“No, no,” said the mother fox. “Fair play’s a jewel. We must wait for
the badger.”
Soon the badger arrived, quite out of breath with running so fast.
“I hope you haven’t been eating any of the dinner,” he panted. “I could
not get away sooner. The man you sold me to, brought his wife to look at
me, and boasted how cheap he had bought me. You should have asked twice
as much. At last they left me alone, and then I jumped up and ran away
as fast as I could.”
The badger, the fox, and the Cub now sat down to dinner, and had a fine
feast, the badger taking care to get the best bits for himself.
Some days after, when all the food was finished, and they had begun to
get hungry again, the badger said to the fox:
“Now it’s your turn to die.” So the fox pretended to be dead, and the
badger changed himself into a hunter, shouldered the fox, and went off
to the town, where he made a good bargain, and sold her for a nice
little sum of money.
You have seen already that the badger was greedy and selfish. What do
you think he did now? He wished to have all the money, and all the food
it would buy for himself, so he whispered to the man who had bought the
fox:
“That fox is only pretending to be dead; take care he doesn’t run away.”
“We’ll soon settle that,” said the man, and he knocked the fox on the
head with a big stick, and killed her.
The badger next laid out the money in buying all the nice things he
could think of. He carried them off to the forest, and there ate them
all up himself, without giving one bit to the poor little Cub, who was
all alone, crying for its mother, very sad, and very hungry.
Poor little motherless Cub! But, being a clever little fox, he soon
began to put two and two together, and at last felt quite sure that the
badger had, in some way, caused the loss of his mother.
He made up his mind that he would punish the badger; and, as he was not
big enough or strong enough to do it by force, he was obliged to try
another plan.
He did not let the badger see how angry he was with him, but said in a
friendly way:
“Let us have a game of changing ourselves into men. If you can change
yourself so cleverly that I cannot find you out, you will have won the
game; but, if I change myself so that you cannot find me out, then I
shall have won the game. I will begin, if you like; and, you may be
sure, I shall turn myself into somebody very grand while I am about it.”
The badger agreed. So then, instead of changing himself at all, the
cunning little Cub just went and hid himself behind a tree, and watched
to see what would happen. Presently there came along the bridge leading
into the town a nobleman, seated in a sedan-chair, a great crowd of
servants and men at arms following him.
The badger was quite sure that this must be the fox, so he ran up to the
sedan-chair, put in his head, and cried:
“I’ve found you out! I’ve won the game!”
“A badger! A badger! Off with his head,” cried the nobleman.
So one of the retainers cut off the badger’s head with one blow of his
sharp sword, the little Cub all the time laughing unseen behind the
tree.
_The Silly Jelly-Fish_
Once upon a time the king of the dragons, who had till then lived as a
bachelor, took it into his head to get married. His bride was a young
dragonette just sixteen years old—lovely enough, in very sooth, to
become the wife of a king. Great were the rejoicings on the occasion.
The fishes, both great and small, came to pay their respects, and to
offer gifts to the newly wedded pair; and for some days all was feasting
and merriment.
But, alas! even dragons have their trials. Before a month had passed,
the young dragon queen fell ill. The doctors dosed her with every
medicine that was known to them, but all to no purpose. At last they
shook their heads, declaring that there was nothing more to be done. The
illness must take its course, and she would probably die. But the sick
queen said to her husband:
“I know of something that will cure me. Only fetch me a live monkey’s
liver to eat, and I shall get well at once.”
“A live monkey’s liver!” exclaimed the king. “What are you thinking of,
my dear? Why! you forget that we dragons live in the sea, while monkeys
live far away from here, among the forest trees on land. A monkey’s
liver! Why! darling, you must be mad.” Hereupon the young dragon queen
burst into tears. “I only ask you for one small thing,” whimpered she,
“and you won’t get it for me. I always thought you didn’t really love
me. Oh! I wish I had stayed at home with my own m-m-m-mama and my own
papa-a-a-a!” Here her voice choked with sobs, and she could say no more.
Well, of course the dragon king did not like to have it thought that he
was unkind to his beautiful young wife. So he sent for his trusty
servant, the Jelly-fish, and said: “It is rather a difficult job, but
what I want you to try to do is to swim across to the land, and persuade
a live monkey to come here with you. In order to make the monkey willing
to come, you can tell him how much nicer everything is here in
dragon-land than away where he lives. But what I really want him for is
to cut out his liver, and use it as medicine for your young mistress,
who, as you know, is dangerously ill.”
So the Jelly-fish went off on his strange errand. In those days he was
just like any other fish, with eyes, and fins, and a tail. He even had
little feet, which made him able to walk on the land as well as to swim
in the water. It did not take him many hours to swim across to the
country where the monkeys lived; and, fortunately, there just happened
to be a fine monkey skipping about among the branches of the trees near
the place where he landed. So the Jelly-fish said: “Mr. Monkey, I have
come to tell you of a country far more beautiful than this. It lies
beyond the waves, and is called dragon-land. There is pleasant weather
there all the year round; there is always plenty of ripe fruit on the
trees, and there are none of those mischievous creatures called men. If
you will come with me, I will take you there. Just get on my back.”
The monkey thought it would be fun to see a new country. So he leaped on
to the Jelly-fish’s back, and off they started across the water. But
when they had gone about half-way, he began to fear that perhaps there
might be some hidden danger, for it seemed so odd to be fetched suddenly
in that way by a stranger. So he said to the Jelly-fish: “What made you
think of coming for me?” The Jelly-fish answered: “My master, the king
of the dragons, wants you in order to cut out your liver, and give it as
medicine to his wife, the queen, who is sick.”
“Oh! that’s your little game, is it?” thought the monkey. But he kept
his thoughts to himself, and only said: “Nothing could please me better
than to be of service to their Majesties, but it so happens that I left
my liver hanging to a branch of that big chestnut-tree where you found
me skipping about. A liver is a thing that weighs a good deal, so I
generally take it out, and play about without it during the daytime. We
must go back for it.” The Jelly-fish agreed that there was nothing else
to be done under the circumstances; for, silly creature that he was, he
did not see that the monkey was telling a story in order to avoid
getting killed, and having his liver used as medicine for the fanciful
young dragon queen.
When they reached the shore of monkey-land again, the monkey bounded off
the Jelly-fish’s back, and up to the topmost branch of the chestnut-tree
in less than no time. Then he said: “I do not see my liver here. Perhaps
somebody has taken it away. But I will look for it. You, meantime, had
better go back and tell your master what has happened. He might be
anxious about you if you did not get home before dark.”
So the Jelly-fish started off a second time, and when he got home he
told the dragon king everything just as it had happened. But the king
flew into a passion with him for his stupidity, and hallooed to his
officers, saying: “Away with this fellow! Take him, and beat him to a
jelly! Don’t let a single bone remain unbroken in his body!” So the
officers seized him and beat him, as the king had commanded. That is the
reason why, to this very day, jelly-fishes have no bones, but are just
nothing more than a mass of pulp.
