Produced by Mike Lough
GOOD STORIES FOR GREAT HOLIDAYS
ARRANGED FOR STORY-TELLING AND READING ALOUD
AND FOR THE CHILDREN'S OWN READING
By Frances Jenkins Olcott
Index according to reading level is appended.
TO THE STORY-TELLER
This volume, though intended also for the children's own reading and for
reading aloud, is especially planned for story-telling. The latter is a
delightful way of arousing a gladsome holiday spirit, and of showing the
inner meanings of different holidays. As stories used for this purpose
are scattered through many volumes, and as they are not always in the
concrete form required for story-telling, I have endeavored to bring
together myths, legends, tales, and historical stories suitable to
holiday occasions.
There are here collected one hundred and twenty stories for seventeen
holidays--stories grave, gay, humorous, or fanciful; also some that
are spiritual in feeling, and others that give the delicious thrill
of horror so craved by boys and girls at Halloween time. The range
of selection is wide, and touches all sides of wholesome boy and girl
nature, and the tales have the power to arouse an appropriate holiday
spirit.
As far as possible the stories are presented in their original form.
When, however, they are too long for inclusion, or too loose in
structure for story-telling purposes, they are adapted.
Adapted stories are of two sorts. Condensed: in which case a piece of
literature is shortened, scarcely any changes being made in the original
language. Rewritten: here the plot, imagery, language, and style of the
original are retained as far as possible, while the whole is moulded
into form suitable for story-telling. Some few stories are built up on a
slight framework of original matter.
Thus it may be seen that the tales in this volume have not been reduced
to the necessarily limited vocabulary and uniform style of one editor,
but that they are varied in treatment and language, and are the products
of many minds.
A glance at the table of contents will show that not only have
selections been made from modern authors and from the folklore of
different races, but that some quaint old literary sources have been
drawn on. Among the men and books contributing to these pages are the
Gesta Romanorum, Il Libro d'Oro, Xenophon, Ovid, Lucian, the Venerable
Bede, William of Malmesbury. John of Hildesheim, William Caxton, and the
more modern Washington Irving, Hugh Miller, Charles Dickens, and Henry
Cabot Lodge; also those immortals, Hans Andersen, the Brothers Grimm,
Horace E. Scudder, and others.
The stories are arranged to meet the needs of story-telling in the
graded schools. Reading-lists, showing where to find additional material
for story-telling and collateral reading, are added. Grades in which the
recommended stories are useful are indicated.
The number of selections in the volume, as well as the references
to other books, is limited by the amount and character of available
material. For instance, there is little to be found for Saint
Valentine's Day, while there is an overwhelming abundance of fine
stories for the Christmas season. Stories like Dickens's “Christmas
Carol,” Ouida's “Dog of Flanders,” and Hawthorne's tales, which are too
long for inclusion and would lose their literary beauty if condensed,
are referred to in the lists. Volumes containing these stories may be
procured at the public library.
A subject index is appended. This indicates the ethical, historical, and
other subject-matter of interest to the teacher, thus making the volume
serviceable for other occasions besides holidays.
In learning her tale the story-teller is advised not to commit it to
memory. Such a method is apt to produce a wooden or glib manner of
presentation. It is better for her to read the story over and over again
until its plot, imagery, style, and vocabulary become her own, and then
to retell it, as Miss Bryant says, “simply, vitally, joyously.”
CONTENTS
NEW YEAR'S DAY (January 1)
THE FAIRY'S NEW YEAR GIFT: Emilie Poulsson, In the Child's World
THE LITTLE MATCH GIRL: Hans Christian Andersen, Stories and Tales
THE TWELVE MONTHS: Alexander Chodsvko, Slav Fairy Tales
THE MAIL-COACH PASSENGERS: Hans Christian Andersen, Fairy Tales
LINCOLN'S BIRTHDAY (February 10)
HE RESCUES THE BIRDS: Noah Brooks, Abraham Lincoln
LINCOLN AND THE LITTLE GIRL: Charles W. Moores, Life of Abraham Lincoln
for Boys and Girls
TRAINING FOR THE PRESIDENCY: Orison Swett Matden, Winning Out
WHY LINCOLN WAS CALLED “HONEST ABE”: Noah Brooks, Abraham Lincoln
A STRANGER AT FIVE-POINTS: Adapted
A SOLOMON COME TO JUDGMENT: Charles W. Moores, Life of Abraham Lincoln
for Boys and Girls
GEORGE PICKETT'S FRIEND: Charles W. Moores, Life of Abraham Lincoln for
Boys and Girls
LINCOLN THE LAWYER: Z. A. Mudge, The Forest Boy
THE COURAGE OF HIS CONVICTIONS: Adapted
MR. LINCOLN AND THE BIBLE: Z. A. Mudge, The Forest Boy
HIS SPRINGFIELD FAREWELL ADDRESS [Lincoln]
SAINT VALENTINE'S DAY (February 14)
SAINT VALENTINE
SAINT VALENTINE: Millicent Olmsted
A GIRL'S VALENTINE CHARM: The Connoisseur, 1775
MR. PEPYS HIS VALENTINE: Samuel Pepys, Diary
CUPID AND PSYCHE: Josephine Preston Peabody, Old Greek Folk Stories
WASHINGTON'S BIRTHDAY (February 22)
THREE OLD TALES: M. L. Weems, Life of George Washington, with Curious
Anecdotes
YOUNG GEORGE AND THE COLT: Horace E. Scudder, George Washington
WASHINGTON THE ATHLETE: Albert F. Blaisdell and Francis R. Ball, Hero
Stories from American History
WASHINGTON'S MODESTY: Henry Cabot Lodge, George Washington
WASHINGTON AT YORKTOWN: Henry Cabot lodge, George Washington
RESURRECTION DAY (Easter Sunday) (March or April)
A LESSON OF FAITH: Mrs. Alfred Gatty, Parables from Nature
A CHILD'S DREAM OF A STAR: Charles Dickens
THE LOVELIEST ROSE IN THE WORLD: Hans Christian Andersen, Stories and
Tales
MAY DAY (May 1) THE SNOWDROP: Hans Christian Andersen; Adapted by Bailey
and Lewis
THE THREE LITTLE BUTTERFLY BROTHERS: From the German
THE WATER DROP: Friedrich Wilhelm Carove, Story without an End,
translated by Sarah Austin
THE SPRING BEAUTY: Henry R. Schoolcraft, The Myth of Hiawatha
THE FAIRY TULIPS: English Folk-Tale
THE STREAM THAT RAN AWAY: Mary Austin, The Basket Woman
THE ELVES: Harriet Mazwell Converse, Myths and legends of the New York
State Iroquois
THE CANYON FLOWERS: Ralph Connor, The Sky Pilot
CLYTIE, THE HELIOTROPE: Ovid, Metamorphoses
HYACINTHUS: Ovid, Metamorphoses
ECHO AND NARCISSUS: Ovid, Metamorphoses
MOTHERS' DAY (Second Sunday in May)
THE LARK AND ITS YOUNG ONES: P. V. Ramuswami Raju, Indian Fables
CORNELIA S JEWELS: James Baldwin, Fifty Famous Stories Retold
QUEEN MARGARET AND THE ROBBERS: Albert F. Blaisdell, Stories from
Enylish History
THE REVENGE OF CORIOLANUS: Charles Morris, Historical Tales
THE WIDOW AND HER THREE SONS
MEMORIAL DAY (May 30)[1] AND FLAG DAY (June 14) Confederate Memorial Day
is celebrated in some States on April 26 and in others on May 10.
