against him, but could not, as he was a faithful servant of the king, when they tried to injure him because of his praying to God. So they came to the king and said, King Darius, live forever. All the great officers of thy kingdom have consulted together to establish a royal law that whosoever shall ask a petition of any god or man for thirty days. Save of thee, O king, he shall be cast into a den of lions. The king signed the writing and established the law, but Daniel still knelt and prayed three times a day as before.
His enemies saw him praying and told the king, urging him to carry out the law, but the king was angry with himself that he had agreed to such a law and tried to think of some way to save Daniel.
Then these men urged that the law could not be altered, so Daniel was cast into the den of lions, and a stone was put over the mouth of the den, which was sealed by the king and the lords. But the king had said to Daniel, Thy God, whom thou servest, will deliver thee. The king passed the night fasting, and could not sleep. In the morning, very early, he arose and went to the den of lions, and cried with a lamentable voice, O Daniel, servant of the living God, is thy God able to deliver thee from the lions? Then Daniel said, O king, live forever. My God hath sent his angel and shut the lions' mouths. End of Daniel and the Lions by Anonymous.
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7 The Elf of the Rose 15:23
The Elf of the Rose by Hans Christian Andersen.
In the midst of a garden grew a rose-tree in full blossom, and in the prettiest of all the roses lived an elf. He was such a little wee thing that no human eye could see him. Behind each leaf of the rose he had a sleeping-chamber. He was as well-formed and as beautiful as a little child could be, and had wings that reached from his shoulders to his feet. Oh, what a sweet fragrance there was in his chambers! And how clean and beautiful were the walls! For they were the blushing leaves of the rose. During the whole day he enjoyed himself in the warm sunshine, flew from flower to flower, and danced on the wings of the flying butterflies. Then he took it into his head to measure how many steps he would have to go through the roads and cross-roads that are on the leaf of a linden-tree.
What we call the veins on a leaf he took for roads. Aye, and very long roads they were for him. For before he had half finished his work, the sun went down. He had commenced his work too late. It became very cold. The dew fell, and the wind blew, so he thought the best thing he could do would be to return home. He hurried himself as much as he could, but he found the roses all closed up, and he could not get in. Not a single rose stood open. The poor little elf was very much frightened. He had never before been out at night. He had always slumbered secretly behind the warm rose-leaves. Oh, this would certainly be his death. At the other end of the garden he knew there was an arbor, overgrown with beautiful honeysuckles.
The blossoms looked like large painted horns, and he thought to himself he would go and sleep in one of those till the morning. He flew thither, but hush! Two people were in the arbor—a handsome young man and a beautiful lady. They sat side by side and wished that they might never be obliged to part. They loved each other more than the best child can love its father and mother. But we must part, said the young man. Your brother does not like our engagement, and therefore he sends me so far away on business, over mountains and seas. Farewell, my sweet bride. For so you are to me. And then they kissed each other, and the girl wept, and gave him a rose. But before she did so, she pressed a kiss upon it so fervently that the flower opened.
Then the little elf flew in, and leaned his head on the delicate, fragrant walls. Here he could plainly hear them say, Farewell. Farewell. And he felt that the rose had been placed on the young man's breast. Oh, how his heart did beat! The little elf could not go to sleep. It thumped so loudly. The young man took it out as he walked through the dark wood alone, and kissed the flower so often and so violently that the little elf was almost crushed. He could feel through the leaf How hot the lips of the young man were, and the rose had opened as if from the heat of the noonday sun. Then came another man, who looked gloomy and wicked. He was the wicked brother of the beautiful maiden. He drew out a sharp knife, and while the other was kissing the rose, the wicked man stabbed him to death.
Then he cut off his head and buried it with the body in the soft earth under the linden tree. Now he is gone, and will soon be forgotten, thought the wicked brother. He will never come back again. He was going on a long journey over mountains and seas. It is easy for a man to lose his life in such a journey. My sister will suppose he is dead, for he cannot come back, and she will not dare question me about him. Then he scattered the dry leaves over the light earth with his foot, and went home through the darkness. But he was not alone, as he thought. The little elf accompanied him. He sat in a dry rolled-up linden leaf, which had fallen from the tree on to the wicked man's head as he was digging the grave.
The hat was on the head now, which made it very dark, and the little elf shuddered with fright and indignation at the wicked deed. It was the dawn of morning before the wicked man reached home. He took off his hat and went into his sister's room. There lay the beautiful, blooming girl, dreaming of him whom she loved so, and who was now, she supposed, travelling far away over mountain and sea. Her wicked brother stopped over her, and laughed hideously, as fiends only can laugh. The dry leaf fell out of his hair upon the counterpane, but he did not notice it. and went to get a little sleep during the early morning hours. But the little elf slipped out of the withered leaf, placed himself by the ear of the sleeping girl, and told her, as in a dream, of the horrid murder, described the place where her brother had slain her lover and buried his body, and told her of the linden-tree in full blossom, that stood close by.
"'That you might not think this is only a dream that I have told you,' he said, "'you will find on your bed a withered leaf.' Then she awoke and found it there. Oh, what bitter tears she shed! And she could not open her heart to anyone for relief. The window stood open the whole day. and the little elf could easily have reached the roses or any of the flowers, but he could not find it in his heart to leave one so afflicted. In the window stood a bush bearing monthly roses. He seated himself in one of the flowers and gazed on the poor girl. Her brother often came into the room, and would be quite cheerful, in spite of his base conduct, so she dare not say a word to him of her heart's grief. As soon as night came on, she slipped out of the house, and went into the wood, to the spot where the linden-trees stood.
And after removing the leaves from the earth, she turned it up, and there found him who had been murdered. Oh, how she wept and prayed that she also might die! Gladly she would have taken the body home with her, but that was impossible. So she took up the poor head with the closed eyes, kissed the cold lips, and shook the mold out of the beautiful hair. "'I will keep this,' said she. And as soon as she had covered the body again with the earth and leaves, she took the head and a little sprig of jasmine that blossomed in the wood near the spot where he was buried, and carried them home with her. As soon as she was in her room, she took the largest flower-pot she could find, and in this she placed the head of the dead man, covered it up with earth, and planted the twig of jasmine in it.
Farewell, farewell, whispered the little elf. He could not any longer endure to witness all this agony of grief. He therefore flew away to his own rose in the garden. But the rose was faded. Only a few dry leaves still clung to the green hedge behind it. Alas! How soon all that is good and beautiful passes away! sighed the elf. After a while he found another rose, which became his home, for among its delicate, fragrant leaves he could dwell in safety. Every morning he flew to the window of the poor girl, and always found her weeping by the flower-pot. The bitter tears fell upon the jasmine twig, and each day, as she became paler and paler, the sprig appeared to grow greener and fresher. One shoot after another sprouted forth, and little white buds blossomed, which the poor girl fondly kissed.
But her wicked brother scolded her, and asked her if she was going mad. He could not imagine why she was weeping over that flower-pot, and it annoyed him. He did not know whose closed eyes were there, nor what red lips were fading beneath the earth. And one day she sat and leaned her head against the flower-pot, and the little elf of the rose found her asleep. Then he seated himself by her ear, Talked to her of that evening in the arbor, of the sweet perfume of the rose, and the loves of the elves. Sweetly she dreamed, and while she dreamt, her life passed away calmly and gently, and her spirit was with him whom she loved in heaven. And the jasmine opened its large white bells, And spread forth its sweet fragrance.
It had no other way of showing its grief for the dead. But the wicked brother considered the beautiful blooming plant as his own property left to him by his sister, and he placed it in his sleeping-room, close to his bed, for it was very lovely in appearance, and the fragrance sweet and delightful. The little elf of the rose followed it, and flew from flower to flower, telling each little spirit that dwelt in them the story of the murdered young man, whose head now formed part of the earth beneath him, and of the wicked brother and the poor sister. "'We know it,' said each little spirit in the flowers. "'We know it.' For have we not sprung from the eyes and lips of the murdered one? We know it.