As for the dragon queen, when she found she could not have the monkey’s
liver, why, she made up her mind that the I only thing to do was to get
well without it.
_Chin-Chin Kobakama_
Once there was a little girl who was very pretty, but also very lazy.
Her parents were rich, and had a great many servants; and these servants
were very fond of the little girl, and did everything for her which she
ought to have been able to do for herself. Perhaps this was what made
her so lazy. When she grew up into a beautiful woman she still remained
lazy; but as the servants always dressed and undressed her, and arranged
her hair, she looked very charming, and nobody thought about her faults.
At last she was married to a brave warrior, and went away with him to
live in another house where there were but few servants. She was sorry
not to have as many servants as she had had at home, because she was
obliged to do several things for herself which other folks had always
done for her, and it was a great deal of trouble to her to dress
herself, and take care of her own clothes, and keep herself looking neat
and pretty to please her husband. But as he was a warrior, and often had
to be far away from home with the army, she could sometimes be just as
lazy as she wished, and her husband’s parents were very old and
good-natured, and never scolded her.
Well, one night while her husband was away with the army, she was
awakened by queer little noises in her room. By the light of a big paper
lantern she could see very well, and she saw strange things.
Hundreds of little men, dressed just like Japanese warriors, but only
about one inch high, were dancing all around her pillow. They wore the
same kind of dress her husband wore on holidays (_Kamishimo_, a long
robe with square shoulders), and their hair was tied up in knots, and
each wore two tiny swords. They all looked at her as they danced, and
laughed, and they all sang the same song over and over again:
Chin-chin Kobakama,
Yomo fuké sōro—
Oshizumare, Hime-gimi!—
Ya ton ton!—
Which meant: “We are the Chin-chin Kobakama; the hour is late; sleep,
honorable, noble darling!”
The words seemed very polite, but she soon saw that the little men were
only making cruel fun of her. They also made ugly faces at her.
She tried to catch some of them, but they jumped about so quickly that
she could not. Then she tried to drive them away, but they would not go,
and they never stopped singing:
Chin-chin Kobakama ...
and laughing at her. Then she knew they were little fairies, and became
so frightened that she could not even cry out. They danced around her
until morning; then they all vanished suddenly.
She was ashamed to tell anybody what had happened, because, as she was
the wife of a warrior, she did not wish anybody to know how frightened
she had been.
Next night, again, the little men came and danced; and they came also
the night after that, and every night, always at the same hour, which
the old Japanese used to call the “hour of the ox”; that is, about two
o’clock in the morning by our time. At last she became very sick,
through want of sleep and through fright. But the little men would not
leave her alone.
When her husband came back home he was very sorry to find her sick in
bed. At first she was afraid to tell him what had made her ill, for fear
that he would laugh at her. But he was so kind, and coaxed her so
gently, that after a while she told him what happened every night.
He did not laugh at her at all, but looked very serious for a time. Then
he asked:
“At what time do they come?”
She answered, “Always at the same hour—the ‘hour of the ox.’”
“Very well,” said her husband; “to-night I shall hide, and watch for
them. Do not be frightened.”
So that night the warrior hid himself in a closet in the sleeping-room,
and kept watch through a chink between the sliding doors.
He waited and watched until the “hour of the ox.” Then, all at once, the
little men came up through the mats, and began their dance and their
song:
Chin-chin Kobakama,
Yomo fuké Sōro....
They looked so queer, and danced in such a funny way, that the warrior
could scarcely keep from laughing. But he saw his young wife’s
frightened face; and then, remembering that nearly all Japanese ghosts
and goblins are afraid of a sword, he drew his blade and rushed out of
the closet, and struck at the little dancers. Immediately they all
turned into—what do you think?
_Toothpicks!_
There were no more little warriors—only a lot of old toothpicks
scattered over the mats.
The young wife had been too lazy to put her toothpicks away properly;
and every day, after having used a new toothpick, she would stick it
down between the mats on the floor, to get rid of it. So the little
fairies who take care of the floor-mats became angry with her, and
tormented her.
Her husband scolded her, and she was so ashamed that she did not know
what to do. A servant was called, and the toothpicks were taken away and
burned, and after that the little men never came back again.
_The Old Woman who Lost her Dumplings_
Long, long ago there was a funny old woman who liked to laugh and to
make dumplings of rice-flour.
One day, while she was preparing some dumplings for dinner, she let one
fall, and it rolled into a hole in the earthen floor of her little
kitchen and disappeared. The old woman tried to reach it by putting her
hand down the hole, and all at once the earth gave way, and the old
woman fell in.
She fell quite a distance, but was not a bit hurt; and when she got up
on her feet again, she saw that she was standing on a road just like the
road before her house. It was quite light down there; and she could see
plenty of rice-fields, but no one in them. How all this happened I
cannot tell you, but it seems that the old woman had fallen into another
country.
The road she had fallen upon sloped very much; so, after having looked
for her dumpling in vain, she thought that it must have rolled farther
away down the hill. She ran down the road to look, crying: “My dumpling!
my dumpling! Where is that dumpling of mine?”
After a little while she saw a stone image standing by the roadside, and
she said, calling it by its name:
“O _Jizō San_, did you see my dumpling?”
_Jizō_ answered:
“Yes, I saw your dumpling rolling by me down the road. But you had
better not go any farther, because there is a wicked _oni_ living down
there who eats people.”
But the old woman only laughed, and ran on farther down the road,
crying: “My dumpling! my dumpling! Where is that dumpling of mine?” And
she came to another statue of _Jizō_, and asked it:
“O kind _Jizō_, did you see my dumpling?”
And _Jizō_ said:
“Yes, I saw your dumpling go by a little while ago. But you must not run
any farther, because there is a wicked _oni_ down there who eats
people.”
But she only laughed and ran on, still crying out: “My dumpling! my
dumpling! Where is that dumpling of mine?” And she came to a third
_Jizō_, and asked it:
“O dear _Jizō_, did you see my dumpling?”
But _Jizō_ said:
“Don’t talk about your dumpling now. Here is the _oni_ coming. Squat
down here behind my sleeve, and don’t make any noise.”
Presently the _oni_ came very close, and stopped and bowed to _Jizō_,
and said:
“Good day, _Jizō_ San!”
_Jizō_ said good day, too, very politely.
Then the _oni_ suddenly snuffed the air two or three times in a
suspicious way, and cried out: “_Jizō San, Jizō San!_ I smell a smell of
mankind somewhere—don’t you?”
“Oh!” said _Jizō_, “perhaps you are mistaken.”
“No, no!” said the _oni_ after snuffing the air again; “I smell a smell
of mankind.”
Then the old woman could not help laughing—“_Te-he-he!_”—and the oni
immediately reached down his big hairy hand behind _Jizō’s_ sleeve, and
pulled her out—still laughing, “_Te-he-he!_”
“Ah! ha!” cried the _oni_.