BETSY ROSS AND THE FLAG: Harry Pringle Ford
THE STAR SPANGLED BANNER: Eva March Tappan, Hero Stories from American
History
THE LITTLE DRUMMER-BOY: Aloert Bushnell Hart, The Romance of the Civil
War
A FLAG INCIDENT: M. M. Thomas, Captain Phil
TWO HERO-STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR: Ben La Bree, Camp Fires of the
Confederacy
THE YOUNG SENTINEL: Z. A. Mudge, The Forest Boy
THE COLONEL OF THE ZOUAVES: Noah Brooks, Abraham Lincoln
GENERAL SCOTT AND THE STARS AND STRIPES: E. D. Townsend, Anecdotes of
the Civil War
INDEPENDENCE DAY (July 4)
THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE: Washington Irving, Life of Washington
THE SIGNING OF THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE: H. A. Guerber, The Story
of the Thirteen Colonies
A BRAVE GIRL: James Johonnot, Stories of Heroic Deeds
THE BOSTON TEA-PARTY: John Andrews, Letter to a friend written in 1773
A GUNPOWDER STORY: John Esten Cooke, Stories of the Old Dominion
THE CAPTURE OF FORT TICONDEROGA: Washington Irving, Life of Washington
WASHINGTON AND THE COWARDS: Washington Irving, Life of Washington
LABOR DAY (First Monday in September)
THE SMITHY: P. V. Ramaswami Raju, Indian Fables
THE NAIL: The Brothers Grimm, German Household Tales
THE ELVES AND THE SHOEMAKER: Horace E. Scudder, Book of Fables and Folk
Stories
THE HILLMAN AND THE HOUSEWIFE: Juliana Horatia Ewing, Old Fashioned
Fairy Tales
HOFUS THE STONE CUTTER, A JAPANESE LEGEND: The Riserside Third Reader
ARACHNE: Josephine Preston Peabody, Old Greek Folk Stories
THE METAL KING: A German Folk-Tale
THE CHOICE OF HERCULES: Xenophon, Memorabilia of Socrates
THE SPEAKING STATUE: Gesta Romanorum
THE CHAMPION STONE CUTTER: Hugh Miller
BILL BROWN'S TEST: Cleveland Moffett, Careers of Danger and Daring
COLUMBUS DAY (October 12)
COLUMBUS AND THE EGG: James Baldwin, Thirty More Famous Stories Retold
COLUMBUS AT LA RABIDA: Washington Irving, Life of Christopher Columbus
THE MUTINY: A. de Lamartine, Life of Columbus
THE FIRST LANDING OF COLUMBUS IN THE NEW WORLD: Washington Irving, Life
of Christopher Columbus
HALLOWEEN (October 31)
THE OLD WITCH: The Brothers Grimm, German Household Tales
SHIPPEITARO: Mary F. Nixon-Roulet, Japanese Folk Stories and Fairy Tales
HANSEL AND GRETHEL: The Brothers Grimm, German Household Tales
BURG HILL'S ON FIRE: Elizabeth W. Grierson, Children's Book of Celtic
Stories
THE KING OF THE CATS: Ernest Rhys, Fairy-Gold
THE STRANGE VISITOR: Joseph Jacobs, English Fairy Tales
THE BENEVOLENT GOBLIN: Gesta Romanorum
THE PHANTOM KNIGHT OF THE VANDAL CAMP: Gesta Romanorum
THANKSGIVING DAY (Last Thursday in November)
THE FIRST HARVEST-HOME IN PLYMOUTH: W. De Loss Lore, Jr., The Fast and
Thanksgiving Days of New England
THE MASTER OF THE HARVEST: Mrs. Alfred Gatty, Parables from Nature
SAINT CUTHBERT'S EAGLE: The Venerable Bede, Life and Miracles of Saint
Cuthbert
THE EARS OF WHEAT: The Brothers Grimm, German Household Tales
HOW INDIAN CORN CAME INTO THE WORLD: Henry R. Schoolcraft, The Myth of
Hiawatha
THE NUTCRACKER DWARF: Count Franz Pocci, Fur Frohliche Kinder
THE PUMPKIN PIRATES, A TALE FROM LUCIAN: Alfred J. Church, The Greek
Gulliver
THE SPIRIT OF THE CORN: Harriet Mazwell Converse,
Myths and Legends of the New York State Iroquois
THE HORN OF PLENTY: Ovid, Metamorphoses
CHRISTMAS DAY (December 25)
LITTLE PICCOLA: Celia Thazter, Stories and Poems for Children
THE STRANGER CHILD, A LEGEND: Count Franz Pocci, Fur Frohliche Kinder
SAINT CHRISTOPHER: William Caxton, Golden Legend
THE CHRISTMAS ROSE, AN OLD LEGEND: Lizzie Deas, Flower Favourites
THE WOODEN SHOES OF LITTLE WOLFF: Francois Coppee
THE PINE TREE: Hans Christian Andersen, Wonder Stories
THE CHRISTMAS CUCKOO: Frances Browne, Granny's Wonderful Chair
THE CHRISTMAS FAIRY OF STRASBURG, A GERMAN FOLK-TALE: J. Stirling Coyne,
Illustrated London News
THE THREE PURSES, A LEGEND: William S. Walsh, Story of Santa Klaus
THE THUNDER OAK, A SCANDINAVIAN LEGEND: William S. Walsh and Others
THE CHRISTMAS THORN OF GLASTONBURY, A LEGEND OF ANCIENT BRITAIN: William
of Malmesbury and Others