We know it. And the flowers nodded with their heads in a peculiar manner. The elf of the rose could not understand how they could rest so quietly in the matter. So he flew to the bees, who were gathering honey, and told them of the wicked brother. And the bees told it to their queen, Who commanded that the next morning they should go and kill the murderer. But during the night, the first after the sister's death, while the brother was sleeping in his bed, close to where he had placed the fragrant jasmine, every flower-cup opened, and invisibly the little spirits stole out, armed with poisonous spears. They placed themselves by the ear of the sleeper, told him dreadful dreams, and then flew across his lips, and pricked his tongue with their poison spears.
"'Now we have revenge the dead,' said they, and flew back into the white bells of the jasmine flowers. When the morning came, and as soon as the window was opened, The rose-elf with the queen-bee and the whole swarm of bees rushed in to kill him, but he was already dead. People were standing round the bed and saying that the scent of the jasmine had killed him. Then the elf of the rose understood the revenge of the flowers and explained it to the queen-bee, and she with the whole swarm buzzed about the flower-pot. The bees could not be driven away. Then a man took it up to remove it, and one of the bees stung him in the hand so that he let the flower-pot fall, and it was broken to pieces. Then every one saw the whitened skull, and they knew the dead man in the bed was a murderer.
And the queen bee hummed in the air and sang of the revenge of the flowers. and of the elf of the rose, and said that behind the smallest leaf dwells one who can discover evil deeds and punish them also.
End of The Elf of the Rose by Hans Christian Andersen.
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8 The Giant of St Michael's Mount 14:51
The Giant of St. Michael's Mount. Reading by Bologna Times. The Giant of St. Michael's Mount by Mabel Quiller Couch.
I am sure most of you have heard of St. Michael's Mount, the strange, beautiful mountain island which rises up out of the sea down by Penzance, a mountain island with a grand old castle crowning its summit, and a picturesque group of cottages nestling at its base. If you have not, you must coax your parents to take you down there for your next summer holiday. Then you will be able to see the mount, and visit it too. And when you were on it, you must think to yourself, Now I am standing where the great Cormoron once stood. You must look out over the sea, too, which surrounds the giant's mount, and try to picture to yourself a large forest in the place of it, and the sea six long miles away, for that was how it was in Cormoron's time.
Until, one day, the sea rose quite suddenly. A huge mountain of water, and rushing over the six miles of land, covered it, and the forests, too, even above the tops of the tallest trees. Everything for miles around was swallowed up, except the mount, which was saved by reason of its great height. From that day to this, the sea has never receded, and St. Michael's Mount has remained an island, completely cut off from the mainland, except at low tide, when you can, if you are quick, just manage to walk across. Years before this, Comoron had built up the mount for a home for himself. When first he came to the spot, it was all forest, with one large white rock in the midst of it. As he lay on this rock resting, he made up his mind to build himself a hill here, all of white rocks, like the one on which he reclined where he could live in safety, and keep an eye on the surrounding country.
It was a big task he had set himself, for all the blocks of granite of which it was to be made had to be brought from a neighboring hill, those close by being of the pink, or green, or grey kinds, and he would have none of these. Perhaps he would have changed his mind about it had he had to carry all the stone himself. But he, the great lazy fellow, made his wife Cornelian fetch all the heaviest blocks while he lay idly by and watched her. Cornelian, who thought the work was very hard indeed, did not see why the green rocks would not do as well as the white. They would be even prettier, in her opinion. So one day, when her husband was asleep, she knocked off a great green rock, and, picking it up in her apron, hurried back as fast as she could to get it fixed in its place before he should wake.
She could not manage it, though. Poor soul! For just as she was reaching her destination, the giant opened his eyes, and as soon as he had opened them, he caught sight of the green rock she was carrying. Then, oh, what a temper he was in! At being disobeyed. He did not say anything, but he got quietly up from his resting-place as soon as she had passed, and followed her. But so softly that she did not notice anything until he was close to her, when he gave her such a blow that she fell staggering under it. Her apron-strings broke. Down fell the green stone to the ground, and there it has stayed from that day to this, for no human power has been able to move it. Comeron was an old giant, and a very ugly one.
He had only one eye, and that was in the middle of his forehead. He had lost nearly all his teeth, too. It would have been better for his appearance had he lost them quite all, for those that were left were broken, jagged, and discoloured, and were anything but ornamental. He was a perfect monster to look at, and—oh, he was such a dreadful thief! All the people who lived anywhere near him went in terror of him, for when he was hungry he would just cross to the mainland, steal the very best cow or sheep in the neighborhood, sling it across his shoulders, and go home with it. And as he was very often hungry, the poor farmer folks were nearly eaten out of house and home by the bad old giant. On the Pingerswick Estate nearby there were Some particularly good cattle, which Master Cormoran had taken a great fancy to, and to which he helped himself pretty freely without ever being caught or punished.
Of course, the more he stole, the bolder he got, for, having so often got off scot-free, he grew to think he was always going to get off scot-free, and that was where he made his mistake. One day he took it into his head that he would very much like another of these fine, choice animals, so, picking up a rope, he started off, and, wading across to Pingerswick Cove, landed there as usual, thinking he was going to help himself without any trouble, and be home again by dinner-time. It happened, though, that the Lord of Pingerswick had just returned from the East, where he had been learning all sorts of magic and spells. Cormoran, however, knew nothing of this, and if he had, he would probably only have laughed and sneered, and turned up his great nose in scorn, for he believed in nothing but giants, and only in two of them, himself and the Tricroban Hill Giant.
As Master Cormoran approached the Lord of Pingerswick, who knew by means of magic all about his coming, and knowing his thieving ways, Determined to punish the old thief for all the mischief he had done during his absence. So he began at once to work his spells, meaning to give the giant a very unpleasant time. Cormoron, never dreaming of any trouble in store for him, landed as usual. But, somehow, when he reached the cove, he did not feel very well. His head felt muzzy and confused. He thought perhaps the sun had been too much for him as he came along. Instead, too, of catching one of the cattle at once, as usual, he had the works of the world to get one. The beasts seemed as slippery as eels, and he was so dull in the head he hardly knew what he was about.
However, after a great deal of trouble, and losing his temper more than once, he managed to catch a fine calf, Tying its forefeet together, he slung it round his neck, and prepared to hurry back to the mount to have a good feast. He walked, and he walked, and he walked as fast as his feet could carry him. But though he went very quickly, and it was really no distance back to the cove, he somehow could not get any nearer to the end of his journey. The path seemed all strange to him, too, and for the life of him he could not tell where he was. At last, when he was so tired that he was ready to drop, he came in sight of a great black rock in Pingerswick Cove. It was a rock he did not remember seeing before, and thinking he was once again on the wrong path, he turned to go back.
But this, he found to his surprise, was what he could not do. The rock, as if by magic, was drawing him nearer and nearer. It was like a magnet in struggle as he would. He could not keep away from it. He tried to turn round. He tried to draw back. He even lay down on the ground, and dug his heels with all his strength into the sand. But still he felt himself being drawn on and on until he actually touched the rock, and the moment he touched it he found, to his horror, that he was fastened to it as though by iron bands. Oh, how he struggled to get free! How he twisted and turned and kicked! All in vain, though. He might as well have lain still and gone to sleep for all the good he did. By degrees, too, he felt himself growing more and more helpless.