Then _Jizō_ said:
“What are you going to do with that good old woman? You must not hurt
her.”
“I won’t,” said the _oni_; “but I will take her home with me to cook for
us.”
“_Te-he-he!_” laughed the old woman.
“Very well,” said _Jizō_, “but you must really be kind to her. If you
are not, I shall be very angry.”
“I won’t hurt her at all,” promised the _oni_; “and she will only have
to do a little work for us every day. Good-by, _Jizō San_.”
Then the _oni_ took the old woman far down the road till they came to a
wide deep river, where there was a boat. He put her into the boat, and
took her across the river to his house. It was a very large house. He
led her at once into the kitchen, and told her to cook some dinner for
himself and the other _oni_ who lived with him. And he gave her a small
wooden rice-paddle, and said:
“You must always put only one grain of rice into the pot, and, when you
stir that one grain of rice in the water with this paddle, the grain
will multiply until the pot is full.”
So the old woman put just one rice-grain into the pot, as the _oni_ told
her, and began to stir it with the paddle; and, as she stirred, the one
grain became two, then four, then eight, then sixteen, thirty-two,
sixty-four, and so on. Every time she moved the paddle the rice
increased in quantity, and in a few minutes the great pot was full.
After that, the funny old woman stayed a long time in the house of the
_oni_, and every day cooked food for him and for all his friends. The
_oni_ never hurt or frightened her, and her work was made quite easy by
the magic paddle, although she had to cook a very, very great quantity
of rice, because an oni eats much more than any human being eats.
But she felt lonely, and always wished very much to go back to her own
little house, and make her dumplings; and one day, when the _oni_ were
all out somewhere, she thought she would try to run away.
She first took the magic paddle and slipped it under her girdle, and
then she went down to the river. No one saw her, and the boat was there.
She got into it and pushed off, and, as she could row very well, she was
soon far away from the shore.
But the river was very wide, and she had not rowed more than one-fourth
of the way across when the _oni_, all of them, came back to the house.
They found that their cook was gone, and the magic paddle, too. They ran
down to the river at once, and saw the old woman rowing away very fast.
Perhaps they could not swim; at all events, they had no boat, and they
thought the only way they could catch the funny old woman would be to
drink up all the water of the river before she got to the other bank. So
they knelt down, and began to drink so fast that, before the old woman
had got half-way over, the water had become quite low.
But the old woman kept on rowing until the water had got so shallow that
the _oni_ stopped drinking, and began to wade across. Then she dropped
her oar, took the magic paddle from her girdle, and shook it at the
_oni_, and made such funny faces that the _oni_ all burst out laughing.
But, the moment they laughed, all the water came up that they had drunk,
and so the river became full again. The _oni_ could not cross, and the
funny old woman got safely over to the other side, and ran away up the
road as fast as she could. She never stopped running until she found
herself at home again.
After that she was very happy, for she could make dumplings whenever she
pleased. Besides, she had the magic paddle to make rice for her. She
sold her dumplings to her neighbors and passengers, and in quite a short
time she became rich.
_The Three Goats_
Once upon a time there were three goats that were sent to some
pasture-lands in order to be fattened, and all three happened to be
named Brausewind. On their road to the pasture there was a bridge across
a river which they must pass, and under the bridge lived a gigantic and
horrible spirit, whose eyes were as large as two pewter plates, and
whose nose was as long as the handle of a hoe.
The youngest goat Brausewind first came along, and stepped upon the
bridge.
“Creak, creak!” complained the bridge.
“Who is tripping over my bridge?” cried the elf underneath.
“Oh! it is only the smallest of the goats named Brausewind,” said the
goat in a very shrill voice.
“Then I shall come and fetch you,” cried the elf.
“Nay, do not come for me, for I am still so little,” said the goat;
“wait a bit, till the second Brausewind comes, for he is much larger
than I am.”
“Very well,” quoth the elf.
After a while the other goat Brausewind came along, and he began to go
over the bridge.
“_Creaky creak!_” cried the bridge again.
“Who is tramping over my bridge?” cried the elf.
“Oh! it is only the second goat Brausewind; I am going to the
pasture-lands to get a little fatter,” answered the goat, but in a less
soft voice than the first.
“Then I shall come and fetch you,” said the elf.
“Nay, do not take me, but wait a bit till the large goat Brausewind
comes, for he is a great deal bigger than I am.”
“Very well,” replied the elf.
It was not long before the big goat Brausewind reached the same spot.
“CREAK, CREAK!” went the bridge, as if it were going to split.
“Who comes thundering over my bridge?” cried the elf.
“The big goat Brausewind,” said the goat in a gruff voice.
“Then I shall come and fetch you,” cried the elf.
“Well, come if you like; I’ve two spears in my head,
With which I can easily strike you dead.
Yes, come if you like; and with thundering stones
I shiver to powder your brains and your bones,”
replied the goat; and, butting at the elf, he easily broke every bone in
his body, after which he threw him into the river, and followed the
other goats to the pastures.
And here the goats grew so very, very, very fat that they were not able
to come home again; and, unless they have grown thinner since, they are
probably there still.
_The Fox Turned Shepherd_
There was once a farmer’s wife who rode out to try and find a shepherd.
She happened to meet a bear on the way, and the bear inquired whither
she was going.
“Oh, I’m going to hire a shepherd,” answered she.
“Will you take me for a shepherd?” asked the bear.
“Yes,” said the woman, “provided you can call the sheep properly.”
“Ho—o—y!” growled the bear.
“No,” said the woman on hearing this, “I can’t hire you,” and on she
went.
Soon after she met a wolf. “Where are you going?” asked the wolf.
“Oh, I’m going to hire a shepherd,” answered the woman.
“Will you take me for a shepherd?” asked the wolf.
“Yes, if you can call the sheep properly,” replied the woman.
“Uh—uh!” howled the wolf.
“No, I can’t hire you,” said the woman.
A little farther on she met a Fox. “Where are you going?” asked he.
“Oh, I’m only going to hire a shepherd,” answered the woman.
“Will you take me for a shepherd?” asked the Fox.
“Yes, provided you can but call the sheep properly,” replied the woman.
“Dil—dal—holom!” cried the Fox in a pretty, proper tone.
“Yes, I will hire you,” said the woman; and she took him for a shepherd
to watch over the cattle.
The first day, on driving the cattle to the meadows, the Fox ate up all
the goats. On the second day he made a dainty meal upon the sheep, and
on the third day it was the turn for the cows to be eaten.
On returning home in the evening, the woman asked him where he had left
the cattle. “Their heads are in the brook, and their bones are in the
bushes,” replied the Fox. The farmer’s wife was just then at the
butter-tub, busy making butter; still, she wanted to go and see for
herself how things stood. While she went to look, the Fox put his head
into the butter-tub and drank up all the cream.