THE THREE KINGS OF COLOGNE, A LEGEND OF THE MIDDLE AGES: John of
Hildesheim, Modernized by H. S. Morris
ARBOR DAY
THE LITTLE TREE THAT LONGED FOR OTHER LEAVES: Friedrieh Ruckert
WHY THE EVERGREEN TREES NEVER LOSE THEIR LEAVES: Florence Holbrook, Book
of Nature Myths
WHY THE ASPEN QUIVERS: Old legend
THE WONDER TREE: Friedrich Adolph Krummacher, Parables
THE PROUD OAK TREE: Old Fable
BAUCIS AND PHILEMON: H. P. Maskell, Francis Storr,
Half-a-Hundred Hero Tales
THE UNFRUITFUL TREE: Friedrich Adolph Krummacher, Parables
THE DRYAD OF THE OLD OAK: James Russell Lowell, Rhoecus (a poem)
DAPHNE: OVID, Metamorphoses BIRD DAY
THE OLD WOMAN WHO BECAME A WOODPECKER: Phoebe Cary, A Legend of the
Northland (poem)
THE BOY WHO BECAME A ROBIN: Henry R. Schoolcraft, The Myth of Hiawatha
THE TONGUE-CUT SPARROW: A. B. Mitford, Tales of Old Japan
THE QUAILS, A LEGEND OF THE JATAKA: Riverside Fourth Reader
THE MAGPIE'S NEST: Joseph Jacobs, English Fairy Tales
THE GREEDY GEESE: Il Libro d'Oro
THE KING OF THE BIRDS: The Brothers Grimm, German Household Tales
THE DOVE WHO SPOKE TRUTH: Abbie Farwell Brown, The Curious Book of Birds
THE BUSY BLUE JAY: Olive Thorne Miller, True Bird Stories
BABES IN THE WOODS: John Burroughs, Bird Stories from Burroughs
THE PRIDE OF THE REGIMENT: Harry M. Rieffer, The Recollections of a
Drummer Boy
THE MOTHER MURRE: Dallas Lore Sharp, Summer
REFERENCE LISTS FOR STORY-TELLING AND COLLATERAL READING
GOOD STORIES FOR GREAT HOLIDAYS
THE FAIRY'S NEW YEAR GIFT
BY EMILIE POULSSON (ADAPTED)
Two little boys were at play one day when a Fairy suddenly appeared
before them and said: “I have been sent to give you New Year presents.”
She handed to each child a package, and in an instant was gone.
Carl and Philip opened the packages and found in them two beautiful
books, with pages as pure and white as the snow when it first falls.
Many months passed and the Fairy came again to the boys. “I have brought
you each another book?” said she, “and will take the first ones back to
Father Time who sent them to you.”
“May I not keep mine a little longer?” asked Philip. “I have hardly
thought about it lately. I'd like to paint something on the last leaf
that lies open.”
“No,” said the Fairy; “I must take it just as it is.”
“I wish that I could look through mine just once,” said Carl; “I have
only seen one page at a time, for when the leaf turns over it sticks
fast, and I can never open the book at more than one place each day.”
“You shall look at your book,” said the Fairy, “and Philip, at his.” And
she lit for them two little silver lamps, by the light of which they saw
the pages as she turned them.
The boys looked in wonder. Could it be that these were the same fair
books she had given them a year ago? Where were the clean, white pages,
as pure and beautiful as the snow when it first falls? Here was a page
with ugly, black spots and scratches upon it; while the very next page
showed a lovely little picture. Some pages were decorated with gold and
silver and gorgeous colors, others with beautiful flowers, and still
others with a rainbow of softest, most delicate brightness. Yet even on
the most beautiful of the pages there were ugly blots and scratches.
Carl and Philip looked up at the Fairy at last.
“Who did this?” they asked. “Every page was white and fair as we opened
to it; yet now there is not a single blank place in the whole book!”
“Shall I explain some of the pictures to you?” said the Fairy, smiling
at the two little boys.
“See, Philip, the spray of roses blossomed on this page when you let
the baby have your playthings; and this pretty bird, that looks as if it
were singing with all its might, would never have been on this page
if you had not tried to be kind and pleasant the other day, instead of
quarreling.”
“But what makes this blot?” asked Philip.
“That,” said the Fairy sadly; “that came when you told an untruth one
day, and this when you did not mind mamma. All these blots and scratches
that look so ugly, both in your book and in Carl's, were made when you
were naughty. Each pretty thing in your books came on its page when you
were good.”