He could not move hand or foot. He grew colder and stiffer and stiffer and colder, until, at last, he was as if turned to stone, except that his senses were more acute than ever they had been before. To add to his torments, too, the calf which he had slung across his shoulders struggled and kicked and bellowed until the old thief was black and blue, and nearly deafened. He was nearly scared to death, too, for fear someone would hear the creature's noise and come in search of it to find out what was the matter. He tried and tried to throw off his burden, but nothing would loosen it, and all the night long he had to bear the bleating and The bellowing in his ear, and the incessant kicking and butting.
For, for the whole of the night, the giant had to remain there, and probably he would have been there for the rest of his life, had not the Lord of Pinkerswick thought he would like to have some more fun with him. Early in the morning, The enchanter mounted his horse and rode down to the cove to have a look at Master Cormoron, and to give him a piece of his mind before he removed the spell and let him go, and a piece of something else as well. Cormoron quaked when he saw the old lord coming, for he looked every bit as angry as he really was, and first he lashed the giant with his tongue, and then he lashed him with his whip, and he flogged him and flogged him, Until, in his agony, Cormoran kicked and struggled so hard that he broke away from the rock and leapt right into the sea.
This was the way the enchanter removed the spell. Once free from that terrible rock, Cormoran soon reached home, but the lesson he had had was one that he never forgot, and he never troubled that part of the country again, so the people all around had good cause to thank the lord of Pinkerswick. Poor Cornelian, his wife, had a sad time of it, though, for so sore was the giant from his beating, and so angry and mortified, that his temper became something worse than ever. Indeed, I cannot find words to describe it. Poor Cornelian herself was very kind and good-tempered, and a very hard-working giantess, and she was very much to be pitied for having such a disagreeable, grumpy old husband. Cornelian, though, had one great fault, and that was that she was very, very inquisitive.
I do not know that she ever did any harm to anyone but herself by it. It brought about her own death, though, in a very dreadful manner, and this was how it was. Carmaron and the Tricrobin Hill Giant were very friendly and neighborly, one with the other, and they used to borrow and lend to each other any little thing they happened to want, just as ordinary people do who are on very good terms with one another. One day, Cormoron was wanting the cobbling hammer to mend his boots, but the hammer was up at Tricrobin's. They only had one between them. So he went out and shouted, Hello! Up there! Hi! "'Trikrobin, throw us down the koblin hammer. Woosta?' They always threw across to each other what they wanted.
"'To be sure,' called back Trikrobin. "'Here, look out, and catch un!' Hearing a lot of noise and shouting, Cornelian must needs bustle out to find out what it was all about, and running from the dark house to the bright sunshine, her eyes were so dazzled she did not see the great hammer coming hurtling through the air, as it did at that very moment, and whack, crack! It caught her a terrible blow, right between the eyes, even crashing in the mighty bone of her forehead. Down she fell with a groan, right at her husband's feet, and when he turned her over, she was as dead as the fatal hammer itself. Then what a to-do there was? The two giants wept and roared over the corpse. They wrung their hands and tore their hair, but it was all of no use.
They could not bring poor Cornelian back to life again. Their sighs and groans only wrecked a ship or two out at sea, and blew the roofs off some houses at Market Jew. So they stopped and set to work to bury poor Cornelian. They thought it best to get her out of sight as quickly as possible. It made them weep to see her lying there dead. Where they laid her, though, no one knows. Some say it was in the court of the castle. Others, that they lifted Chapel Rock and put her under. But there are others who say that they only rolled her over the edge of the cliffs and into the sea. You will always, though, find some people ready to say unkind things about every one. Cormoran himself met his death some years later at the hands of Jack, the Giant Killer.
But as you probably know that story, I will not repeat it here.
End of The Giant of St. Michael's Mount by Mabel Quiller Couch.
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9 Hans In Luck 13:32
Hans and Luck.
Hans, in luck. Hans had served his master seven years, and at the end of that time he said to him, Master, since my time is up, I should like to go home to my mother, so give me my wages, if you please." His master replied, "'You have served me truly and honestly, Hans, and, such as your service was, such shall be your reward.' And with these words he gave him a lump of gold as big as his head. Hans, thereupon, took his handkerchief out of his pocket, and wrapping the gold up in it, threw it over his shoulder and set out on the road toward his native village. As he went along, carefully setting one foot to the ground before the other, a horseman came in sight, trotting gaily and briskly along upon a capital animal.
"'Ah!' said Hans aloud. "'What a fine thing that riding is! One is seated as if it were upon a stool, kicks against no stones.' Spares one's shoes, and gets along without any trouble. The rider, overhearing Hans making these reflections, stopped and said, Why, then, do you travel on foot, my fine fellow? Because I am forced, replied Hans, for I have got a bit of a lump to carry home. It certainly is gold, but then I can't carry my head straight, and it hurts my shoulder. If you like, we will exchange, said the rider. "'I will give you my horse, and you can give me your lump of gold.' "'With all my heart,' cried Hans. "'But I tell you fairly, you undertake a very heavy burden.' The man dismounted, took the gold, and helped Hans on to the horse, and, giving him the reins into his hands, said, "'Now, when you want to go faster, you must chuckle with your tongue and cry, "'Gyup!
Gyup!' Hans was delighted indeed when he found himself on the top of a horse and riding along so freely and gaily. After a while he thought he should like to go rather quicker, so he cried, Gie-up, Gie-up, as the man had told him. The horse soon set off at a hard trot, and before Hans knew what he was about, he was thrown head over heels into a ditch which divided the fields from the road. The horse, having accomplished this feat, would have bolted off. if he had not been stopped by a peasant who was coming that way, driving a cow before him. Hans soon picked himself up on his legs, but was terribly put out, and he said to the countryman, That is bad sport, that riding, especially when one mounts such a beast as that, which stumbles and throws one off as to nearly break one's neck.
I will never ride on that animal again. Commend me to your cow. One may walk behind her without any discomfort. And besides, one has, every day for certain, milk, butter, and cheese. Ah, what I would not give for such a cow! Such an advantage you may soon enjoy. I will exchange my cow for your horse. To this Hans consented with a thousand thanks, and the peasant, swinging himself up upon the horse, rode off in a hurry. Hans now drove off his cow steadily before him. Thinking of his lucky bargain in this wise, I have a bit of bread, and I can, as often as I please, eat with it butter and cheese, and when I am thirsty I can milk my cow and have a draught. What more could I desire? As soon then as he came to an inn he halted, and ate with great satisfaction all the bread he had brought with him for his noonday and evening meals, and washed it down with a glass of beer.
to buy which he spent his two last farthings. This over he drove his cow farther, but still in the direction of his mother's village. The heat, meantime, became more and more oppressive as noontime approached, and just then Hans came to a common which was an hour's journey across. Here he got into such a state of heat that his tongue claved to the roof of his mouth, And he thought to himself, This won't do. I will just milk my cow and refresh myself. Hans, therefore, tied her to a stump of a tree, and, having no pail, placed his leathern cap below and set to work. But not a drop of milk could he squeeze out. He had placed himself, too, very awkwardly, and at last the impatient cow gave him such a kick on the head that he tumbled over on the ground.
And for a long time he knew not where he was. Fortunately, not many hours after, a butcher passed by, trundling a young pig along upon a wheelbarrow. "'What trick is this?' exclaimed he helping up poor Hans, and Hans told him that all that had passed. The butcher then handed him a flask and said, "'There, take a drink. It will revive you. Your cow might well give no milk. She is an old beast.' And worth nothing at the best but for the plough or the butcher. Ah, ah, said Hans, pulling his hair over his eyes. Who would have thought it? It is all very well when one can kill a beast like that at home, and make a profit of the flesh. But for my part, I have no relish for cow's flesh. It is too tough for me.