When the woman came back and saw what he had done, she was so
exasperated that she seized a clot of cream that still remained in the
tub and flung it at the Fox, so that it made a spot upon his tail. And
this is the reason why the Fox’s tail has a white tip.
_The Seven Boys and the Monster_
It was Saturday afternoon, and Caspar, Michael, Fritz, and little Bessy
were playing before their house, when presently little Hans came running
toward them, and breathlessly cried:
“What have I seen? what have I seen?”
“What have you seen, then?” exclaimed all the children with one voice,
collecting around him.
“A monster! a frightful monster!” answered Hans, wiping the sweat from
his brow.
“You are afraid of your own shadow, fearful Hans,” said Caspar
mockingly; “perhaps your neighbor’s black cat has turned her fiery eyes
on you again.”
“I am not afraid of my shadow,” answered Hans angrily; “had you only
been there, your ridicule would soon have vanished. A cat is not a bit
like a grasshopper—a fearful great grasshopper, on which one could
ride!”
At this the children wondered very much; and when Hans related that he
had seen the monster in the shepherd’s hut in the field—that it had
horns, and such a voice that the whole hut trembled—they almost believed
him; and little Fritz thought: “Who knows if it is not one of the
rhinoceroses of which Herr Gulmann told us yesterday?”
“Has the monster done you any harm?” asked little Bessy.
“No,” answered Hans; “when I screamed, it shrank back into its house.”
“But I must go and see it,” said Caspar; “and, if you will all follow, I
will go now.”
The children determined to go, but little Hans said:
“I will not go unarmed!”
So Caspar mounted his horse-stick, put on his helmet, and buckled his
saber to his side; Michael took his gun, Fritz the drum, and little Hans
his lance.
“You must remain at home, little Bessy,” said Hans; “I won’t bear the
blame if the monster hurts you.”
“But I want to go with you,” answered little Bessy, almost crying; “and,
if you will not take me, I will tell my mother.”
“Let her go, then,” said Fritz; “but remember, Bessy, you must always
keep ten yards behind.”
Thus, having armed themselves, they took courage, and Caspar thought:
“Oh, if we could only catch the monster, dead or alive! Ah! here come
Peter, and Frank, and George—they can also go with us, but they must
take the great bean-pole out of the garden, that we may be able to
attack the monster at a distance.”
Now the little army set itself in motion. Caspar on “Roho” (for so his
horse was named) came first, as commander; then came Hans with the
spear, Fritz with the drum, Michael with the gun, and lastly, Peter,
Frank, and George, with the pole. Little Bessy came ten yards behind
them. All were full of courage, and they sang:
The general on his horse comes first,
And next the spear and drum;
The soldier, with his gun; and three
Armed with a bean-pole come.
But Bessy marches after all,
That unto her no harm may fall.
When they came to the little wood through which one must go in order to
get to the great meadow where the shepherd’s cot stands, Hans cried out
all at once, his flag nearly falling from his hand:
“Did you not hear a noise?”
“Yes!” cried all, trembling; but Fritz had still courage enough to say:
“Bessy must remain behind.”
Then they whispered to one another, “The monster, perhaps, has hidden
here”; but they dared not run away, for fear the monster should fall on
them from behind, and they resolved to lie on the ground and listen. So
they laid down all apart, and presently they whispered:
“Hans trembles very much.”
After a long time Fritz asked:
“Have you heard nothing, Caspar?”
“No,” said he, and the others also said “no”; and Frank thought,
perhaps, it was only the wind. At this they took courage, and, in order
to show they were not afraid, they sang:
O wind, in the wood whistle all the day long,
We’ll whistle as boldly, we’ll whistle as strong,
and they began to whistle, with all their strength, against the wind.
When they had come out of the wood they saw the shepherd’s hut standing
quite alone; in the distance the sheep were peacefully feeding, and
their little bells sounded merrily along the meadows. Only an old ram
saw the young band of heroes, and it ventured nearer in order to look
wonderingly. But Caspar rode against it, brandishing his sword, which
made the ram bleat and gallop away.
“Now is the time!” said Caspar; “we will first walk three times round
the hut, but no one must make any noise!”
“Bessy still stops behind!” cried Fritz, out of the strength of his
love.
“Once more I say,” exclaimed Caspar loudly and forcibly, “no one must
make a noise. We will now walk around, and when we are about to attack,
Fritz shall give the signal with his drum.”
So they began to walk round the hut, but they marched round much oftener
than three times, and each time they stopped at the same place.
“We cannot go round any more,” said Caspar, “we must attack the monster
from some place. Do you hide first, behind the oak-tree, one behind
another, that the monster may not see you; I will step on to the wheel
there, and look in at the window, but—mind you are all ready at the
first call.”
As they hid themselves behind the oak, he walked slowly with drawn sword
to the hut, and little Hans whispered behind the tree:
“If there should be a wolf in the hut! Do you remember the story of
‘Little Red Riding-hood’?”
This made them very much afraid, and they held the faster to one
another. Only Frank dared look out to see how their captain got on.
He had arrived at the hut, and, having fastened his horse to a stake, he
mounted the wheel in order to look through the window. But—what a
monster!—a great bearded beast with horns sprang with a loud cry at him;
and Caspar, pale as death from terror, fell back, and could scarcely
cry:
“Help! help!—the monster!”
As he called out, Franz said, “It has a beard and horns, and such a
voice!” and Hans, who stood next to the oak, fell back on the rest, and
one after the other fell to the ground.
Fritz picked himself up first, and called to Caspar from afar:
“Has he eaten you up yet, dear Caspar?”
“Who?” cried Caspar, springing up, “who?” And out of the hut sounded
again the cry; it shook the door, and all fell back again. A goat came
running up, with playful jumps, to our heroes.
“Herr Gulmann’s sick goat!” cried out all, “which, since the day before
yesterday, we have not seen in the schoolyard.”
“Did I not say so?” cried Caspar. “But, ah, fearful Hans! where is the
monster?”
“That must still be within,” protested Hans. “You also have seen it.”
“We will look again,” cried the enraged Caspar, in anger; “but, as the
monster has not eaten the goat, it is no cannibal. Just come here, and
stand around while Hans and I go in; and do you hold the bar of the
door, that the monster may not come out.”
All were, in spite of their former terror, become courageous; still,
Hans would willingly have gone back if he had not disliked to be called
“fearful Hans.” He placed himself, therefore, at the door, behind
Caspar, holding his banner before his eyes, and pressing it close to
him. But Caspar did not remark that Hans had placed himself behind him;
and Hans, on the other hand, did not see Caspar turn himself angrily and
quickly round, the hut being very dark; and it so happened that he
overturned Hans and fell over him.