“Oh, if we could only have the books again!” said Carl and Philip.
“That cannot be,” said the Fairy. “See! they are dated for this year,
and they must now go back into Father Time's bookcase, but I have
brought you each a new one. Perhaps you can make these more beautiful
than the others.”
So saying, she vanished, and the boys were left alone, but each held in
his hand a new book open at the first page.
And on the back of this book was written in letters of gold, “For the
New Year.”
THE LITTLE MATCH GIRL
BY HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN (TRANSLATED)
It was very, very cold; it snowed and it grew dark; it was the last
evening of the year, New Year's Eve. In the cold and dark a poor little
girl, with bare head and bare feet, was walking through the streets.
When she left her own house she certainly had had slippers on; but what
could they do? They were very big slippers, and her mother had used them
till then, so big were they. The little maid lost them as she slipped
across the road, where two carriages were rattling by terribly fast. One
slipper was not to be found again, and a boy ran away with the other. He
said he could use it for a cradle when he had children of his own.
So now the little girl went with her little naked feet, which were quite
red and blue with the cold. In an old apron she carried a number of
matches, and a bundle of them in her hand. No one had bought anything
of her all day; no one had given her a copper. Hungry and cold she went,
and drew herself together, poor little thing! The snowflakes fell on her
long yellow hair, which curled prettily over her neck; but she did not
think of that now. In all the windows lights were shining, and there was
a glorious smell of roast goose out there in the street; it was no doubt
New Year's Eve. Yes, she thought of that!
In a corner formed by two houses, one of which was a little farther from
the street than the other, she sat down and crept close. She had drawn
up her little feet, but she was still colder, and she did not dare to
go home, for she had sold no matches, and she had not a single cent; her
father would beat her; and besides, it was cold at home, for they had
nothing over the them but a roof through which the wind whistled, though
straw and rags stopped the largest holes.
Her small hands were quite numb with the cold. Ah! a little match might
do her good if she only dared draw one from the bundle, and strike
it against the wall, and warm her fingers at it. She drew one out.
R-r-atch! how it spluttered and burned! It was a warm bright flame, like
a little candle, when she held her hands over it; it was a wonderful
little light! It really seemed to the little girl as if she sat before a
great polished stove, with bright brass feet and a brass cover. The
fire burned so nicely; it warmed her so well,--the little girl was just
putting out her feet to warm these, too,--when out went the flame; the
stove was gone;--she sat with only the end of the burned match in her
hand.
She struck another; it burned; it gave a light; and where it shone on
the wall, the wall became thin like a veil, and she could see through it
into the room where a table stood, spread with a white cloth, and with
china on it; and the roast goose smoked gloriously, stuffed with apples
and dried plums. And what was still more splendid to behold, the goose
hopped down from the dish, and waddled along the floor, with a knife and
fork in its breast; straight to the little girl he came. Then the match
went out, and only the thick, damp, cold wall was before her.
She lighted another. Then she was sitting under a beautiful Christmas
tree; it was greater and finer than the one she had seen through the
glass door at the rich merchant's. Thousands of candles burned upon
the green branches, and colored pictures like those in the shop windows
looked down upon them. The little girl stretched forth both hands toward
them; then the match went out. The Christmas lights went higher and
higher. She saw that now they were stars in the sky: one of them fell
and made a long line of fire.
“Now some one is dying,” said the little girl, for her old grandmother,
the only person who had been good to her, but who was now dead, had
said: “When a star falls a soul mounts up to God.”
She rubbed another match against the wall; it became bright again, and
in the light there stood the old grandmother clear and shining, mild and
lovely.
“Grandmother!” cried the child. “Oh, take me with you! I know you will
go when the match is burned out. You will go away like the warm stove,
the nice roast goose, and the great glorious Christmas tree!”
And she hastily rubbed the whole bundle of matches, for she wished to
hold her grandmother fast. And the matches burned with such a glow that
it became brighter than in the middle of the day; grandmother had never
been so large or so beautiful. She took the little girl up in her arms,
and both flew in the light and the joy so high, so high! and up there
was no cold, nor hunger, nor care--they were with God.
But in the corner by the house sat the little girl, with red cheeks and
smiling mouth, frozen to death on the last evening of the Old Year.
The New Year's sun rose upon the little body, that sat there with the
matches, of which one bundle was burned. She wanted to warm herself,
the people said. No one knew what fine things she had seen, and in what
glory she had gone in with her grandmother to the New Year's Day.
THE TWELVE MONTHS
A SLAV LEGEND
BY ALEXANDER CHODZKO (ADAPTED)
There was once a widow who had two daughters, Helen, her own child by
her dead husband, and Marouckla, his daughter by his first wife. She
loved Helen, but hated the poor orphan because she was far prettier than
her own daughter.
Marouckla did not think about her good looks, and could not understand
why her stepmother should be angry at the sight of her. The hardest work
fell to her share. She cleaned out the rooms, cooked, washed, sewed,
spun, wove, brought in the hay, milked the cow, and all this without any
help.
Helen, meanwhile, did nothing but dress herself in her best clothes and
go to one amusement after another.
But Marouckla never complained. She bore the scoldings and bad temper of
mother and sister with a smile on her lips, and the patience of a lamb.
But this angelic behavior did not soften them. They became even more
tyrannical and grumpy, for Marouckla grew daily more beautiful, while
Helen's ugliness increased. So the stepmother determined to get rid of
Marouckla, for she knew that while she remained, her own daughter would
have no suitors. Hunger, every kind of privation, abuse, every means was
used to make the girl's life miserable. But in spite of it all Marouckla
grew ever sweeter and more charming.
One day in the middle of winter Helen wanted some wood-violets.
“Listen,” cried she to Marouckla, “you must go up the mountain and
find me violets. I want some to put in my gown. They must be fresh and
sweet-scented-do you hear?”