Ah, a young pig like yours is the thing that tastes something like... let alone the sausages. Well now, for the love of you," said the butcher, "'I will make an exchange, and let you have my pig for your cow. Heaven reward you for your kindness," cried Hans, and, giving up the cow, he untied the pig from the borrow, and took into his hands the string with which it was tied. Hans walked on again, considering how everything had happened just as he wished, and how all his vexations— Had turned out for the best after all. Presently, a boy overtook him, carrying a fine white goose under his arm. And after they had said, Good day, to each other, Hans began to talk about his luck, and what profitable exchanges he had made.
The boy, on his part, told him that he was carrying the goose to a christening feast. Just lift it, he said to Hans, holding it up by its wings. Just feel how heavy it is. Why, it's been fattened up for the last eight weeks, and whoever bites it when it is cooked will have to wipe the grease from each side of his mouth. Yes, said Hans, weighing it with one hand. It is weighty, but my pig is no trifle either. While he was speaking, the boy kept looking about on all sides and shaking his head suspiciously, and at length he broke out. I am afraid. It is not all right about your pig. In the village through which I have just come, one has been stolen out of the sty of the mayor himself, and I am afraid, very much afraid.
They have sent out several people, and it would be a very bad job for you if they found you at the pig. The best thing you can do is hide it in some dark corner." Honest Hans was thunderstruck, and exclaimed, Ah, heaven, help me in this fresh trouble! "'You know the neighborhood better than I do. Do you take my pig and let me have the goose?' he said to the boy. "'I shall have to hazard something at that game,' replied the boy. "'But still I do not wish to be the cause of your meeting with Miss Fortune.' And, so saying, he took the rope into his own hand and drove the pig off quickly by the side-path, while Hans, lightened of his cares, walked on homeward with the goose under his arm. If I judge rightly, he thought to himself, I have gained even by this exchange.
First there is a good roast. Then the quantity of fat which will drip out will make goose-broth for a quarter of a year. And then there are fine white feathers which, when once I have put into my pillow, I warrant I shall sleep without rocking. What pleasure my mother will have! As he came to the last village on his road, There stood a knife-grinder, with his barrow by the hedge, whirling his wheel round and singing, "'Scissors and razors and such like I grind, and gaily my rags are flying behind.' Hans stopped and looked at him. "'And at last,' he said, "'you appear to have a good business, if I may judge by your merry song.' "'Yes,' answered the grinder. This business has a golden bottom. A true knife-grinder is a man who, as often as he puts his hand into his pocket, feels money in it.
But what a fine goose you have got. Where did you buy it? I did not buy it at all, said Hans, but took it in exchange for my pig. And the pig? I exchanged it for my cow. And the cow? I exchanged a horse for her. And the horse? For him, I gave a lump of gold as big as my head. And the gold? That was my wages for a seven-year servitude. And I see you have known how to benefit yourself each time, said the grinder. But could you now manage that you heard the money rattling in your pocket as you walked? Your fortune would be made. Well, how shall I manage that? asked Hans. You must become a grinder like me. To this trade nothing peculiar belongs but a grindstone. The other necessities find themselves.
Here is one which is a little worn, certainly, and so I will not ask anything more for it than your goose. Are you agreeable? How can you ask me? said Hans. Why, I shall be the luckiest man in the world. Having money as often as I dip my hand into my pocket, what have I to care about any longer? So saying, he handed over the goose and received the grindstone in exchange. "'Now,' said the grinder, picking up an ordinary big flint-stone which lay near, "'now there you have a capital stone upon which only beat them long enough, and you may straighten all your old nails. Take it and use it carefully.' Hans took the stone and walked on with a satisfied heart, his eyes glistening with joy. "'I must have been born,' said he, "'to a heap of luck.
Everything happens just as I wish, as if I were a Sunday child.'" Soon, however, having been on his legs since daybreak, he began to feel very tired, and was plagued too with hunger, since he had eaten all his provisions at once in his joy about the cow-bargain. At last he felt quite unable to go further. and was forced, too, to halt every minute, for the stones encumbered him very much. Just then the thought overcame him. What a good thing it were if he had no need to carry them any longer! And at the same moment he came up to a stream. Here he resolved to rest and refresh himself with drink, and so that the stones might not hurt him in kneeling, he laid them carefully down by the side on the bank.
This done, he stooped down to scoop up some water in his hand. And then it happened that he pushed one stone a little too far, so that both presently went plump into the water. Hans, as soon as he saw them sinking to the bottom, jumped for joy, and then kneeled down and returned thanks with tears in his eyes that so mercifully and without any act on his part And in so nice a way he had been delivered from the heavy stones, which alone hindered him from getting on. "'So lucky as I am,' exclaimed Hans, "'is no other man under the sun!' Then, with a light heart and free from every burden, he leaped gaily along till he reached his mother's house.
End of Hans in Luck from Grimm's Fairy Tales. Read for you by David Radke.
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10 How the Rhinoceros Got His Skin 4:33
How the Rhinoceros Got His Skin by Rudyard Kipling. or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Once upon a time, on an uninhabited island on the shores of the Red Sea, there lived a Parsi from whose hat the rays of the sun were reflected in more than oriental splendor. And the Parsi lived by the Red Sea with nothing but his hat and his knife and a cooking stove of the kind that he must particularly never touch. And one day he took flour and water and currants and plums and sugar and things, and made himself one cake which was two feet across and three feet thick. It was indeed a superior comestible. That's magic. And he put it on the stove because he was allowed to cook on that stove, and he baked it and he baked it till it was all done brown and smelled most sentimental.
But just as he was going to eat it, there came down on the beach from the altogether uninhabited interior one rhinoceros with a horn on his nose, two piggies, and few manners. In those days the rhinoceros's skin fitted him quite tight. There were no wrinkles in it anywhere. He looked exactly like a nose-arc rhinoceros, but of course much bigger. All the same, he had no manners then, and he has no manners now, and he never will have any manners. He said, How? And the Parsi left that cake and climbed to the top of a palm tree with nothing on but his hat, from which the rays of the sun were always reflected in more than oriental splendor. And the rhinoceros upset the oil stove of his nose, and the cake rolled on the sand, and he spiked that cake on the horn of his nose, and he ate it, and he went away, waving his tail to the desolate and exclusively uninhabited interior which abuts on the islands of Mazandaran, Socotra, and the promontories of the larger equinox.
Then the Parsee came down from his palm-tree, and put the stove on its legs, and recited the following zloka, which, as you have not heard, I will not proceed to relate. Then that takes cakes, which the Parsee man bakes, and makes dreadful mistakes, and there was a great deal more in that than you would think, because— Five weeks later there was a great heat wave in the Red Sea, and everybody took off all the clothes they had. The Parsi took off his hat, but the rhinoceros took off his skin and carried it over his shoulder as he came down to the beach to bathe. In those days it buttoned underneath with three buttons and looked like a waterproof. He said nothing whatever about the Parsi's cake, because he had eaten it all, and he never had any manners, lends since, or henceforward.
He waddled straight into the water and blew bubbles through his nose, leaving a skin on the beach. The Parsi came by and found the skin, and he smiled one smile that ran all around his face two times, that he danced three times round the skin and rubbed his hands, that he went to his camp and filled his hat with cake crumbs, for the Parsi never ate anything but cake, and never swept out his camp. He took that skin, and he shook that skin, and he scrubbed that skin, and he rubbed that skin just as full of oil. Old, dry, still, tickly cake-crumbs and some burned currants as ever it could possibly hold. Then he climbed to the top of his palm-tree and waited for the rhinoceros to come out of the water and put it on.
And the rhinoceros did. He buttoned it up with the three buttons, and it tickled like cake crumbs in bed. Then he wanted to scratch, but that made it worse. And then he lay down on the sands and rolled and rolled and rolled, and every time he rolled, the cake crumbs tickled him worse and worse and worse. Then he ran to the palm tree and rubbed and rubbed and rubbed himself against it. He rubbed so much and so hard that he rubbed his skin into a great fold over his shoulders, and another fold underneath, where the buttons used to be. But he rubbed the buttons off, and he rubbed some more folds over his legs, and it spoiled his temper, but it didn't make the least difference to the cake crumbs.