“The monster! the monster!” cried Hans; and Caspar exclaimed, too, “The
monster! the monster!” for each thought that it had overthrown him. With
the quickness of lightning they sprang up again, in order to escape
through the door, but those outside only held the bar faster from
terror; and Hans and Caspar kicked with such violence against the wood
that the others cried, “The monster! the monster!”
But this time it was not a goat, but the specter, which every one
sometimes sees and feels. This our hero, Caspar, very soon found out;
and springing up, he stamped thrice on the ground with his foot, and
seizing poor Hans by the collar, he shook him angrily, and cried out in
a voice nearly choked with rage:
“You are a coward! you are a coward!”
“Dear Caspar, let me go; I will not do it again!”
“Hans, you are a coward!” replied Caspar, for the third time shaking
him.
But as little Hans said, “I will certainly show you a monster!” and as
the others begged for his life, he let him loose, stamped again on the
ground, and exclaimed:
“Oh, I would have commanded a band of heroes; I would have caught the
monster, and led it in triumph home, but now it is gone, and you are the
cause!”
But meanwhile the goat, which at first had so frightened them,
approached again, and performed various playful capers to induce them to
play with it. This increased Caspar’s rage, who would have seized the
animal and beaten it; but it ran back, and then lowering its horns
rushed against Caspar, not very softly. This excited him the more; he
made a bold spring, seized the brute by the hair, and mounted it, in
order the better to hold it; but, lo! the goat ran wildly away with him,
with mad jumps through the wood, past shrieking Bessy, away into the
village, where the people pointed their fingers at him mockingly.
Where did the goat stop?—for Caspar, while he lives, will not forget
this! It easily found the way to the schoolhouse where it once joyfully
fed, and flying to the yard, where the affrighted dog tried to seize it,
it rushed into the school at the principal entrance, and stood suddenly
in the schoolroom, where Herr Gulmann was correcting the exercises of
his scholars. He heard the tremendous noise and outcry, and putting on
his spectacles he discovered all!
What further happened I will omit, out of pity for Caspar, who may read
this history some time. Only this must I mention: that Herr Gulmann made
him read and explain on Monday morning, for a religious exercise, the
history of David and Goliath, and soon after he unwillingly related the
story of the Seven Suabians, who allowed themselves to be conquered by a
hare, and at that seven little boys blushed very deeply. I believe,
however, that seven times seven-and-seventy little boys would blush at
this story I have just told if it had happened to them!
_The Story of Little Black Mingo_
Once upon a time there was a little black girl, and her name was Little
Black Mingo.
She had no father and mother, so she had to live with a horrid cross old
woman called Black Noggy, who used to scold her every day, and sometimes
beat her with a stick, even though she had done nothing naughty.
One day Black Noggy called her, and said: “Take this chatty down to the
river and fill it with water, and come back as fast as you can—_quick
now_!”
So Little Black Mingo took the chatty and ran down to the river as fast
as she could, and began to fill it with water, when cr-r-rrrack!!!
bang!!! a horrible big mugger poked its nose up through the bottom of
the chatty and said: “Ha, ha! Little Mingo, I’m going to eat you up!”
Little Black Mingo did not say anything. She turned and ran away as fast
as ever she could, and the mugger ran after her. But the broken chatty
round his neck caught his paws, so he could not overtake her.
But when she got back to Black Noggy, and told her how the mugger had
broken the chatty, Black Noggy was fearfully angry. “You naughty girl,”
she said, “you have broken the chatty yourself. I have a good mind to
beat you.” And if she had not been in such a hurry for the water she
_would_ have beaten her.
Then she went and fetched the great big chatty that the dhobi used to
boil the clothes in. “Take this,” said she, “and mind you don’t break
it, or I _will_ beat you.”
“But I can’t carry that when it is full of water,” said Little Black
Mingo.
“You must go twice, and bring it half-full each time,” said Black Noggy.
So Little Black Mingo took the dhobi’s great big chatty, and started
again to go to the river. But first she went to a little bank above the
river, and peeped up and down to see if she could see the old mugger
anywhere. But she could not see him, for he was hiding under the very
bank she was standing on, and, though his tail stuck out a little, she
never saw him at all.
She would have liked to run home, but she was too much afraid that Black
Noggy would beat her.
So Little Black Mingo crept down to the river, and began to fill the big
chatty with water. And while she was filling it the mugger came creeping
softly down behind her and caught her by the leg, saying: “Aha, Little
Black Mingo, now I’ve got you.”
And Little Black Mingo said: “Oh! please don’t eat me up, great big
mugger!”
“What will you give me if I don’t eat you up?” said the mugger. But
Little Black Mingo was so poor she had nothing to give. So the mugger
caught her in his great cruel mouth and swam away with her to an island
in the middle of the river, and set her down beside a huge pile of eggs.
“Those are my eggs,” said he; “to-morrow a little mugger will come out
of each, and then we will have a great feast, and we will eat you up.”
Then he waddled off to catch fish for himself, and left Little Black
Mingo alone beside the big pile of eggs.
And Little Black Mingo sat down on a big stone and hid her face in her
hands, and cried bitterly, because she couldn’t swim, and she didn’t
know how to get away.
Presently she heard a queer little squeaky noise that sounded like
“Squeak, squeak, squeak!!! Oh, Little Black Mingo, help me, or I shall
be drowned.” She got up and looked to see what was calling, and she saw
a bush coming floating down the river with something wriggling and
scrambling about in it, and as it came near she saw that it was a
mongoose that was in the bush. So she waded out as far as she could, and
caught hold of the bush and pulled it in, and the poor mongoose crawled
up her arm on to her shoulder, and she carried him to shore.
When they got to shore the mongoose shook himself, and Little Black
Mingo wrung out her petticoat, and so they both very soon got dry.
The mongoose then began to poke about for something to eat, and very
soon he found the great big pile of muggers’ eggs. “Oh, joy!” said he,
“what’s this?”
“Those are muggers’ eggs,” said Little Black Mingo.
“I’m not afraid of muggers!” said the mongoose; and he sat down and
began to crack the eggs, and eat the little muggers as they came out.
And he threw the shells into the water, so that the old mugger should
not see that any one had been eating them. But he was careless, and he
left one egg-shell on the edge, and he was hungry, and he ate so many
that the pile got much smaller, and when the old mugger came back he saw
at once that some one had been meddling with them.
So he ran to Little Black Mingo, and said, “How dare you eat my eggs?”
“Indeed, indeed, I didn’t,” said Little Black Mingo.
“Then who could it have been?” said the mugger, and he ran back to the
eggs as fast as he could, and, sure enough, when he got back he found
the mongoose had eaten a whole lot more!!
Then he said to himself, “I must stay beside my eggs till they are
hatched into little muggers, or the mongoose will eat them all.” So he
curled himself into a ring round the eggs and went to sleep.
But while he was asleep the mongoose came to eat some more of the eggs,
and ate as many as he wanted, and when the mugger woke this time, oh!