“But, my dear sister, whoever heard of violets blooming in the snow?”
said the poor orphan.
“You wretched creature! Do you dare to disobey me?” said Helen. “Not
another word. Off with you! If you do not bring me some violets from the
mountain forest I will kill you.”
The stepmother also added her threats to those of Helen, and with
vigorous blows they pushed Marouckla outside and shut the door upon her.
The weeping girl made her way to the mountain. The snow lay deep, and
there was no trace of any human being. Long she wandered hither and
thither, and lost herself in the wood. She was hungry, and shivered with
cold, and prayed to die.
Suddenly she saw a light in the distance, and climbed toward it till she
reached the top of the mountain. Upon the highest peak burned a large
fire, surrounded by twelve blocks of stone on which sat twelve strange
beings. Of these the first three had white hair, three were not quite so
old, three were young and handsome, and the rest still younger.
There they all sat silently looking at the fire. They were the Twelve
Months of the Year. The great January was placed higher than the others.
His hair and mustache were white as snow, and in his hand he held a
wand. At first Marouckla was afraid, but after a while her courage
returned, and drawing near, she said:--
“Men of God, may I warm myself at your fire? I am chilled by the winter
cold.”
The great January raised his head and answered: “What brings thee here,
my daughter? What dost thou seek?”
“I am looking for violets,” replied the maiden.
“This is not the season for violets. Dost thou not see the snow
everywhere?” said January.
“I know well, but my sister Helen and my stepmother have ordered me to
bring them violets from your mountain. If I return without them they
will kill me. I pray you, good shepherds, tell me where they may be
found.”
Here the great January arose and went over to the youngest of the
Months, and, placing his wand in his hand, said:--
“Brother March, do thou take the highest place.”
March obeyed, at the same time waving his wand over the fire.
Immediately the flames rose toward the sky, the snow began to melt and
the trees and shrubs to bud. The grass became green, and from between
its blades peeped the pale primrose. It was spring, and the meadows were
blue with violets.
“Gather them quickly, Marouckla,” said March.
Joyfully she hastened to pick the flowers, and having soon a large bunch
she thanked them and ran home. Helen and the stepmother were amazed at
the sight of the flowers, the scent of which filled the house.
“Where did you find them?” asked Helen.
“Under the trees on the mountain-side,” said Marouckla.
Helen kept the flowers for herself and her mother. She did not even
thank her stepsister for the trouble she had taken. The next day she
desired Marouckla to fetch her strawberries.
“Run,” said she, “and fetch me strawberries from the mountain. They must
be very sweet and ripe.”
“But whoever heard of strawberries ripening in the snow?” exclaimed
Marouckla.
“Hold your tongue, worm; don't answer me. If I don't have my
strawberries I will kill you,” said Helen.
Then the stepmother pushed Marouckla into the yard and bolted the door.
The unhappy girl made her way toward the mountain and to the large
fire round which sat the Twelve Months. The great January occupied the
highest place.
“Men of God, may I warm myself at your fire? The winter cold chills me,”
said she, drawing near.
The great January raised his head and asked: “Why comest thou here? What
dost thou seek?”
“I am looking for strawberries,” said she.
“We are in the midst of winter,” replied January, “strawberries do not
grow in the snow.”
“I know,” said the girl sadly, “but my sister and stepmother have
ordered me to bring them strawberries. If I do not they will kill me.
Pray, good shepherds, tell me where to find them.”
The great January arose, crossed over to the Month opposite him, and
putting the wand in his hand, said: “Brother June, do thou take the
highest place.”
June obeyed, and as he waved his wand over the fire the flames leaped
toward the sky. Instantly the snow melted, the earth was covered with
verdure, trees were clothed with leaves, birds began to sing, and
various flowers blossomed in the forest. It was summer. Under the bushes
masses of star-shaped flowers changed into ripening strawberries, and
instantly they covered the glade, making it look like a sea of blood.
“Gather them quickly, Marouckla,” said June.
Joyfully she thanked the Months, and having filled her apron ran happily
home.
Helen and her mother wondered at seeing the strawberries, which filled
the house with their delicious fragrance.
“Wherever did you find them?” asked Helen crossly.
“Right up among the mountains. Those from under the beech trees are not
bad,” answered Marouckla.
Helen gave a few to her mother and ate the rest herself. Not one did she
offer to her stepsister. Being tired of strawberries, on the third day
she took a fancy for some fresh, red apples.
“Run, Marouckla,” said she, “and fetch me fresh, red apples from the
mountain.”
“Apples in winter, sister? Why, the trees have neither leaves nor
fruit!”
“Idle thing, go this minute,” said Helen; “unless you bring back apples
we will kill you.”
As before, the stepmother seized her roughly and turned her out of the
house. The poor girl went weeping up the mountain, across the deep snow,
and on toward the fire round which were the Twelve Months. Motionless
they sat there, and on the highest stone was the great January.
“Men of God, may I warm myself at your fire? The winter cold chills me,”
said she, drawing near.
The great January raised his head. “Why comest thou here? What does thou
seek?” asked he.
“I am come to look for red apples,” replied Marouckla.
“But this is winter, and not the season for red apples,” observed the
great January.
“I know,” answered the girl, “but my sister and stepmother sent me to
fetch red apples from the mountain. If I return without them they will
kill me.”
Thereupon the great January arose and went over to one of the elderly
Months, to whom he handed the wand saying:--
“Brother September, do thou take the highest place.”
September moved to the highest stone, and waved his wand over the fire.
There was a flare of red flames, the snow disappeared, but the fading
leaves which trembled on the trees were sent by a cold northeast wind in
yellow masses to the glade. Only a few flowers of autumn were visible.
At first Marouckla looked in vain for red apples. Then she espied a tree
which grew at a great height, and from the branches of this hung the
bright, red fruit. September ordered her to gather some quickly. The
girl was delighted and shook the tree. First one apple fell, then
another.
