he could not earn enough to live on. At last, all he had in the world
was gone except just leather enough to make one pair of shoes. He cut
these out at night, and meant to rise early the next morning to make
them up.
His heart was light in spite of his troubles, for his conscience was
clear. So he went quietly to bed, left all his cares to God, and fell
asleep. In the morning he said his prayers, and sat down to work, when,
to his great wonder, there stood the shoes, already made, upon the
table.
The good man knew not what to say or think. He looked at the work. There
was not one false stitch in the whole job. All was neat and true.
That same day a customer came in, and the shoes pleased him so well that
he readily paid a price higher than usual for them. The shoemaker took
the money and bought leather enough to make two pairs more. He cut out
the work in the evening, and went to bed early. He wished to be up with
the sun and get to work.
He was saved all trouble, for when he got up in the morning, the work
was done. Pretty soon buyers came in, who paid him well for his goods.
So he bought leather enough for four pairs more.
He cut out the work again overnight, and found it finished in the
morning as before. So it went on for some time. What was got ready at
night was always done by daybreak, and the good man soon was well-to-do.
One evening, at Christmas-time, he and his wife sat over the fire,
chatting, and he said: “I should like to sit up and watch to-night, that
we may see who it is that comes and does my work for me.” So they left
the light burning, and hid themselves behind a curtain to see what would
happen.
As soon as it was midnight, there came two little Elves. They sat upon
the shoemaker's bench, took up all the work that was cut out, and began
to ply their little fingers. They stitched and rapped and tapped at such
a rate that the shoemaker was amazed, and could not take his eyes off
them for a moment.
On they went till the job was done, and the shoes stood, ready for use,
upon the table. This was long before daybreak. Then they ran away as
quick as lightning.
The next day the wife said to the shoemaker: “These little Elves have
made us rich, and we ought to be thankful to them, and do them some
good in return. I am vexed to see them run about as they do. They have
nothing upon their backs to keep off the cold. I'll tell you what we
must do. I will make each of them a shirt, and a coat and waistcoat, and
a pair of pantaloons into the bargain. Do you make each of them a little
pair of shoes.”
The good shoemaker liked the thought very well. One evening he and his
wife had the clothes ready, and laid them on the table instead of the
work they used to cut out. Then they went and hid behind the curtain to
watch what the little Elves would do.
At midnight the Elves came in and were going to sit down at their work
as usual. But when they saw the clothes lying there for them, they
laughed and were in high glee. They dressed themselves in the twinkling
of an eye, and danced and capered and sprang about as merry as could be,
till at last they danced out of the door, and over the green.
The shoemaker saw them no more, but everything went well with him as
long as he lived.
THE HILLMAN AND THE HOUSEWIFE
BY JULIANA HORATIA EWING (ADAPTED)
It is well known that the Fairy People cannot abide meanness. They like
to be liberally dealt with when they beg or borrow of the human race;
and, on the other hand, to those who come to them in need, they are
invariably generous.
Now there once lived a certain housewife who had a sharp eye to her own
interests, and gave alms of what she had no use for, hoping to get some
reward in return. One day a Hillman knocked at her door.
“Can you lend us a saucepan, good mother?” said he. “There's a wedding
in the hill, and all the pots are in use.”
“Is he to have one?” asked the servant lass who had opened the door.
“Aye, to be sure,” answered the housewife; “one must be neighborly.”
But when the maid was taking a saucepan from the shelf, the housewife
pinched her arm and whispered sharply: “Not that, you good-for-nothing!
Get the old one out of the cupboard. It leaks, and the Hillmen are so
neat, and such nimble workers, that they are sure to mend it before they
send it home. So one obliges the Fairy People, and saves sixpence in
tinkering!”
Thus bidden the maid fetched the saucepan, which had been laid by until
the tinker's next visit, and gave it to the Hillman, who thanked her and
went away.
In due time the saucepan was returned, and, as the housewife had
foreseen, it was neatly mended and ready for use.
At supper-time the maid filled the pan with milk, and set it on the fire
for the children's supper. But in a few minutes the milk was so burnt
and smoked that no one could touch it, and even the pigs refused to
drink it.
“Ah, good-for-nothing hussy!” cried the housewife, as she refilled the
pan herself, “you would ruin the richest with your carelessness! There's
a whole quart of good milk wasted at once!”
“AND THAT'S TWOPENCE!” cried a voice that seemed to come from the
chimney, in a whining tone, like some discontented old body going over
her grievances.
The housewife had not left the saucepan for two minutes, when the milk
boiled over, and it was all burnt and smoked as before.
“The pan must be dirty,” muttered the good woman in vexation, “and there
are two full quarts of milk as good as thrown to the dogs.”
“AND THAT'S FOURPENCE!” added the voice in the chimney.
After a thorough cleaning the saucepan was once more filled and set on
the fire, but with no better success. The milk boiled over again, and
was hopelessly spoiled. The housewife shed tears of anger at the waste
and cried: “Never before did such a thing befall me since I kept house!
Three quarts of new milk burnt for one meal.”
“AND THAT'S SIXPENCE!” cried the voice in the chimney. “You didn't save
the tinkering after all, mother!”
With that the Hillman himself came tumbling down from the chimney, and
went off laughing through the door.
But from then on the saucepan was as good as any other.
HOFUS THE STONE-CUTTER
A JAPANESE LEGEND
FROM THE RIVERSIDE THIRD READER (ADAPTED)
Once upon a time in Japan, there was a poor stone-cutter, named Hofus,
who used to go every day to the mountain-side to cut great blocks of
stone. He lived near the mountain in a little stone hut, and worked hard
and was happy.
One day he took a load of stone to the house of a rich man. There he saw
so many beautiful things that when he went back to his mountain he could
think of nothing else. Then he began to wish that he too might sleep in
a bed as soft as down, with curtains of silk, and tassels of gold. And
he sighed:--
“Ah me! Ah me!
If Hofus only were rich as he!”
To his surprise, the voice of the Mountain Spirit answered:--
“Have thou thy wish!”
When Hofus returned home that evening his little hut was gone, and in
its place stood a great palace. It was filled with beautiful things, and
the best of all was a bed of down, with curtains of silk and tassels of
gold.
Hofus decided to work no more. But he was not used to being idle, and
time passed slowly,--the days seemed very long.
One day as he sat by the window he saw a carriage dash past. It was
drawn by snow-white horses. In it sat a prince, while before and behind
were servants in suits of blue and white. One was holding a golden
umbrella over the prince.
When the stone-cutter saw this, he began to feel unhappy, and he
sighed:--
“Ah me! Ah me!
If Hofus only a prince might be!”
And again the same voice that he had heard on the mountain answered:--
“Be thou a prince!”
Straightway Hofus was a prince. He had servants dressed in crimson and
gold, and he rode in a carriage with a golden umbrella over his head.
For a short time he was happy, but one day, as he walked in the garden,
he saw that the flowers were drooping, the grass was dry and brown. And
when he rode out he felt the hot sun burn him in spite of his umbrella.
“The sun is mightier than I,” thought he, and then he sighed:--
“Ah me! Ah me!
If Hofus only the sun might be!”
And the voice answered:--
“Be thou the sun!”
Straightway the great sun he became. He burned the grass and rice
fields. He dried up the streams. Rich and poor alike suffered from the
terrible heat.
One day a cloud came and rested in front of him, and hid the earth from
his sight. He was angry and cried:--
“Ah me! Ah me!
If Hofus only a cloud might be!”
And the voice answered:--
“Be thou a cloud!”
Straightway a cloud he became. He floated before the face of the sun,
and hid the earth from it.
Then day after day the cloud dropped rain. The rivers overflowed, and
the rice-fields were covered with water. Towns were swept away. Only the
great rocks on the mountain-side stood unmoved midst the flood.
The cloud looked at them in wonder, then he sighed:--
“Ah me! Ah me!
If Hofus only a rock might be!”
And the voice answered:--
“Be thou a rock!”
Straightway a rock he became. Proudly he stood. The sun could not burn
him and the rain could not move him.
“Now, at last,” he said, “no one is mightier than I.”
But one day he was waked from his dreams by a noise,--tap! tap!
tap!--down at his feet. He looked and there was a stone-cutter driving
his tool into the rock. Another blow and the great rock shivered; a
block of stone broke away.
“That man is mightier than I!” cried Hofus, and he sighed:--
“Ah me! Ah me!
If Hofus only the man might be!”
And the voice answered:--
“Be thou thyself!”
And straightway Hofus was himself again,--a poor stone-cutter, working
all day upon the mountain-side, and going home at night to his little
hut. But he was content and happy, and never again did he wish to be
other than Hofus the stone-cutter.
ARACHNE
BY JOSEPHINE PRESTON PEABODY
There was a certain maiden of Lydia, Arachne by name, renowned
throughout the country for her skill as a weaver. She was as nimble with
her fingers as Calypso, that Nymph who kept Odysseus for seven years in
her enchanted island. She was as untiring as Penelope, the hero's wife,
who wove day after day while she watched for his return. Day in and
day out, Arachne wove too. The very Nymphs would gather about her loom,
Naiads from the water and Dryads from the trees.
“Maiden,” they would say, shaking the leaves or the foam from their
hair, in wonder, “Pallas Athena must have taught you!”
But this did not please Arachne. She would not acknowledge herself a
debtor, even to that goddess who protected all household arts, and by
whose grace alone one had any skill in them.
“I learned not of Athena,” said she. “If she can weave better, let her
come and try.”
The Nymphs shivered at this, and an aged woman, who was looking on,
turned to Arachne.
“Be more heedful of your words, my daughter,” said she. “The goddess may
pardon you if you ask forgiveness, but do not strive for honors with the
immortals.”
Arachne broke her thread, and the shuttle stopped humming.
“Keep your counsel,” she said. “I fear not Athena; no, nor any one
else.”
As she frowned at the old woman, she was amazed to see her change
suddenly into one tall, majestic, beautiful,--a maiden of gray eyes and
golden hair, crowned with a golden helmet. It was Athena herself.
The bystanders shrank in fear and reverence; only Arachne was unawed and
held to her foolish boast.
In silence the two began to weave, and the Nymphs stole nearer, coaxed
by the sound of the shuttles, that seemed to be humming with delight
over the two webs,--back and forth like bees.
They gazed upon the loom where the goddess stood plying her task, and
they saw shapes and images come to bloom out of the wondrous colors, as
sunset clouds grow to be living creatures when we watch them. And they
saw that the goddess, still merciful, was spinning; as a warning for
Arachne, the pictures of her own triumph over reckless gods and mortals.
In one corner of the web she made a story of her conquest over the
sea-god Poseidon. For the first king of Athens had promised to dedicate
the city to that god who should bestow upon it the most useful
gift. Poseidon gave the horse. But Athena gave the olive,--means of
livelihood,--symbol of peace and prosperity, and the city was called
after her name. Again she pictured a vain woman of Troy, who had been
turned into a crane for disputing the palm of beauty with a goddess.
Other corners of the web held similar images, and the whole shone like a
rainbow.
Meanwhile Arachne, whose head was quite turned with vanity, embroidered
her web with stories against the gods, making light of Zeus himself and
of Apollo, and portraying them as birds and beasts. But she wove with
marvelous skill; the creatures seemed to breathe and speak, yet it was
all as fine as the gossamer that you find on the grass before rain.
Athena herself was amazed. Not even her wrath at the girl's insolence
could wholly overcome her wonder. For an instant she stood entranced;
then she tore the web across, and three times she touched Arachne's
forehead with her spindle.
“Live on, Arachne,” she said. “And since it is your glory to weave, you
and yours must weave forever.” So saying, she sprinkled upon the maiden
a certain magical potion.
Away went Arachne's beauty; then her very human form shrank to that of a
spider, and so remained. As a spider she spent all her days weaving and
weaving; and you may see something like her handiwork any day among the
rafters.
THE METAL KING
A GERMAN FOLE-TALE
(ADAPTED)
Once long ago there was a high mountain whose rocks were veined with
gold and silver and seamed with iron. At times, from a huge rent in the
mountain-side, there shot out roaring, red flames, and clouds of black
smoke. And when the village folk in the valley below saw this, they
would say: “Look! the Metal King is at his forge.” For they knew that in
the gloomy heart of the mountain, the Metal King and his Spirits of the
Mines wrought in gold and iron.
When the storm raged over the valley, the Metal King left his cavern
and riding on the wings of the wind, with thundering shouts, hurled
his red-hot bolts into the valley, now killing the peasants and their
cattle, now burning houses and barns.
But when the weather was soft and mild, and the breezes blew gently
about the mouth of his cavern, the Metal King returned to his forge in
the depths of the mountain, and there shaped ploughshares and many other
implements of iron. These he placed outside his cavern door, as gifts to
the poor peasants.
It happened, on a time, there lived in that valley a lazy lad, who
would neither till his fields nor ply a trade. He was avaricious, but he
longed to win gold without mining, and wealth and fame without labor. So
it came to pass that he set out one day to find the mountain treasure of
the Metal King.
Taking a lighted lantern in one hand, a hatchet in the other, and a
bundle of twigs under his arm, he entered the dark cavern. The dampness
smote his cheek, bats flapped their wings in his face. Shivering with
fear and cold, he pressed on through a long passage under an arched
and blackened roof. As he passed along he dropped his twigs, one after
another, so that they might guide him aright when he returned.
He came at last to a place where the passage branched off in two
directions,--to the right and to the left. Choosing the right-hand path,
he walked on and at length came to an iron door. He struck it twice with
his hammer. It flew open, and a strong current of air rushing forth put
out his light.
“Come in! Come in!” shouted a voice like the rolling of thunder, and the
cavern echoes gave back the sounds.
Almost overcome by terror and shivering in every limb, the lad entered.
As he stepped forward a dazzling light shone from the vaulted roof
upheld by massive columns, and across the crystal side-walls flittered
curious, shadowy figures.
The Metal King, huge and fierce-eyed, surrounded by the misshapen
Spirits of the Mines, sat upon a block of pure silver, with a pile of
shining gold lying before him.
“Come in, my friend!” he shouted again, and again the echoes rolled
through the cavern.
“Come near, and sit beside me.”
The lad advanced, pale and trembling, and took his seat upon the silver
block.
“Bring out more treasure,” cried the Metal King, and at his command the
Mountain Spirits fluttered away like dreams, only to return in a moment
and pile high before the wondering lad bars of red gold, mounds of
silver coin, and stacks of precious jewels.
And when the lad saw all that wealth he felt his heart burst with
longing to grasp it, but when he tried to put out his hand, he found
that he could not move his arm, nor could he lift his feet, nor turn his
head.
“Thou seest these riches,” said the Metal King; “they are but a handful
compared with those thou mayest gain if thou wilt work with us in the
mines. Hard is the service but rich the reward! Only say the word, and
for a year and a day thou shalt be a Mountain Spirit.”
“Nay,” stammered the lad, in great terror, “nay, I came not to work. All
I beg of thee is one bar of gold and a handful of the jewels that lie
here. If they are mine I can dress better than the village lads, and
ride in my own coach!”
“Lazy, ungrateful wretch!” cried the Metal King, rising from his seat,
while his figure seemed to tower until his head touched the cavern roof,
“wouldst thou seize without pay the treasures gained through the hard
labor of my Mountain Spirits! Hence! Get thee gone to thy place! Seek
not here for unearned riches! Cast away thy discontented disposition and
thou shalt turn stones into gold. Dig well thy garden and thy fields,
sow them and tend them diligently, search the mountain-sides; and thou
shalt gain through thine industry mines of gold and silver!”
Scarcely had the Metal King spoken when there was heard a screeching
as of ravens, a crying as of night owls, and a mighty storm wind came
rushing against the lad; and catching him up it drove him forth along
the dark passage, and down the mountain-side, so that in a minute he
found himself on the steps of his own house.
And from that time on a strange change came over the lad. He no longer
idled and dreamed of sudden wealth, but morning, noon, and evening
he labored diligently, sowing his fields, cultivating his garden,
and mining on the mountain-side. Years came and went; all he touched
prospered, and he grew to be the richest man in that country; but never
again did he see the Metal King or the Spirits of the Mines.
THE CHOICE OF HERCULES
BY XENOPHON (ADAPTED)
Long, long ago, when the world was young, there were many deeds waiting
to be wrought by daring heroes. It was then that the mighty Hercules,
who was yet a lad, felt an exceeding great and strong desire to go out
into the wide world to seek his fortune.
One day, while wandering alone and thoughtful, he came to a place where
two paths met. And sitting down he gravely considered which he should
follow.
One path led over flowery meadows toward the darkening distance; the
other, passing over rough stones and rugged, brown furrows, lost itself
in the glowing sunset.
And as Hercules gazed into the distance, he saw two stately maidens
coming toward him.
The first was tall and graceful, and wrapped round in a snow-white
mantle. Her countenance was calm and beautiful. With gracious mien and
modest glance she drew near the lad.
The other maiden made haste to outrun the first. She, too, was tall,
but seemed taller than she really was. She, too, was beautiful, but her
glance was bold. As she ran, a rosy garment like a cloud floated about
her form, and she kept looking at her own round arms and shapely hands,
and ever and anon she seemed to gaze admiringly at her shadow as it
moved along the ground. And this fair one did outstrip the first maiden,
and rushing forward held out her white hands to the lad, exclaiming:--
“I see thou art hesitating, O Hercules, by what path to seek thy
fortune. Follow me along this flowery way, and I will make it a
delightful and easy road. Thou shalt taste to the full of every kind of
pleasure. No shadow of annoyance shall ever touch thee, nor strain nor
stress of war and state disturb thy peace. Instead thou shalt tread upon
carpets soft as velvet, and sit at golden tables, or recline upon silken
couches. The fairest of maidens shall attend thee, music and perfume
shall lull thy senses, and all that is delightful to eat and drink shall
be placed before thee. Never shalt thou labor, but always live in joy
and ease. Oh, come! I give my followers liberty and delight!”
And as she spoke the maiden stretched forth her arms, and the tones of
her voice were sweet and caressing.
“What, O maiden,” asked Hercules, “is thy name?”
“My friends,” said she, “call me Happiness, but mine enemies name me
Vice.”
Even as she spoke, the white-robed maiden, who had drawn near, glided
forward, and addressed the lad in gracious tones and with words stately
and winning:--
“O beloved youth, who wouldst wander forth in search of Life, I too,
would plead with thee! I, Virtue, have watched and tended thee from a
child. I know the fond care thy parents have bestowed to train thee for
a hero's part. Direct now thy steps along yon rugged path that leads
to my dwelling. Honorable and noble mayest thou become through thy
illustrious deeds.
“I will not seduce thee by promises of vain delights; instead will
I recount to thee the things that really are. Lasting fame and true
nobility come not to mortals save through pain and labor. If thou,
O Hercules, seekest the gracious gifts of Heaven, thou must remain
constant in prayer; if thou wouldst be beloved of thy friends, thou must
serve thy friends; if thou desirest to be honored of the people thou
must benefit the people; if thou art anxious to reap the fruits of the
earth, thou must till the earth with labor; and if thou wishest to be
strong in body and accomplish heroic deeds, thou must teach thy body to
obey thy mind. Yea, all this and more also must thou do.”
“Seest thou not, O Hercules,” cried Vice, “over how difficult and
tedious a road this Virtue would drive thee? I, instead, will conduct
thy steps by a short and easy path to perfect Happiness.”
“Wretched being!” answered Virtue, “wouldst thou deceive this lad! What
lasting Happiness hast thou to offer! Thou pamperest thy followers with
riches, thou deludest them with idleness; thou surfeitest them with
luxury; thou enfeeblest them with softness. In youth they grow slothful
in body and weak in mind. They live without labor and wax fat. They come
to a wretched old age, dissatisfied, and ashamed, and oppressed by
the memory of their ill deeds; and, having run their course, they lay
themselves down in melancholy death and their name is remembered no
more.
“But those fortunate youths who follow me receive other counsel. I
am the companion of virtuous men. Always I am welcome in the homes of
artisans and in the cottages of tillers of the soil. I am the guardian
of industrious households, and the rewarder of generous masters
and faithful servants. I am the promoter of the labors of peace. No
honorable deed is accomplished without me.
“My friends have sweet repose and the untroubled enjoyment of the fruits
of their efforts. They remember their deeds with an easy conscience
and contentment, and are beloved of their friends and honored by their
country. And when they have run their course, and death overtakes them,
their names are celebrated in song and praise, and they live in the
hearts of their grateful countrymen.
“Come, then, O Hercules, thou son of noble parents, come, follow thou
me, and by thy worthy and illustrious deeds secure for thyself exalted
Happiness.”
She ceased, and Hercules, withdrawing his gaze from the face of Vice,
arose from his place, and followed Virtue along the rugged, brown path
of Labor.
THE SPEAKING STATUE
FROM GESTA ROMANORUM (ADAPTED)
There was once a great emperor who made a law that whosoever worked on
the birthday of his eldest son should be put to death. He caused this
decree to be published throughout his empire, and, sending for his chief
magician, said to him:--
“I wish you to devise an instrument which will tell me the name of each
laborer who breaks my new law.”