_what_ a rage he was in, for there were only six eggs left! He roared so
loud that all the little muggers inside the shells gnashed their teeth,
and tried to roar, too.
Then he said: “I know what I’ll do. I’ll fetch Little Black Mingo’s big
chatty, and cover my eggs with that; then the mongoose won’t be able to
get at them.” So he swam across to the shore, and fetched the dhobi’s
big chatty, and covered the eggs with it. “Now, you wicked little
mongoose, come and eat my eggs if you can,” said he, and he went off
quite proud and happy.
By and by the mongoose came back, and he was terribly disappointed when
he found the eggs all covered with the big chatty.
So he ran off to Little Black Mingo, and asked her to help him, and
Little Black Mingo came and took the big chatty off the eggs, and the
mongoose ate them, every one.
“Now,” said he, “there will be no little muggers to make a feast for
to-morrow.”
“No,” said Little Black Mingo, “but the mugger will eat me all by
himself, I am afraid.”
“No, he won’t,” said the mongoose, “for we will sail away together in
the big chatty before he comes back.”
So he climbed on to the edge of the chatty, and Little Black Mingo
pushed the chatty out into the water, and then she clambered into it and
paddled with her two hands as hard as she could, and the big chatty just
sailed beautifully.
So they got across safely, and Little Black Mingo filled the chatty
half-full of water and took it on her head, and they went up the bank
together.
But when the mugger came back, and found only empty egg-shells, he was
fearfully angry. He roared and he raged, and he howled and he yelled,
till the whole island shook, and his tears ran down his cheeks and
pattered on the sand like rain.
So he started to chase Little Black Mingo and the mongoose, and he swam
across the river as fast as ever he could, and when he was half-way
across he saw them landing, and as he landed they hurried over the first
ridge.
So he raced after them, but they ran, and just before he caught them
they got into the house, and banged the door in his face. Then they shut
all the windows, so he could not get in anywhere.
“All right,” said he, “you will have to come out some time, and then I
will catch you both, and eat you up.”
So he hid behind the back of the house and waited.
Now, Black Noggy was just coming home from the bazaar with a tin of
kerosene on her head and a box of matches in her hand.
And when he saw her the mugger rushed out and gobbled her up, kerosene
tin, matches, and all!!!
When Black Noggy found herself in the mugger’s dark inside, she wanted
to see where she was, so she felt for the match-box, and took out a
match and lit it. But the mugger’s teeth had made holes in the kerosene
tin, so that the flame of the match caught the kerosene, and BANG!! the
kerosene exploded, and blew the old mugger and Black Noggy into little
bits.
At the fearful noise Little Black Mingo and the mongoose came running
out, and there they found Black Noggy and the old mugger all blown to
bits.
So Little Black Mingo and the mongoose got the nice little house for
their very own, and there they lived happy ever after. And Little Black
Mingo got the mugger’s head for her seat, and the mongoose got Black
Noggy’s handkerchief for his. But he was so wee he used to put it on the
mugger’s nose, and there they sat, and had their tea every evening.
HELEN BANNERMAN.
_The Cock and the Crested Hen_
There was once a Cock who had a whole farm-yard of hens to look after
and manage; and among them was a tiny little Crested Hen. She thought
she was altogether too grand to be in company with the other hens, for
they looked so old and shabby; she wanted to go out and strut about all
by herself, so that people could see how fine she was, and admire her
pretty crest and beautiful plumage.
So one day when all the hens were strutting about on the dust-heap and
showing themselves off, and picking and clucking, as they were wont to
do, this desire seized her, and she began to cry:
“Cluck, cluck, cluck, cluck, over the fence! cluck, cluck, cluck, over
the fence!” and wanted to get away.
The Cock stretched his neck and shook his comb and feathers, and cried:
“Go not there!” And all the old hens cackled:
“Go-go-go-go not there!”
But she set off for all that; and was not a little proud when she got
away, and could go about pluming and showing herself off quite alone.
Just then a hawk began to fly round in a circle above her, and all of a
sudden he swooped down upon her. The Cock, as he stood on top of the
dust-heap, stretching his neck and peering first with one eye and then
with the other, had long noticed him, and cried with all his might:
“Come, come, come and help! Come, come, come and help!” till the people
came running to see what was the matter. They frightened the hawk so
that he let go the Hen, and had to be satisfied with her tuft and her
finest feathers, which he had plucked from her. And then, you may be
sure, she lost no time in running home; she stretched her neck, and
tripped along, crying:
“See, see, see, see how I look! See, see, see, see how I look!”
The Cock came up to her in his dignified way, drooped one of his wings,
and said:
“Didn’t I tell you?”
From that time the Hen did not consider herself too good to be in the
company of the old hens on the dust-heap.
_The Old Woman and the Fish_
There was once upon a time an old woman who lived in a miserable cottage
on the brow of a hill overlooking the town. Her husband had been dead
for many years, and her children were in service round about the parish,
so she felt rather lonely and dreary by herself, and otherwise she was
not particularly well off either.
But when it has been ordained that one shall live, one cannot think of
one’s funeral; and so one has to take the world as it is, and still be
satisfied; and that was about all the old woman could console herself
with. But that the road up which she had to carry the pails from the
well should be so heavy; and that the ax should have such a blunt and
rusty edge, so that it was only with the greatest difficulty that she
could cut the little firewood she had; and that the stuff she was
weaving was not sufficient—all this grieved her greatly, and caused her
to complain from time to time.
So one day, when she had pulled the bucket up from the well, she
happened to find a small pike in the bucket, which did not at all
displease her.
“Such fish does not come into my pot every day,” she said; and now she
could have a really grand dish, she thought. But the fish that she had
got this time was no fool; it had the gift of speech, that it had.
“Let me go!” said the fish.
The old woman began to stare, you may be sure. Such a fish she had never
before seen in this world.
“Are you so much better than other fish, then?” she said, “and too good
to be eaten?”
“Wise is he who does not eat all he gets hold of,” said the fish; “only
let me go, and you shall not remain without reward for your trouble.”
“I like a fish in the bucket better than all those frisking about free
and frolicsome in the lakes,” said the old woman. “And what one can
catch with one hand, one can also carry to one’s mouth,” she said.
“That may be,” said the fish; “but if you do as I tell you, you shall
have three wishes.”
“Wish in one fist, and pour water in the other, and you’ll soon see
which you will get filled first,” said the woman. “Promises are well
enough, but keeping them is better, and I sha’n’t believe much in you
till I have got you in the pot,” she said.
“You should mind that tongue of yours,” said the fish, “and listen to my
words. Wish for three things, and then you’ll see what will happen,” he
said.
Well, the old woman knew well enough what she wanted to wish, and there
might not be so much danger in trying how far the fish would keep his
word, she thought.
She then began thinking of the heavy hill up from the well.
“I would wish that the pails could go of themselves to the well and home
again,” she said.
“So they shall,” said the fish.
Then she thought of the ax, and how blunt it was.