“That is enough,” said September; “hurry home.”
Thanking the Months she returned joyfully. Helen and the stepmother
wondered at seeing the fruit.
“Where did you gather them?” asked the stepsister.
“There are more on the mountain-top,” answered Marouckla.
“Then, why did you not bring more?” said Helen angrily. “You must have
eaten them on your way back, you wicked girl.”
“No, dear sister, I have not even tasted them,” said Marouckla. “I shook
the tree twice. One apple fell each time. Some shepherds would not allow
me to shake it again, but told me to return home.”
“Listen, mother,” said Helen. “Give me my cloak. I will fetch some more
apples myself. I shall be able to find the mountain and the tree. The
shepherds may cry 'Stop!' but I will not leave go till I have shaken
down all the apples.”
In spite of her mother's advice she wrapped herself in her pelisse,
put on a warm hood, and took the road to the mountain. Snow covered
everything. Helen lost herself and wandered hither and thither. After
a while she saw a light above her, and, following in its direction,
reached the mountain-top.
There was the flaming fire, the twelve blocks of stone, and the Twelve
Months. At first she was frightened and hesitated; then she came nearer
and warmed her hands. She did not ask permission, nor did she speak one
polite word.
“What hath brought thee here? What dost thou seek?” said the great
January severely.
“I am not obliged to tell you, old graybeard. What business is it of
yours?” she replied disdainfully, turning her back on the fire and going
toward the forest.
The great January frowned, and waved his wand over his head. Instantly
the sky became covered with clouds, the fire went down, snow fell in
large flakes, an icy wind howled round the mountain. Amid the fury of
the storm Helen stumbled about. The pelisse failed to warm her benumbed
limbs.
The mother kept on waiting for her. She looked from the window, she
watched from the doorstep, but her daughter came not. The hours passed
slowly, but Helen did not return.
“Can it be that the apples have charmed her from her home?” thought the
mother. Then she clad herself in hood and pelisse, and went in search of
her daughter. Snow fell in huge masses. It covered all things. For long
she wandered hither and thither, the icy northeast wind whistled in the
mountain, but no voice answered her cries.
Day after day Marouckla worked, and prayed, and waited, but neither
stepmother nor sister returned. They had been frozen to death on the
mountain.
The inheritance of a small house, a field, and a cow fell to Marouckla.
In course of time an honest farmer came to share them with her, and
their lives were happy and peaceful.
THE MAIL-COACH PASSENGERS
BY HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN (ADAPTED)
It was bitterly cold. The sky glittered with stars, and not a breeze
stirred. “Bump,”--an old pot was thrown at a neighbor's door; and,
“Bang! Bang!” went the guns, for they were greeting the New Year.
It was New Year's Eve, and the church clock was striking twelve.
“Tan-ta-ra-ra, tan-ta-ra-ra!” sounded the horn, and the mail-coach came
lumbering up. The clumsy vehicle stopped at the gate of the town; all
the places had been taken, for there were twelve passengers in the
coach.
“Hurrah! Hurrah!” cried the people in the town; for in every house the
New Year was being welcomed; and, as the clock struck, they stood up,
the full glasses in their hands, to drink success to the newcomer. “A
happy New Year,” was the cry; “a pretty wife, plenty of money, and no
sorrow or care!”
The wish passed round, and the glasses clashed together till they rang
again; while before the town-gate the mail-coach stopped with the twelve
strange passengers. And who were these strangers? Each of them had his
passport and his luggage with him; they even brought presents for me,
and for you, and for all the people in the town. Who were they? What did
they want? And what did they bring with them?
“Good-morning!” they cried to the sentry at the town-gate.
“Good-morning,” replied the sentry, for the clock had struck twelve.
“Your name and profession?” asked the sentry of the one who alighted
first from the carriage.
“See for yourself in the passport,” he replied.
“I am myself!”--and a famous fellow he looked, arrayed in bearskin
and fur boots. “Come to me to-morrow, and I will give you a New Year's
present. I throw shillings and pence among the people. I give balls
every night, no less than thirty-one; indeed, that is the highest number
I can spare for balls. My ships are often frozen in, but in my offices
it is warm and comfortable. MY NAME IS JANUARY. I am a merchant, and I
generally bring my accounts with me.”
Then the second alighted. He seemed a merry fellow. He was a director of
a theater, a manager of masked balls, and a leader of all the amusements
we can imagine. His luggage consisted of a great cask.
“We'll dance the bung out of the cask at carnival-time,” said he. “I'll
prepare a merry tune for you and for myself, too. Unfortunately I have
not long to live,--the shortest time, in fact, of my whole family,--only
twenty-eight days. Sometimes they pop me in a day extra; but I trouble
myself very little about that. Hurrah!”
“You must not shout so,” said the sentry.
“Certainly I may shout,” retorted the man.
“I'm Prince Carnival, traveling under THE NAME OF FEBRUARY.”
The third now got out. He looked the personification of fasting; but
he carried his nose very high, for he was a weather prophet. In his
buttonhole he wore a little bunch of violets, but they were very small.
“MARCH, MARCH!” the fourth passenger called after him, slapping him
on the shoulder, “don't you smell something good? Make haste into the
guard-room, they are feasting in there. I can smell it already! FORWARD,
MASTER MARCH!”
But it was not true. The speaker only wanted to make an APRIL FOOL of
him, for with that fun the fourth stranger generally began his career.
He looked very jovial, and did little work.
“If the world were only more settled!” said he; “but sometimes I'm
obliged to be in a good humor, and sometimes a bad one. I can laugh or
cry according to circumstances. I have my summer wardrobe in this box
here, but it would be very foolish to put it on now!”
After him a lady stepped out of the coach. SHE CALLED HERSELF MISS MAY.
She wore a summer dress and overshoes. Her dress was light green, and
there were anemones in her hair. She was so scented with wild thyme that
it made the sentry sneeze.