They were inside his skin, and they tickled. So he went home, very angry indeed, and horribly scratchy, and from that day to this every rhinoceros has great folds in his skin and a very bad temper, all on account of the cake crumbs inside. But the parsee came down from his palm-tree, wearing his hat, from which the rays of the sun were reflected in more than oriental splendor, packed up his cooking-stove, and went away in the direction of Orotavo, Amigdala, the upland windows of Anaturivo, and the marshes of Sonoput. End of How the Rhinoceros Got His Skin by Rudiard Kipling.
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11 How the Whale Got His Throat 5:45
How the Whale Got His Throat by Rudyard Kipling. In the sea, once upon a time, O my best beloved, there was a whale, and he ate fishes. He ate the starfish and the garfish, and the crab and the dab. and the place and the dace and the skate and his mate and the mackerel and the pickerel and the really truly twirly-whirly eel. All the fishes he could find and all the sea he ate with his mouth. So, till at last there was only one small fish left in all the sea, and he was a small stoop-fish, and he swam a little behind the whale's right ear, so as to be out of harm's way. Then the whale stood up on his tail and said, I'm hungry, and the small stoop-fish said in a small stoop voice, Noble and generous cetacean, have you ever tasted man?
No, said the whale. What is it like? Nice, said the small stew-fish. Nice, but nubbly. Then fetch me some, said the whale, and he made the sea froth up with his tail. One at a time is enough, said the stew-fish. If you swim to latitude fifty north, longitude forty west, that is magic. You will find sitting on a raft in the middle of the sea, with nothing on but a pair of blue canvas breeches, a pair of suspenders—you must not forget the suspenders, best beloved—and a jackknife, one shipwrecked mariner, who, it is only fair to tell you, is a man of infinite resource and sagacity. So Lowell swam and swam to latitude fifty north, longitude forty west, as fast as he could swim, and on a raft, In the middle of the sea, with nothing to wear except a pair of blue canvas breeches, a pair of suspenders—you must particularly remember the suspenders, best beloved—and a jackknife, he found one single, solitary shipwrecked mariner trilling his toes in the water.
He had his mummies leave to paddle, or else he would never have done it, because he was a man of infinite resource and sagacity. Then the whale opened his mouth back and back and back till it nearly touched his tail, and he swallowed the shipwrecked mariner, and the raft he was sitting on, and his blue canvas breeches, and the suspenders, which you must not forget, and the jackknife. He swallowed them all down into his warm, dark inside cupboards, and then he smacked his lips, so, and turned round three times on his tail. But as soon as the mariner Who was a man of infinite resource and sagacity, found himself truly inside the well's warm, dark inside cupboards. He stumped and he jumped, and he thumped and he bumped, and he pranced and he danced, and he banged and he clinked, and he hit and he bit, and he leaped and he creeped, and he prowled and he howled, and he hopped and he dropped, and he cried and he sighed, and he crawled and he bawled, and he stepped and he leaped, and he danced horn-pipes where he shouldn't, and the well felt most unhappy indeed.
Have you forgotten the suspenders? So he said to the stoot-fish, "'This man is very nably, and besides, he is making me hiccough. What shall I do?' "'Tell him to come out,' said the stoot-fish." So the whale called down his own throat to the shipwrecked mariner, "'Come out and behave yourself. I've got the hiccoughs!' "'Nay, nay,' said the mariner, "'not so, but far otherwise. Take me to my nodal shore in the white close of Albion, and I'll think about it.' And he began to dance more than ever. You had better take him home, said the stute fish to the well. I ought to have warned you that he is a man of infinite resource and sagacity. So the well swam and swam and swam, with both flippers in his tail, as hard as he could for the hiccoughs.
And at last he saw the mariner's natal shore in the white cliffs of Albion, and he rushed halfway up the beach, and opened his mouth wide and wide and wide, and said, Change here for Winchester, Ashalot, Nashua, Keane, Anastasia's on the Fitchburg Road, and just as he said, Fitch, the Mariner walked out of his mouth. But while the well had been swimming, the Mariner, who was indeed a person of infinite resource and sagacity, had taken his jackknife and cut up the raft into a little square grating, all running crisscross, and he had tied it firm with his suspenders. Now you know why you were not to forget the suspenders. And he dragged that grating good and tight into the whale's throat, and there it stuck.
Then he recited the following sloka, which, as you have not heard it, I will not proceed to relate. By means of a grating I have stopped your aiding. For the mariner he was also an hibernian. And he stepped out on the shingle, and went home to his mother, who had given him leave to trail his toes in the water, and he married and lived happily ever afterward. So did the whale, but from that day on the grating in his throat, which he could neither cough up nor swallow down, prevented him from eating anything except very, very small fish, and that is the reason why whales nowadays never eat men or boys or little girls. The small stoop-fish went and hid himself in the mud under the door-sills of the equator.
He was afraid that the whale might be angry with him. The sailor took the jack-knife home. He was wearing the blue canvas breeches when he walked out on the shingle. The suspenders were left behind, you see, to tie the grating with. And that is the end of that tale.
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12 A Lesson of Faith 12:31
A Lesson of Faith by Mrs. Alfred Gaddy. If a man die, shall he live again? All the days of my appointed time will I wait till my change come. Job 1414. Let me hire you as a nurse for my poor children," said a butterfly to a quiet caterpillar, who was strolling along a cabbage leaf in her odd lumbering way. See these little eggs, continued the butterfly. I don't know how long it will be before they come to life, and I feel very sick and poorly, and if I should die, who will take care of my baby butterflies when I'm gone? Will you, kind, mild, green caterpillar? But you must mind what you give them to eat, Caterpillar. They cannot, of course, live on your rough food. You must give them early dew and honey from the flowers.
And you must let them fly about only a little way at first, for, of course, one can't expect them to use their wings properly all at once. Dear me, it is a sad pity you cannot fly yourself. But I've no time to look for another nurse now. So you will do your best, I hope. Dear, dear, I cannot think what made me come and lay my eggs on a cabbage-leaf. What a place for young butterflies to be borne upon. Still, you will be kind, will you not, to the poor little ones? Here, take this gold dust from my wings as a reward. Oh, how dizzy I am! Caterpillar, you will remember about the food. And with these words the butterfly closed her eyes. and died, and the green caterpillar, who had not had the opportunity of even saying yes or no to their request, was left standing alone by the side of the butterfly's eggs.
"'Ah, a pretty nurse she has chosen indeed, poor lady,' exclaimed she, "'and a pretty business I have in hand.' Why, her senses must have left her, or she never would have asked a poor crawling creature like me to bring up her dainty little ones. Much though, mind me, truly, when they feel the gay wings upon their backs, and can fly away out of my sight whenever they choose. Ah, how silly some people are, in spite of their painted clothes and gold dust on their wings. However, the poor butterfly was dead, and there lay the eggs on the cabbage leaf. She made her back quite ache with walking all night round her little charges, for fear any harm should happen to them. And then a morning, says she to herself, two heads are better than one.
I will consult some wise animal upon the matter and get advice. How should a poor crawling creature like me know what to do without asking my betters? But still there was a difficulty. Whom should the caterpillar consult? There was the shaggy dog, who sometimes came into the garden, but he was so rough he would most likely whisk all the eggs off the cabbage-leaf with one brush of his tail if she called him near to talk to her, and then she would never forgive herself. There was the tom-cat, to be sure, who would sometimes sit at the foot of the apple-tree basking himself, warming his fur in the sunshine. But he was so selfish and indifferent. There was no hope of his giving himself the trouble to think about butterflies' eggs.