“I would wish that whatever I strike shall break right off,” she said.
“So it shall,” said the fish.
And then she remembered that the stuff she was weaving was not long
enough.
“I would wish that whatever I pull shall become long,” she said.
“That it shall,” said the fish. “And now, let me down into the well
again.”
Yes, that she would, and all at once the pails began to shamble up the
hill.
“Dear me, did you ever see anything like it?” The old woman became so
glad and pleased that she slapped herself across the knees.
Crack, crack! it sounded; and then both her legs fell off, and she was
left sitting on the top of the lid over the well.
Now came a change. She began to cry and wail, and the tears started from
her eyes, whereupon she began blowing her nose with her apron, and as
she tugged at her nose it grew so long, so long, that it was terrible to
see.
That is what she got for her wishes! Well, there she sat, and there she
no doubt still sits, on the lid of the well. And if you want to know
what it is to have a long nose, you had better go there and ask her, for
she can tell you all about it, she can.
_The Lad and the Fox_
There was once upon a time a little lad, who was on his way to church,
and when he came to a clearing in the forest he caught sight of a fox,
that was lying on the top of a big stone so fast asleep that he did not
know the lad had seen him.
“If I kill that fox,” said the lad, taking a heavy stone in his fist,
“and sell the skin, I shall get money for it, and with that money I
shall buy some rye, and that rye I shall sow in father’s corn-field at
home. When the people who are on their way to church pass by my field of
rye they’ll say: ‘Oh, what splendid rye that lad has got!’ Then I shall
say to them: ‘I say, keep away from my rye!’ But they won’t heed me.
Then I shall shout to them: ‘I say, keep away from my rye!’ But still
they won’t take any notice of me. Then I shall scream with all my might:
‘Keep away from my rye!’ and then they’ll listen to me.”
But the lad screamed so loudly that the fox woke up and made off at once
for the forest, so that the lad did not even get as much as a handful of
his hair.
No; it’s best always to take what you can reach, for of undone deeds you
should never screech, as the saying goes.
_The Old Woman and the Tramp_
There was once a tramp who went plodding his way through a forest. The
distance between the houses was so great that he had little hope of
finding a shelter before the night set in. But all of a sudden he saw
some lights between the trees. He then discovered a cottage, where there
was a fire burning on the hearth. How nice it would be to roast one’s
self before that fire, and to get a bite of something, he thought; and
so he dragged himself toward the cottage.
Just then an old woman came toward him.
“Good evening, and well met!” said the tramp.
“Good evening,” said the woman. “Where do you come from?”
“South of the sun, and east of the moon,” said the tramp; “and now I am
on the way home again, for I have been all over the world with the
exception of this parish,” he said.
“You must be a great traveler, then,” said the woman. “What may be your
business here?”
“Oh, I want a shelter for the night,” he said.
“I thought as much,” said the woman; “but you may as well get away from
here at once, for my husband is not at home, and my place is not an
inn,” she said.
“My good woman,” said the tramp, “you must not be so cross and
hard-hearted, for we are both human beings, and should help one another,
as it is written.”
“Help one another?” said the woman, “help? Did you ever hear such a
thing? Who’ll help me, do you think? I haven’t got a morsel in the
house! No, you’ll have to look for quarters elsewhere,” she said.
But the tramp was like the rest of his kind; he did not consider himself
beaten at the first rebuff. Although the old woman grumbled and
complained as much as she could, he was just as persistent as ever, and
went on begging and praying like a starved dog, until at last she gave
in, and he got permission to lie on the floor for the night.
That was very kind, he thought, and he thanked her for it.
“Better on the floor without sleep, than suffer cold in the forest
deep,” he said; for he was a merry fellow, this tramp, and was always
ready with a rhyme.
When he came into the room he could see that the woman was not so badly
off as she had pretended; but she was a greedy and stingy woman of the
worst sort, and was always complaining and grumbling.
He now made himself very agreeable, of course, and asked her in his most
insinuating manner for something to eat.
“Where am I to get it from?” said the woman. “I haven’t tasted a morsel
myself the whole day.”
But the tramp was a cunning fellow, he was.
“Poor old granny, you must be starving,” he said. “Well, well, I suppose
I shall have to ask you to have something with me, then?”
“Have something with you!” said the woman. “You don’t look as if you
could ask any one to have anything! What have you got to offer one, I
should like to know?”
“He who far and wide does roam sees many things not known at home; and
he who many things has seen has wits about him and senses keen,” said
the tramp. “Better dead than lose one’s head! Lend me a pot, granny!”
The old woman now became very inquisitive, as you may guess, and so she
let him have a pot.
He filled it with water and put it on the fire, and then he blew with
all his might till the fire was burning fiercely all round it. Then he
took a four-inch nail from his pocket, turned it three times in his
hand, and put it into the pot.
The woman stared with all her might.
“What’s this going to be?” she asked.
“Nail broth,” said the tramp, and began to stir the water with the
porridge-stick.
“Nail broth?” asked the woman.
“Yes, nail broth,” said the tramp.
The old woman had seen and heard a good deal in her time, but that
anybody could have made broth with a nail, well, she had never heard the
like before.
“That’s something for poor people to know,” she said, “and I should like
to learn how to make it.”
“That which is not worth having will always go a-begging,” said the
tramp, but if she wanted to learn how to make it she had only to watch
him, he said, and went on stirring the broth.
The old woman squatted on the ground, her hands clasping her knees, and
her eyes following his hand as he stirred the broth.
“This generally makes good broth,” he said; “but this time it will very
likely be rather thin, for I have been making broth the whole week with
the same nail. If one only had a handful of sifted oatmeal to put in,
that would make it all right,” he said. “But what one has to go without,
it’s no use thinking more about,” and so he stirred the broth again.
“Well, I think I have a scrap of flour somewhere,” said the old woman,
and went out to fetch some, and it was both good and fine.
The tramp began putting the flour into the broth, and went on stirring,
while the woman sat staring now at him and then at the pot until her
eyes nearly burst their sockets.
“This broth would be good enough for company,” he said, putting in one
handful of flour after another. “If I had only a bit of salted beef and
a few potatoes to put in, it would be fit for gentlefolks, however
particular they might be,” he said. “But what one has to go without,
it’s no use thinking more about.”
When the old woman really began to think it over, she thought she had
some potatoes, and perhaps a bit of beef as well; and these she gave the
tramp, who went on stirring, while she sat and stared as hard as ever.
“This will be grand enough for the best in the land,” he said.
“Well, I never!” said the woman; “and just fancy—all with a nail!”
He was really a wonderful man, that tramp! He could do more than drink a
sup and turn the tankard up, he could.
“If one had only a little barley and a drop of milk, we could ask the
king himself to have some of it,” he said; “for this is what he has
every blessed evening—that I know, for I have been in service under the
king’s cook,” he said.