“Your health, and God bless you!” was her greeting.
How pretty she was! and such a singer! Not a theater singer nor a
ballad-singer; no, but a singer of the woods. For she wandered through
the gay, green forest, and had a concert there for her own amusement.
“Now comes the young lady,” said those in the coach; and out stepped a
young dame, delicate, proud, and pretty. IT WAS MISTRESS JUNE. In her
service people become lazy and fond of sleeping for hours. She gives
a feast on the longest day of the year, that there may be time for her
guests to partake of the numerous dishes at her table. Indeed, she keeps
her own carriage, but still she travels by the mail-coach with the rest
because she wishes to show that she is not proud.
But she was not without a protector; her younger brother, JULY, was with
her. He was a plump, young fellow, clad in summer garments, and wearing
a straw hat. He had very little luggage because it was so cumbersome in
the great heat. He had, however, swimming-trousers with him, which are
nothing to carry.
Then came the mother herself, MADAME AUGUST, a wholesale dealer
in fruit, proprietress of a large number of fish-ponds, and a
land-cultivator. She was fat and warm, yet she could use her hands well,
and would herself carry out food to the laborers in the field. After
work, came the recreations, dancing and playing in the greenwood, and
the “harvest home.” She was a thorough housewife.
After her a man stepped out of the coach. He is a painter, a master of
colors, and is NAMED SEPTEMBER. The forest on his arrival has to change
its colors, and how beautiful are those he chooses! The woods glow with
red, and gold, and brown. This great master painter can whistle like a
blackbird. There he stood with his color-pot in his hand, and that was
the whole of his luggage.
A landowner followed, who in the month for sowing seed attends to his
ploughing and is fond of field sports. SQUIRE OCTOBER brought his dog
and his gun with him, and had nuts in his game-bag.
“Crack! Crack!” He had a great deal of luggage, even a plough. He spoke
of farming, but what he said could scarcely be heard for the coughing
and sneezing of his neighbor.
It WAS NOVEMBER, who coughed violently as he got out. He had a cold, but
he said he thought it would leave him when he went out woodcutting, for
he had to supply wood to the whole parish. He spent his evenings making
skates, for he knew, he said, that in a few weeks they would be needed.
At length the last passenger made her appearance,--OLD MOTHER DECEMBER!
The dame was very aged, but her eyes glistened like two stars. She
carried on her arm a flower-pot, in which a little fir tree was growing.
“This tree I shall guard and cherish,” she said, “that it may grow large
by Christmas Eve, and reach from the floor to the ceiling, to be adorned
with lighted candles, golden apples, and toys. I shall sit by the
fireplace, and bring a story-book out of my pocket, and read aloud to
all the little children. Then the toys on the tree will become alive,
and the little waxen Angel at the top will spread out his wings of gold
leaf, and fly down from his green perch. He will kiss every child in
the room, yes, and all the little children who stand out in the street
singing a carol about the 'Star of Bethlehem.'”
“Well, now the coach may drive away,” said the sentry; “we will keep all
the twelve months here with us.”
“First let the twelve come to me,” said the Captain on duty, “one after
another. The passports I will keep here, each of them for one month.
When that has passed, I shall write the behavior of each stranger on his
passport. MR. JANUARY, have the goodness to come here.”
And MR. JANUARY stepped forward.
When a year has passed, I think I shall be able to tell you what the
twelve passengers have brought to you, to me, and to all of us. Just
now I do not know, and probably even they do not know themselves, for we
live in strange times.
LINCOLN'S BIRTHDAY
(FEBRUARY 12)
HE RESCUES THE BIRDS
BY NOAH BROOKS (ADAPTED)
Once, while riding through the country with some other lawyers, Lincoln
was missed from the party, and was seen loitering near a thicket of wild
plum trees where the men had stopped a short time before to water their
horses.
“Where is Lincoln?” asked one of the lawyers.
“When I saw him last,” answered another, “he had caught two young birds
that the wind had blown out of their nest, and was hunting for the nest
to put them back again.”
As Lincoln joined them, the lawyers rallied him on his
tender-heartedness, and he said:--
“I could not have slept unless I had restored those little birds to
their mother.”
LINCOLN AND THE LITTLE GIRL
BY CHARLES W. MOORES
In the old days, when Lincoln was one of the leading lawyers of the
State, he noticed a little girl of ten who stood beside a trunk in front
of her home crying bitterly. He stopped to learn what was wrong, and was
told that she was about to miss a long-promised visit to Decatur because
the wagon had not come for her.
“You needn't let that trouble you,” was his cheering reply. “Just come
along with me and we shall make it all right.”
Lifting the trunk upon his shoulder, and taking the little girl by the
hand, he went through the streets of Springfield, a half-mile to the
railway station, put her and her trunk on the train, and sent her away
with a happiness in her heart that is still there.
TRAINING FOR THE PRESIDENCY
BY ORISON SWETT MARDEN
“I meant to take good care of your book, Mr. Crawford,” said the boy,
“but I've damaged it a good deal without intending to, and now I want to
make it right with you. What shall I do to make it good?”
“Why, what happened to it, Abe?” asked the rich farmer, as he took the
copy of Weems's “Life of Washington” which he had lent young Lincoln,
and looked at the stained leaves and warped binding. “It looks as if it
had been out through all last night's storm. How came you to forget, and
leave it out to soak?”
“It was this way, Mr. Crawford,” replied Abe. “I sat up late to read
it, and when I went to bed, I put it away carefully in my bookcase, as
I call it, a little opening between two logs in the wall of our cabin. I
dreamed about General Washington all night. When I woke up I took it out
to read a page or two before I did the chores, and you can't imagine how
I felt when I found it in this shape. It seems that the mud-daubing
had got out of the weather side of that crack, and the rain must have
dripped on it three or four hours before I took it out. I'm sorry, Mr.