I wonder which is the wisest of all the animals I know, sighed the caterpillar, in great distress. And then she thought and thought, till at last she thought of the lark. And she fancied that because he went up so high, and nobody knew where he went to, he must be very clever, and know a great deal. For to go up very high, which she could never do, was the caterpillar's idea of perfect glory. Now, in the neighboring cornfield, there lived a lark, and the caterpillar sent a message to him, to beg him to come talk to her. And when he came, she told him all her difficulties, and asked him what she was to do, to feed and rear the little creatures so different from herself. Perhaps you will be able to inquire and hear something about it next time you go up high, observed the caterpillar timidly.
The lark said, Perhaps he should. But he did not satisfy her curiosity any further. Soon afterwards, however, he went sinking upwards into the bright blue sky, By degrees his voice died away in the distance, till the green caterpillar could not hear a sound. It is nothing to say that she could not see him, for, poor thing, she never could see far at any time, and had a difficulty in looking upwards at all, even when she reared herself up most carefully, which she did now. But it was of no use. So she dropped upon her legs again, and resumed her walk round the butterfly's eggs, and the bit at the cabbage-leaf now and then, as she moved along. "'What a time Lark hath been gone!' she cried at last.
"'I wonder where he is just now. I would give all my legs to know. He must have flown up higher than usual, this time, I do think. How I should like to know—where it is he goes to, and what he hears in that curious blue sky. He always sings—he In going up and coming down, but he never lets any secret out. He is very, very close. And the green caterpillar took another turn round the butterfly's eggs. At last the lark's voice began to be heard again. The caterpillar almost jumped for joy, and it was not long before she saw her friend descend with a hushed note to the cabbage-bed. News, news, glorious news, friend caterpillar, sang the lark. But the worst of it is, you won't believe me. I believe everything I'm told, observed the caterpillar hastily.
Well, then, first of all, I will tell you what these little creatures are to eat. And the lark nodded his beak toward the eggs. What do you think it is to be? Guess. Do... "'And the honey out of flowers, I'm afraid,' sighed the caterpillar. "'No such thing, old lady. Something simpler than that—something that you can get at quite easily.' "'I can get at nothing quite easily but cabbage-leaves,' murmured the caterpillar in distress. "'Excellent, my good friend,' cried the lark exultingly. "'You have found it out. You are to feed them with cabbage-leaves.' Never," said the caterpillar indignantly. It was their dying mother's last request that I should do no such thing. Their dying mother knew nothing about the matter, persisted the lark.
But why do you ask me, and then disbelieve what I say? You have neither faith nor trust. Oh, I believe everything I'm told, said the caterpillar. "'Nay, but you do not,' replied the lark. "'You won't believe me even about the food. And yet that is but a beginning of what I have to tell you. Why, Caterpillar, what do you think those little eggs will turn out to be?' "'Butterflies, to be sure,' said the Caterpillar. "'Caterpillars!' sang the lark. "'And you'll find it out in time.' And the lark flew away, for he did not want to stay and contest the point with his friend. "'Oh, I thought the lark had been wise and kind,' observed the mild green caterpillar, once more beginning to walk round the eggs.
"'But I find he is foolish and saucy instead.' Perhaps he went up too high this time. It is a pity when people who soar so high are silly and rude nevertheless. Dear, I still wonder whom he sees, and what he does up yonder. I would tell you if you would believe me, sang the lark, descending once more. I believe everything I'm told, reiterated the caterpillar, with as grave a face as if it were a fact. Then I'll tell you something else, cried the lark, for the best of my news remains behind. You will one day be a butterfly yourself. Wretched! "'Bird!' exclaimed the caterpillar. "'You jest with my inferiority. Now you are cruel as well as foolish. Go away. I will ask your advice no more.' "'I told you you would not believe me,' cried the lark, nettled in his turn.
"'I believe everything I am told,' persisted the caterpillar. "'That is—' and she hesitated. "'Everything—that is—reasonable to believe—' But to tell me that butterflies' eggs are caterpillars, and that caterpillars leave off crawling and get wings and become butterflies? Lark, you are too wise to believe such nonsense yourself, for you know it is impossible. I know no such thing, said the lark warmly. Whether I hover over the cornfields of earth or go up into the depths of the sky, I see so many wonderful things. I know no reason why there should not be more. O Caterpillar, it is because you crawl, because you never get beyond your cabbage-leaf that you call anything impossible. Nonsense, shouted the Caterpillar.
I know what's possible and what's not possible, according to my experience and capacity, as well as you do. Look at my long green body and these endless legs, and then talk to me about having wings and a painted feathery coat. Fool! And fool you! You would be wise, Caterpillar, cried the indignant lark. Fool to attempt to reason about what you cannot understand. Do you not hear how my song swells with rejoicing as I soar upwards to the mysterious wonder-world above? O Caterpillar! What comes to you from thence? Receive, as I do, upon trust. "'This is what you call—' Faith!' interrupted the lark. "'How am I to learn faith?' asked the caterpillar. At that moment she felt something at her side. She looked round.
Eight or ten little green caterpillars were moving about!' and had already made a show of a hole in the cabbage-leaf. They had broken from the butterfly eggs. Shame and amazement filled our green friend's heart. But joy soon followed, for as the first wonder was possible, the second might be so too. "'Teach me your lesson, lark,' she would say. And the lark sang to her of the wonders of the earth below and of the heaven above. And the caterpillar talked all the rest of her life to her relations of the time when she would be a butterfly. But none of them believed her. She, nevertheless, had learned the lark's lesson of faith, and when she was going into her chrysalis grave, she said, "'I shall be a butterfly some day.' But her relations thought her head was wandering, and they said, "'Poor thing!' And when she was a butterfly, and was going to die again, she said.
I have known many wonders. I have faith. I can trust even now, for what shall come next? A Lesson of Faith by Mrs. Alfred Gaddy.
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13 The Sprightly Tailor 4:41
The Spritely Tailor.
A Spritely Tailor was employed by the great MacDonald in his castle at Saddle in order to make the Laird a pair of trues used in olden time. And trues, being the vest and breeches united in one piece and ornamented with fringes, were very comfortable and suitable to be worn in walking or dancing. And MacDonald had said to the tailor that if he would make the trues by night in the church, he would get a handsome reward. For it was thought that the old ruined church was haunted, and that fearsome things were to be seen there at night. The tailor was well aware of this. But he was a sprightly man, and when the laird dared him to make the truce by night in the church, the tailor was not to be daunted, but took it in hand to gain the prize.
So when night came, away he went up the glen, about half a mile distance from the castle, till he came to the old church. Then he chose him a nice gravestone for a seat, and he lighted his candle, and put on his thimble, and set to work at the trewes, plying his needle nimbly, and thinking about the hire that the laird would have to give him. For some time he got on pretty well, until he felt the floor all a-tremble under his feet, and looking about him, but keeping his fingers at work, he saw the appearance of a great human head rising up through the stone pavement of the church. And when the head had risen above the surface, there came from it a great, great voice, and the voice said, "'Do you see this great head of mine?' "'I see that, but also this,' replied the sprightly tailor, and he stitched away the truths.
Then the head rose higher up through the pavement until its neck appeared, and when its neck was shown, the thundering voice came again and said, "'Do you see this great neck of mine?' "'I see that, but also this.' said the sprightly tailor, as he stitched away at his trues. Then the head and the neck rose higher still, until the great shoulders and chest were shown above the ground. And again the mighty voice thundered, Do you see this great chest of mine? And again the sprightly tailor replied, I see that, but also this, and stitched away at his trues. And still it kept rising through the pavement until it shook a great pair of arms in the tailor's face, and said, "'Do you see these great arms of mine?' "'I see those, but also this,' answered the tailor.
And he stitched hard in his shoes, for he knew that he had no time to lose. The sprightly tailor was taking the long stitches when he saw it gradually rising and rising through the floor until it lifted out a great leg, and stamping with it upon the pavement said in a roaring voice, "'Do you see this great leg of mine?' "'Hi, hi, I see that, but also this,' cried the tailor. And his fingers flew with the needle, and he took such long stitches that he was just come to the end of the trues when it was taking up its other leg. But before it could pull it out of the pavement, the sprightly tailor had finished his task, and blowing out his candle and springing from off his gravestone, he buckled up and ran out of the church with the trues under his arm.
Then the fearsome thing gave a loud roar, and stamped with both his feet upon the pavement. And out of the church he went after the sprightly tailor. Down the glen they ran, faster than the stream when the flood rises it. But the tailor had got the start and a nimble pair of legs, and he did not choose to lose the laird's reward. And though the thing roared to him to stop, yet the sprightly tailor was not the man to be beholden to a monster. So he held his truce tight, and let no darkness grow under his feet until he had reached Saddle Castle. He had no sooner got inside the gate and shut it than the apparition came up to it, and, enraged at losing his prize, struck the wall above the gate, and left there the mark of his five great fingers.
Ye may see them plainly to this day, if ye'll look only peer close enough. But the sprightly tailor gained his reward, for MacDonald paid him handsomely for the truths, and never discovered that a few of the stitches were somewhat long.
The Spritely Tailor by Joseph Jacobs.
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14 The Story of the Three Goblins 13:58
The Story of the Three Goblins by Maple G. Taggart. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org.
The Story of the Three Goblins. Once upon a time, there were three little goblins. Their names were Redcap, Bluecap, And Yellowcap, and they lived in a mountain. The Goblins had a great friend, a green frog whose name was Rowley. Rowley came every year to see the little goblins, and told them stories about the big world where he lived. The goblins had never seen the big world, and often asked their father to let them go with Rowley. But he always said, Not yet, my sons. The name of the goblin's father was Old Blackcap. He was King of the Mountain. At last, one day, Old Blackcap called the three goblins and said to them, I am going to send you into the big world to look for something which the fairies stole from me a long time ago, a red feather which always belongs to the King of the Mountain.
Go, my sons, and the one who finds it shall be King of the Mountain after me. Red Cap, Blue Cap, and Yellow Cap said good-bye to their father and climbed out into the big world through a rabbit hole. When they had gone a little way, they saw something lying on the ground, something large and white and round. What is that? They all cried together. Red Cap, who was the eldest, got inside it to see what it was made of. Oh! Oh! cried Blue Cap and Yellow Cap. It is moving! Stop! Stop! But the White Thing rolled away down the mountain, with poor Little Red Cap inside it. Faster and faster it went, and Blue Cap and Yellow Cap were left quite behind. Now, Little Red Cap was a brave goblin, but he was rather frightened when the White Thing began to roll so fast.
He wondered if it would ever stop, when, bump, splash, he found he was in the water, and something big With a smooth coat, it was close beside him. It was a kind water rat who had seen the poor little goblin roll into the water. I can swim, said Mr. Rat. I will hold you by the collar and take you to dry land again. Redcap thanked the kind water rat very much, and they sat down on the bank of the stream to rest. Redcap told the rat all about his father and brothers and the red feather. And soon Bluecap and Yellowcap came running up quite out of breath, but very glad to find their brother quite safe and not even scratched. They all soon said goodbye to the rat, who wished them good luck, showed them the road, and told them to look in a tree, which he pointed out, where he said they would find something which would help them very much.
The goblins raced to the tree. Yellowcap won the race and climbed up quickly. While the others ran all round, looking to see what they could find. They found nothing, and Yellowcap was just coming down again when he spied a bird's nest with three dear little blue eggs in it. He crawled along the branch to look at the eggs and saw something white under the nest. Yellowcap pulled it gently, and out came an envelope. Full of joy, he slipped down to his brothers. They opened the envelope and found a sheet of paper. On which was written in gold letters, You who seek the feather red, first the serpent's blood must shed. In the cave where fairies dwell, the feather lies, so search it well. Hurrah! cried Redcap.
Let us make haste and find the cave. Soon they came to a big dark forest, and after they had gone a little way, they saw a fence and a large board. On which was written in red letters, Tom Tiddler's Ground. Crespassers will be prosecuted. The goblins looked over the fence and saw that the ground was covered with gold and silver. Oh, they cried, let us fill our pockets. What fun! And they began to climb over the fence.
They all got safely down on the other side, and seeing no one about, They began to fill their pockets with the shining money, singing, We are on Tom Tiddler's ground picking up gold and silver. Suddenly, they heard a big, rough voice say, Yes, you are on Tom Tiddler's ground, and Tom Tiddler will lock you all up, you little thieves. The goblins dropped their handfuls of gold and silver and found themselves caught up by a great big giant who carried them off. With great long strides to his house, Tom Tiddler took them into a large kitchen, where Mrs. Tiddler was busy making the tea. "'Wife,' said he, "'put these goblins in the pantry, "'and we will have them fried on toast for breakfast.' The poor little brothers were locked up in the pantry, and they sat down on the floor, holding each other's hands very tight and shaking with fear.
At last, they grew bolder, and began to think how they could get away. They tried to open the window, and found to their joy that Tom Tiddler had forgotten to lock it. They crept out very quietly, and climbed down by the thick ivy which grew up the wall. The goblins ran as fast as they could, only stopping to fill a sack which they had found of gold and silver. They knew that Tom Tiddler and his wife were at tea, and would not think of coming out for some time. The brothers managed, after a great deal of hard work, to get the sack over the fence, and, as it was too heavy to drag with them, they agreed to bury it in the forest and dig it up as they came back. Just when they were ready, a rabbit came up to them.
Hello, little chaps, said the rabbit. Where are you off to? We are on our way to the fairy's cave, they replied. You have a long way to go yet, said the rabbit. The cave is on an island in the sea, but I am going that way, and if you jump on my back, I will give you a lift. The little brothers thanked the rabbit very much, as they were feeling tired after their hard work. As soon as they were safely seated, the rabbit started off. On and on they went, until they had left the dark forest far behind and were on the seashore. Here the rabbit stopped, saying, I can take you no further. You have now to cross the water, and must consult the great fish. He will appear if you knock three times on the rock.
Take also this red dust. You will find it useful. And putting a little bag of red dust into Redcap's hand, the rabbit ran off. The goblins did as the rabbit had told them, and when they had knocked three times on the rock, a large fish raised itself slowly out of the water. And said, Why have you called me? Please will you tell us how to get to the fairy's cave, said Bluecap. Look between the rocks so green, there a boat will soon be seen. In the boat you all must sail, wafted gently by the gale, said the fish, and sank again beneath the blue waves. The brothers, after looking about for a little while, Found a white boat between two big rocks covered with green seaweed. They pulled it out and got in, and no sooner had they sat down than a gentle wind sprang up and blew them steadily out to sea.
They were rather frightened, as they had never been on the sea before, but soon they saw that they were coming to land. The land proved to be an island, and when the boat stopped on the yellow sand, the goblins all jumped out. They made the boat fast by tying the rope to a large piece of rock, and, feeling that their hardest work was coming, walked bravely over the sands, carrying a boathook, which they had found in the boat. They soon came to a dark cave in the rocks. In front of the cave was a big dragon, which brewed fire out of its mouth and roared like hundreds of lions. The goblins, after trying many times, managed to creep over the rocks behind the dragon. And, throwing the dust which the rabbit had given them into its flaming eyes, they at last, after a hard fight, killed the monster and entered the cave.
The goblins looked round in the darkness for the serpent of which they had heard, but they could not find it. At last, when they were sadly thinking of going back to the boat, Redcap cried out that he saw something yellow in the dark shadow of a rock. It was the serpent's tail! They all ran after it, shouting loudly, and it led them some way down a rocky passage. It went very quickly, and they had to run very fast to keep it in sight. But at last they caught it, and, after a sharp struggle, in which poor little Red Cap nearly lost his life, killed it. The three brothers stood looking at the dead serpent, and while they were looking, it seemed to change. It moved and grew thinner. and darker, and the bright yellow colour turned to orange, and from orange colour to red, and then redder, and redder, and redder, until they saw that it was no longer the serpent, but the red feather for which they had come so far to look.
At that moment, a bright light seemed to shine, and standing near the goblins was a lovely lady.
Welcome to the Cave of the Fairies. Long have I waited for this happy day, when my kingdom should be once more restored to me. You must know that many years ago, the wicked wizard Tom Titler cast over me a cruel spell. I and my people were forced to leave our fairy isle and wander in the shape of birds in the big world. We were told that never would the spell be broken until... Three goblins should enter the cave in search for father. We therefore stole your royal red feather and hid it in our cave. No sooner had we done so than the cruel wizard turned it into a yellow serpent and put a terrible dragon at the entrance of the cave. Our friend Rowley the Frog told your father that we had stolen the feather, and as soon as you were old enough, we gave you the wish.
to undertake this journey. But for your courage, I should still be in Tom Tiddler's power. In return for your bravery, I now charm your red feather. Henceforth, any goblin holding it in his hand shall have his wish, whatever it may be, granted. As the princess said these words, she touched the feather with her wand. The goblins thanked the lovely princess many times. And asked her to send for them at once if they could ever help her. They then took leave of the fairies and started for home. They sailed again over the sea and found the rabbit waiting for them. They jumped on the rabbit's back and off they went. When they got to the place where they had left the sack of gold and silver, they found it had been dug up ready for them, and standing by it was a big blue bird with a red beak and red legs.
Jump on, said he, and I will pull you. I am Pekeko, New Zealand Swampen, the fairy's servant sent to take you back to the mountain. They thanked the kind rabbit, and jumping on the sack went on their way. They had not gone far when they heard a great noise behind them, and looking round saw Tom Tiddler trying hard to catch them. Before Tom Tiddler could touch them, however, Blue Cat pointed the red feather at him and said, I wish you to become a snail, and Tom Tiddler turned at once into a crawling snail. He can never hurt anyone again, the goblins cried with joy. His treasure now is ours. Hurrah! They soon reached home, and Old Black Cat was very pleased to have them back safe and sound. My dear sons, said he, taking them in his arms, the kingdom is yours.
Rule it well together, as together you have found the feather. I am an old man now, and shall be glad to see you on the throne. Old Blackcap and his sons gave a mushroom feast to celebrate the goblin's safe return. They invited the rat, the rabbit, the pekeko, and Rowley the frog, and they all enjoyed it very much and lived happily ever after.
End of the story of the Three Goblins by Maple G. Taggart.
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15 Why the Tiger and the Stag Fear Each Other 7:55
Why the Tiger and the Stag Fear Each Other by Elsie Spicer Eels. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox. Reading by Bologna Times. Once upon a time there was a large, handsome stag with great branching horns. One day he said to himself, I am tired of having no home of my own, and of just living anywhere. I shall build me a house. He searched on every hill, in every valley, by every stream, and under all the trees for a suitable place. At last he found one that was just right. It was not too high, nor too low, not too near a stream, and not too far away from one, not under too thick Trees, and not away from the trees out under the hot sun.
"'I am going to build my house here,' he said, and he began to clear a place for it at once. He worked all day, and did not go away until night. Now, in that same country there lived a large, handsome tiger, with sharp, sharp teeth and bright, cruel eyes. One day the tiger said to himself, I am tired of having no home of my own, of just living around anywhere. I shall build me a house. Accordingly, the tiger searched for a place to build his house. He searched on every hill, in every valley, by every stream, and under all the trees. At last he found a place which was just right. It was not too high. Nor too low, not too near a stream, and not too far away from one, not under too thick trees, and yet not away from the trees out in the hot sun.
The tiger said to himself, "'I am going to build my house here. The place is all ready for me, for there isn't very much underbrush here.' He began at once, and finished clearing the place. Then it became daylight. And he went away. At daylight the stag came back to do more work on his new house. "'Hm,' he said when he looked at the clearing, "'somebody is helping me. The place is cleared and ready for me to build the foundation.' He began to work at once, and worked all day. At night, when the foundation was laid, he went away. At night the tiger came to work at his new house. "'Hm,' he said. When he looked at it, somebody is helping me. The foundations of my house are all laid. He began to work at once, and built the sides of the house.
He worked all night, and went away at daybreak, leaving the house with the sides completed. There was a big door, and a funny little window in the side. At daybreak, the stag came back to work on his house. When he saw it, He rubbed his eyes, for he thought that he must be dreaming. The sides of the house were completed with a big door and a funny little window. "'Somebody must surely be helping me,' he said to himself, as he began to work to put on the roof. He worked hard all day, and when the sun went down there was a roof of dried grass on the house. "'I can sleep in my own house to-night,' he said. He made his bed in the corner, and soon was sound asleep. At night, the tiger came back to work on his new house.
When he saw it, he rubbed his eyes, for he thought that he must be dreaming. There was a roof of dried grass on the house. Somebody must surely be helping me, he said to himself as he entered the door. The first thing he saw when he entered the door was the stag sound asleep in his bed in the corner. "'Who are you, and what are you doing in my house?' he said in his deepest voice. The stag woke up with a start. "'Who are you, and what are you doing in my house?' said the stag in his deepest voice. "'It is not your house. It is mine. I built it myself,' said the tiger. "'It is my house,' said the stag. I built it myself.
I made the clearing for the house, said the tiger. I built the sides and made the door and window. I started the clearing, said the stag. I laid the foundations and put on the roof of dried grass. The stag and the tiger quarreled all night about whose house it was. At daybreak, they decided that they would live together there.
The next night, the tiger said to the stag, "'I'm going hunting. Get the water and have the wood ready for the fire. I shall be almost famished when I return.' The stag got the wood and water ready. After a while the tiger came back. He brought home for dinner a great handsome stag. The stag had no appetite at all, and he didn't sleep a wink that night. The next day the stag said he was going hunting. He told the tiger to have the wood and water ready when he got back. The tiger got the wood and water ready. By and by the stag came back, bringing with him the body of a great tiger. "'I am nearly famished,' said the stag. "'Let's have dinner right away.' The tiger hadn't any appetite at all, and he could not eat a mouthful.
That night neither the tiger nor the stag could sleep a wink. The tiger was afraid the stag would kill him if he shut his eyes for a minute, and the stag was afraid the tiger would kill him if he slept, or even pretended to sleep. Accordingly, He kept wide awake, too. Toward morning, the stag got very cramped from keeping in one position so long. He moved his head slightly. In doing this, his horns struck against the roof of the house. It made a terrible noise. The tiger thought that the stag was about to spring upon him and kill him. He made a leap for the door, and ran out of it as fast as he could. He ran and ran until he was far, far away from the house with a roof of dried grass. The stag thought that the tiger was about to spring upon him and kill him.
He, too, made a leap for the door, and ran and ran until he was far, far away from the house with a roof of dried grass. The tiger and the stag are still running away from each other. Until this very day. The house, with the roof of dried grass, waited and waited there, in the place which was neither too high nor too low, too near the river nor too far away, not under too thick trees, nor out in the hot sun. It waited and waited until it got so tired it fell down in a heap. End of Why the Tiger and the Stag Fear Each Other, by Elsie Spicer Eels.