“Dear me! Ask the king to have some! Well, I never!” exclaimed the
woman, slapping her knees. She was quite awestruck at the tramp and his
grand connections.
“But what one has to go without, it’s no use thinking more about,” said
the tramp.
And then she remembered she had a little barley; and as for milk, well,
she wasn’t quite out of that, she said, for her best cow had just
calved. And then she went to fetch both the one and the other.
The tramp went on stirring, and the woman sat staring, one moment at him
and the next at the pot.
Then all at once the tramp took out the nail.
“Now it’s ready, and now we’ll have a real good feast,” he said. “But to
this kind of soup the king and the queen always take a dram or two, and
one sandwich at least. And then they always have a cloth on the table
when they eat,” he said. “But what one has to go without, it’s no use
thinking more about.”
But by this time the old woman herself had begun to feel quite grand and
fine, I can tell you; and if that was all that was wanted to make it
just as the king had it, she thought it would be nice to have it exactly
the same way for once, and play at being king and queen with the tramp.
She went straight to a cupboard and brought out the brandy bottle, dram
glasses, butter and cheese, smoked beef and veal, until at last the
table looked as if it were decked out for company.
Never in her life had the old woman had such a grand feast, and never
had she tasted such broth, and just fancy, made only with a nail!
She was in such a good and merry humor at having learned such an
economical way of making broth that she did not know how to make enough
of the tramp who had taught her such a useful thing.
So they ate and drank, and drank and ate, until they became both tired
and sleepy.
The tramp was now going to lie down on the floor. But that would never
do, thought the old woman; no, that was impossible. “Such a grand person
must have a bed to lie in,” she said.
He did not need much pressing. “It’s just like the sweet Christmas
time,” he said, “and a nicer woman I never came across. Ah, well! Happy
are they who meet with such good people,” said he; and he lay down on
the bed and went asleep.
And next morning, when he woke, the first thing he got was coffee and a
dram.
When he was going, the old woman gave him a bright dollar piece.
“And thanks, many thanks, for what you have taught me,” she said. “Now I
shall live in comfort, since I have learned how to make broth with a
nail.”
“Well, it isn’t very difficult if one only has something good to add to
it,” said the tramp as he went his way.
The woman stood at the door staring after him.
“Such people don’t grow on every bush,” she said.
THE END
McCLURE’S LIBRARY OF CHILDREN’S CLASSICS
“THE CRIMSON CLASSICS”
EDITED BY
Kate Douglas Wiggin
AND
Nora Archibald Smith
The problem of children’s reading is one of the greatest with which
parents and teachers are confronted. It is the purpose of this series to
provide the very best literature in every field for the use of children
and young people of all ages,—poetry, fairy lore, fables, nursery
rhymes, short entertaining stories, etc., etc. To accomplish this
purpose the editors have spared no trouble and the publishers no
expense, to the end that this series may take its place permanently in
the home and in the school library, superseding all others less complete
and less carefully selected with reference to the mental and spiritual
needs and the simple æsthetic tastes of children. A full description of
the five volumes already published will be found on the following pages.
PINAFORE PALACE
A BOOK OF RHYMES FOR THE NURSERY
This volume is absolutely unique in scope and conception. It is a
collection of all the best nursery rhymes, nonsense verses, guessing
games, lullabies and slumber songs for the delectation of the very
littlest readers, just as The Posy Ring was designed for children a
little older, and GOLDEN NUMBERS for their brothers and sisters who are
beginning to grow up and to prepare for school and college. The editors
have, as in the case of the former volumes in the series, gone through
the entire field of available material, and drawn upon many sources that
are remote or inaccessible for the general reader. In this way they have
been able to recover many a veritable little masterpiece of nursery
lore, as well as to bring together all the old favorites from Mother
Goose and other collections in a form at once compact and comprehensive.
Teachers of kindergartens everywhere, as well as mothers with children
to entertain at home, will welcome this little book and keep it on the
most convenient shelf of the nursery bookcase. “Every home, large or
small, poor or rich,” writes Mrs. Wiggin in her delightful INTRODUCTION
TO THE MOTHER IN PINAFORE PALACE; and, she adds later, “no greater love
for a task nor happiness in doing it, no more ardent wish to please a
child or meet a mother’s need, ever went into a book than has been
brought into this volume.”
_$1.50_
MAGIC CASEMENTS
A SECOND FAIRY BOOK
This volume, a companion to “The Fairy Ring,” completes that volume and
makes, with it, the most exhaustive collection of fairy lore available
for young readers. The editors, with their unerring gift for selection
which in itself amounts to genius, have gathered those stories which
have in them the greatest degree of that glamour which, in the language
of Keats, opens “magic casements” on the world of Fairyland. These
stories are for the most part longer and more elaborate than those in
the preceding volume and are designed for slightly older readers.
THE FAIRY RING
Designed by its editors to be the standard fairy book for children. The
educational value of the fairy story cannot be denied in its healthy
stimulation of the child’s imaginative powers. Here the collections of
Grimm, Andersen, Joseph Jacobs, Laboulaye, Perrault, and Dasent have
yielded their richest stores, but the editors have not confined
themselves to these better-known sources. They have gone far afield,
read and examined all existing books of fairy literature, sifting all
the material till they have made a generous selection which is inclusive
of the very best that has ever been written.
“Can hardly fail to prove the most popular anthology of its kind
ever published.” _Boston Herald._
_Each volume beautifully printed and bound; about 450 pages: Gilt
top; postpaid, $1.50_
GOLDEN NUMBERS
A BOOK OF VERSE FOR YOUTH
The best anthology of English verse ever prepared for young people from
the ages of 12 to 17. It is composed entirely of the finest examples of
English poetical literature, selected with special reference to the
requirements of young people of the grammar and high school age.
“The book will charm the child for the moment; it will educate his
tastes without awakening the suspicion that he is at school, and
it will enrich his memory for all time to come.” _Outlook._
_With an introduction by Kate Douglas Wiggin, and interleaves.
Cloth, 500 pages; postpaid, $2.17; net, $2.00_
THE POSY RING
A BOOK OF VERSE FOR CHILDREN
A companion volume to “Golden Numbers,” suitable for children from the
ages of 7 to 12. The compilers have drawn largely on the works of
Longfellow, Stevenson, Lewis Carroll, Eugene Field, Mary Mapes Dodge and
James Whitcomb Riley. Every poem will give delight to the child, and
also to the mother who would read them to the little ones.
“Into its pages have been gathered the cream of poetry for
children.” _Boston Transcript._
_Printed in very large, readable type. Cloth, postpaid, $1.37;
net, $1.25_
------------------------------------------------------------------------
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
1. Changed ‘shall everything’ to ‘shall have everything’ on p. 25.
2. Changed ‘of in all’ to ‘of it all’ on p. 93.
3. Silently corrected typographical errors.
4. Retained anachronistic and non-standard spellings as printed.
5. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.