Crawford, and want to fix it up with you, if you can tell me how, for I
have not got money to pay for it.”
“Well,” said Mr. Crawford, “come and shuck corn three days, and the book
's yours.”
Had Mr. Crawford told young Abraham Lincoln that he had fallen heir to
a fortune the boy could hardly have felt more elated. Shuck corn only
three days, and earn the book that told all about his greatest hero!
“I don't intend to shuck corn, split rails, and the like always,” he
told Mrs. Crawford, after he had read the volume. “I'm going to fit
myself for a profession.”
“Why, what do you want to be, now?” asked Mrs. Crawford in surprise.
“Oh, I'll be President!” said Abe with a smile.
“You'd make a pretty President with all your tricks and jokes, now,
wouldn't you?” said the farmer's wife.
“Oh, I'll study and get ready,” replied the boy, “and then maybe the
chance will come.”
WHY LINCOLN WAS CALLED “HONEST ABE”
BY NOAH BROOKS
In managing the country store, as in everything that he undertook for
others, Lincoln did his very best. He was honest, civil, ready to do
anything that should encourage customers to come to the place, full of
pleasantries, patient, and alert.
On one occasion, finding late at night, when he counted over his cash,
that he had taken a few cents from a customer more than was due,
he closed the store, and walked a long distance to make good the
deficiency.
At another time, discovering on the scales in the morning a weight with
which he had weighed out a package of tea for a woman the night before,
he saw that he had given her too little for her money. He weighed out
what was due, and carried it to her, much to the surprise of the woman,
who had not known that she was short in the amount of her purchase.
Innumerable incidents of this sort are related of Lincoln, and we should
not have space to tell of the alertness with which he sprang to protect
defenseless women from insult, or feeble children from tyranny; for in
the rude community in which he lived, the rights of the defenseless were
not always respected as they should have been. There were bullies then,
as now.
A STRANGER AT FIVE-POINTS
(ADAPTED)
One afternoon in February, 1860, when the Sunday School of the
Five-Point House of Industry in New York was assembled, the teacher
saw a most remarkable man enter the room and take his place among the
others. This stranger was tall, his frame was gaunt and sinewy, his head
powerful, with determined features overcast by a gentle melancholy.
He listened with fixed attention to the exercises. His face expressed
such genuine interest that the teacher, approaching him, suggested that
he might have something to say to the children.
The stranger accepted the invitation with evident pleasure. Coming
forward, he began to speak and at once fascinated every child in the
room. His language was beautiful yet simple, his tones were musical, and
he spoke with deep feeling.
The faces of the boys and girls drooped sadly as he uttered warnings,
and then brightened with joy as he spoke cheerful words of promise. Once
or twice he tried to close his remarks, but the children shouted: “Go
on! Oh! do go on!” and he was forced to continue.
At last he finished his talk and was leaving the room quietly when the
teacher begged to know his name.
“Abra'm Lincoln, of Illinois,” was the modest response.
A SOLOMON COME TO JUDGMENT
BY CHARLES W. MOORES
Lincoln's practical sense and his understanding of human nature enabled
him to save the life of the son of his old Clary's Grove friend, Jack
Armstrong, who was on trial for murder. Lincoln, learning of it, went
to the old mother who had been kind to him in the days of his boyhood
poverty, and promised her that he would get her boy free.
The witnesses were sure that Armstrong was guilty, and one of them
declared that he had seen the fatal blow struck. It was late at night,
he said, and the light of the full moon had made it possible for him to
see the crime committed. Lincoln, on cross-examination, asked him only
questions enough to make the jury see that it was the full moon that
made it possible for the witness to see what occurred; got him to say
two or three times that he was sure of it, and seemed to give up any
further effort to save the boy.
But when the evidence was finished, and Lincoln's time came to make his
argument, he called for an almanac, which the clerk of the court had
ready for him, and handed it to the jury. They saw at once that on the
night of the murder there was no moon at all. They were satisfied that
the witness had told what was not true. Lincoln's case was won.
GEORGE PICKETT'S FRIEND
BY CHARLES W. MOORES
George Pickett, who had known Lincoln in Illinois, years before, joined
the Southern army, and by his conspicuous bravery and ability had become
one of the great generals of the Confederacy. Toward the close of the
war, when a large part of Virginia had fallen into the possession of the
Union army, the President called at General Pickett's Virginia home.
The general's wife, with her baby on her arm, met him at the door. She
herself has told the story for us.
“'Is this George Pickett's home?' he asked.
“With all the courage and dignity I could muster, I replied: 'Yes, and I
am his wife, and this is his baby.'
“'I am Abraham Lincoln.'
“'The President!' I gasped. I had never seen him, but I knew the intense
love and reverence with which my soldier always spoke of him.
“The stranger shook his head and replied: 'No; Abraham Lincoln, George's
old friend.'
“The baby pushed away from me and reached out his hands to Mr. Lincoln,
who took him in his arms. As he did so an expression of rapt, almost
divine tenderness and love lighted up the sad face. It was a look that
I have never seen on any other face. The baby opened his mouth wide and
insisted upon giving his father's friend a dewy kiss.
“As Mr. Lincoln gave the little one back to me he said: 'Tell your
father, the rascal, that I forgive him for the sake of your bright
eyes.'”
LINCOLN THE LAWYER
BY Z. A. MUDGE (ADAPTED)
He delighted to advocate the cases of those whom he knew to be wronged,
but he would not defend the cause of the guilty. If he discovered in the
course of a trial that he was on the wrong side, he lost all interest,
and ceased to make any exertion.
Once, while engaged in a prosecution, he discovered that his client's
cause was not a good one, and he refused to make the plea. His
associate, who was less scrupulous, made the plea and obtained a
decision in their favor. The fee was nine hundred dollars, half of which
was tendered to Mr. Lincoln, but he refused to accept a single cent of
it.