the office of serving the beautiful princess. Hans served her so
faithfully that she learned to love him dearly, and in time they were
married. When the old king died Hans was made king and the beautiful
princess was a queen. Hans, you may be sure, took good care of his old
father and mother and both he and his queen did everything they could to
make all the people in their kingdom industrious and happy.
Hans persuaded his four friends, the giants, to come and live in his
kingdom, and through them it became the richest and most prosperous
country on the face of the earth, so that travelers came from all over
the world to visit it.
_STORY OF THE SMALL GREEN CATERPILLAR AND THE BEAUTIFUL WHITE
BUTTERFLY._
[ADAPTED.]
In a kitchen garden at the rear of an old, brick house in a country
town, stood long rows of stately corn, whose shining green blades
glistened in the sun and rustled if a passing breeze spoke to them. Near
at hand were some thickly-leaved currant bushes which looked as if they
had been so busy bearing bunches of juicy, red currants that they had
found no time to grow tall like their neighbors, the corn.
Just across the garden-path was a fine bed of feathery asparagus,
separated from the rest of the garden by a low wooden border about two
inches high. I do not know as to whether or not it was this exclusive
life they lived that made them so lacking in strength, but they were
swayed by the slightest breath of air, now this way and now that. In the
same garden were many other vegetables, and towering far above them all
were some giant plum trees. At least they seemed like giants to the
potato vine and tomato plants near by, both of whom were of a creeping
nature and had a great admiration for anybody, or anything, that was
higher than themselves. The young potato vines used to look up from the
top of their hills and wonder if they would ever get as near to the sky
as the branches of the plum trees seemed to be. