MISS MARTIN’S LITTLE STORIES OF GREAT PEOPLE
The Blue Birds and Bobolinks had only a few days more to stay at Happy
Hills, and they all wanted to make the most of them. They were at camp
from early morning till late at night, and in that time they became
better acquainted with the lives and hopes of their Little Citizens
than years of casual visits would have accomplished.
Miss Martin had formed a daily story-telling class for anyone
who wished to sit and listen. But she was most determined about
interruptions. If you wanted to hear the story you were welcome, but
you must not scuffle across the Refectory floor when the tale was half
finished, and once you came quietly in to listen, you must remain till
the end!
So it became a custom for many of the Little Citizens to so manage
their play and work that they might have the noon hour to spare for the
story-telling.
The day after the circus, Miss Martin pleased her hearers by saying:
“The theme of the story today, friends, is about some famous people.
But they will be such short stories that it will be necessary for each
one to look up the longer story and history of my heroes and heroines
in the large book here on this table. I will leave it for Jinks or Ned
to read from if anyone wishes to hear the full account of the famous
ones I shall mention.
“My first story will be of a poor little peasant boy who became a great
poet.
“It was a cold night in winter, and in the old-time kitchen of an
English abbey, a number of servants were seated about a blazing fire.
“Now an abbey is a place built to shelter and protect the people who
need sanctuary in times of strife or war. And in olden times the people
needed such refuges as there was constant warring and fighting with
lawless men.
“So this abbey, half-house and half-church, had a number of servants to
keep it in order. These men now sat resting after the day’s work was
done, talking or singing songs as the wind whistled out-of-doors.
“‘Whose turn is it now?’ asked the head-servant.
“And so they took turns in singing their favorite songs until the
cow-herd saw it would soon be his turn to sing. He thought he could not
sing a note and he dreaded being jeered at by his companions, so he
crept quietly away and hid in with the cows in the straw in the stable.
Here he remained waiting for the men to retire and forget about him.
“Then, suddenly, he seemed to fall into a deep sleep, and a glorious
figure appeared before him. The humble fellow thought it was an angel,
and when she spoke in stern yet loving tones, he trembled and wanted to
run away.
“‘Sing,’ said she.
“The cow-herd gazed pitifully up at her, but could not open his mouth
to utter a sound. He was as mute as when he feared his companions in
the kitchen.
“‘Sing of God and his Creation!’ continued the angel.
“Then the frightened lad tried to make a sound and to his astonishment
he sang several pure notes, so he continued. As he sang of the
Spiritual Creation which was made so perfect and eternal by the Father
of All, the kine turned their heads and listened. When the farmer-boy
had overcome his shyness in singing such wonderful truths, the angel
disappeared but the singer knew it not. He was now so uplifted by his
singing that he even failed to hear the men who came running from the
kitchen to see who the great singer could be.
“Fancy their amazement when they found their humble cow-herder singing
in the stable. Then they waited, breathless, till he had concluded, and
led him back to the house. There he was made to sing for the mistress
and other women who took charge of the abbey.
“They, too, listened in hushed surprise and as the inspiring lines
poured forth, they bowed their heads in reverence, for they knew that
the Lord had given the lowly shepherd the gift with which to voice His
praise.
“And so this cow-herd, whose name was Cædmon, became a great singer and
poet of England.”
Miss Martin concluded the first story and Maggie was greatly pleased,
as she took the story to herself, but some of the boys who were
beginning to show a gift in singing, also felt that the story was told
for their benefit.
“Now I’m going to tell you how a very humble man became rich and
famous. He was poorer than any of you Little Citizens could ever be,
for he was a slave. He was the property of another man and even though
he worked very hard, he could never have anything of his own while he
was a slave.
“But one day, his master found he would have to sell his slaves, so he
had them all go to a slave-market in a distant city.
“Each slave had to carry a load of goods, as the master expected
to sell many of his valuable possessions at the same time that he
accompanied the slaves.
“In those days there were no carriages or beasts to ride and carry
baggage, for the slaves were expected to do this labor. Great bundles
were made up so that each slave might have a goodly-sized load. These
were waiting for them to shoulder when the procession came from the
house.
“The young slave who was a deep thinker, had pondered over the various
pieces of baggage, and thus had discovered which one held the food for
the three days’ journey for the entire party.
“This great package, Æsop chose for his burden. The other slaves
laughed at his foolish selection for their own burdens were smaller
and lighter. But the young slave said nothing. He started away with
his load, and the others followed him, jeering. The master rode last
and also wondered why the best young slave he had should choose so
cumbersome a load.
“They had started out at daybreak and after travelling several hours,
stopped by a well for the morning meal. Æsop opened his baggage and
spread out the rations for breakfast. All ate, and the slave again
shouldered his load, but it was a bit lighter.
“At noon they stopped and ate again, and the load was then much smaller
and still lighter. That night, the entire party ate supper, and the
burden grew still lighter and much smaller.
“The three meals the following day more than lessened half the burden
Æsop carried, and before the travellers reached the city, hot, weary,
and exhausted from carrying such loads so far, Æsop had nothing to
carry as the food was eaten and the load was gone.
“The master was so impressed at this wisdom shown by the slave that he
told the story to the men in the city. They said that Æsop was a wise
man and must bring a goodly sum to his owner.
“A very rich man heard the story when he came to the slave-market to
select a servant, and he determined to secure Æsop, so he bid high and
purchased him.
“Xanthus, the new master, took Æsop to Samos, his home, and there the
slave became known everywhere for his wisdom and judgment. He always
had a fable to apply to any need or cause, so that he was sought by
rich and poor alike for advice and help.
“Finally, Xanthus gave Æsop his freedom and the man who once had been a
slave with no rights to own anything--not even himself--became famous
and was sought by kings and statesmen for his wisdom.”
As this story was ended, one of the boys shouted, “That’s what I’m
goin’ to be--a wise judge!”
“To be a wise judge, you must first learn to think and do only right
and just things yourself; then you can find the wisdom to judge
others,” replied Miss Martin.
“That’s what I’m goin’ to do, Miss Marting,” promised the eager lad.
“Now another short story that I will tell you, is about always speaking
the truth. Truth is a great power in the world, and we may sometimes
think we have been wrong to adhere strictly to the truth, but in the
end we find we have gained in everything.
“A great Persian king named Cyrus sent his son to a far city to study
in a famous school that he might be ready to reign over Persia at the
King’s death.
“Otanes had always been taught the great value of truth, and as he
stood ready to depart from his home with the company of men who were to
see that he arrived safely, his parents again reminded him to always
adhere to truth and he would lose _nothing_!
“The caravan had travelled all day and halted at sun-down for rest when
a band of outlaws rode from ambush and demanded all that the travellers
possessed. There was no use in resisting so large a company of thieves,
so the merchants gave up their property. One of the rascals spied
Otanes who was silently watching the proceedings, so he called to the
boy:
“‘Have you anything to give me?’
“‘I have gold,’ replied the lad.
“‘Gold! How much and where do you carry it?’
“‘In my hat, and it is enough to pay my way.’
“‘Ha, ha, ha! That’s a good joke,’ laughed the man as he passed by.
“Then the Chief of the band rode up to the boy, and said: ‘Well, I
don’t suppose you carry anything of value--you are too young to be
trusted with gold.’
“Otanes said nothing to this as it required no answer, but when the
Chief looked at the silent boy, and said again:
“‘But have you anything of value about your person? What do you happen
to have?’
“‘I have gold for my journey and education.’
“‘Gold! Why, you’re a mere boy! Where do you hide it?’
“‘In my hat.’
“‘Let me see,’ ordered the robber.
“Otanes removed his hat and displayed the gold. The Chief stood in
surprise for a moment, and then said:
“‘Why did you tell us you had it--we would never have dreamed that you
had gold hidden on your person?’
“‘Did you not ask me?’ wondered Otanes.
“‘Yes, but you could have denied it, you see.’
“‘That would have been an untruth, and I am not a coward that I must
lie to any man!’ replied Otanes, proudly.
“The Chief was so impressed with the lad’s words that he gave back his
gold and said: ‘May you always live up to that ideal.’
“And Otanes did, for he became one of the great and famous men of his
day.”
There was silence as Miss Martin concluded this tale, then one of the
boys said: “Maybe Otanes wouldn’t have been so honest about giving up
dat money if it was all he had; but he knew he could git more from his
fadder when he got to de city.”
“I am quite sure Otanes would have acted exactly the same whether he
were a newsboy in New York or the king’s son in Persia. Besides, he
could _not_ send back home for more money from his father, as it took
a long time to cross the desert and it might be months, or a year,
before another caravan would reach his father and be able to bring back
money for the boy. So that was not the reason of his telling the truth,
you see,” replied Miss Martin.
“Miss Marting, won’t you please tell us somethin’ about children what
made pickshers an’ grew into fine painters!” asked one of the children,
and little Nelly Finn smiled with anticipation.
“I told you about the great Raphael in my last talk and also about the
slave who watched his master and thus educated himself to become even
greater than his teacher. Now I will tell you about a simple shepherd
lad who used to make pictures on the rocks and pieces of bark, with a
burnt stick for crayon.
“He was working with such interest one day that he failed to see a
man approach him. The stranger watched the work for a time and was so
amazed at the talent shown that he touched the boy on the shoulder.
“The lad sprang up and courtesied, then the man said: ‘Who taught you
to draw like that?’
“‘Myself, master.’
“‘Who are you, and whose sheep are those?’
“‘My name is Giotto and I am the shepherd-boy to a rich man who lives
near here,’ replied the boy.
“‘Would you like to know how to paint pictures of other things as well
as of trees and sheep?’
“Giotto’s joy was answer enough, so the man called upon the owner of
the sheep and told him what a great painter he thought the lad would
make. Then he also went to the humble home of the shepherd-boy and
asked the father to let him take his son to be educated.
“The stranger turned out to be Cimabue, the greatest painter of his
day, and Giotto accompanied him to Florence where he was taught to
paint wonderful pictures. In fact, Giotto became even a greater painter
than his master, and the simple shepherd-lad was the friend of many
great men at that time.”
Nelly expressed her satisfaction at the story, and the other Little
Citizens who liked to draw, also clapped their hands. Then Miss Martin
stood up and the children sighed for they did not want her to end her
stories so soon.
“Ah, tell us somethin’ ’bout our own American people, Miss Marting!”
begged one of the boys.
“Yeh, Miss Martin! Tell us about Thomas Edison, and Mister Colonel
Roosevelt, and McKinley, and other famous men of now!” added many
voices.
Miss Martin laughed, as she replied: “Why you children know as much
about our present-day heroes and great men as I do, but perhaps you do
not know about Robert Fulton, or the poets and painters of recent years
in America.”
“No, no--tell us!” quickly demanded a chorus of voices.
“Well, Robert Fulton was a little country boy who loved to fish and
swim and paddle about the creeks just like any other little boy does in
summer-time.
“One day he and his chum were fishing but the boat was heavy and
lumbering, and had to be pushed about by means of a long pole. It was
slow work and as Bob was trying to reach a spot in the stream where the
fish might bite better, he grumbled at the arduous task of moving the
tub.
“‘Why don’t we use a row-boat the next time?’ asked his friend.
“‘Even rowing is hard work, and there ought to be an easy way for boys
to push their boats about,’ said Robert.
“So the next day Bob called his friend and together they went to the
wood-shed to make something Robert had thought out the night before as
he lay in bed.
“‘What is it, anyway?’ asked his chum.
“‘You’ll see--it’s something to move our boat about without much work.’
“After a great deal of sawing and hammering, the two boys came from the
wood-shed with two cumbersome looking things that looked like small
fans on an old wind-mill.
“‘What’s that you’ve got, Bob?’ called a boy in passing the lads.
“‘Oh, we’ve got a scheme to make a boat go without working!’ replied
Bob.
“The older boy laughed and passed on his way, but the two friends
hurried to their scow with the heavy paddle-wheels and managed to
fasten them, one on each side of the boat. An old rod reached across
the boat from one wheel to the other, and when all was ready, the boys
jumped in.
“Bob Fulton sat on the seat and took hold of the iron bar. This he
turned like one would turn the crank on a well-handle. In revolving,
this bar turned the paddles around in the water and the propelling
moved the boat through the water.
“The boys were so delighted at the success of the plan that they did
nothing else all day but ride up and down the stream.
“That night the boys told of their invention and fun, and Bob was
praised for his work. Then he thought of the value such an idea might
have for others, and he worked and planned until he finally evolved the
side-wheel boats. Later, he invented the way to propel boats by steam
instead of horse-power in turning the wheels.
“From this small beginning, we have today the great ocean steamers and
other craft that sail our seas.”
“Dat’s a fine story, Miss Martin. Tell us anudder like it,” said the
children.
“You Little Citizens are always hungry for more,” laughed the
story-teller.
“Well, yeh see, Miss Marting, a feller can’t never get enough of truth,
kin he?” remarked a young wonder.
Miss Martin was so struck by the logic of this reply that she sat down
and looked at the little speaker in amazement. Then she said: “For
that remarkable sentence, Jimmy, I will tell you a true story of King
Solomon, the wisest judge and man of words that ever lived.
“Of course you have heard me speak of the Queen of Sheba and how she
tried to catch Solomon in many ways but failed!
“One day she brought in two garlands of flowers exactly alike. One
could not tell one from the other, so alike were they.
“‘Oh, King, I have here two garlands of flowers for you to see and tell
me which is the real and which the false,’ said the Queen, after the
ceremony of presentation was over.
“As Solomon gazed at the lovely flowers he was at a loss to say which
was Nature’s result and which the one made by the cunning of man.
“Then he looked from the window to think how he might detect the false
wreath. As he did so, he saw some bees buzzing in and out of the
blossoms hanging from a vine over the window casement. This gave him
the idea he needed.
“He ordered a slave to open wide the window, and it was done. Soon
after, a bee flew in and circled about for a moment, but scenting the
sweet flowers, made straight for the wreath in the Queen’s left hand.
Another bee followed almost immediately after and settled upon the
honey-laden blossoms. Other bees flew in and began sipping the nectar
from the cups of the flowers and Solomon said: ‘You have your answer, O
Queen!’”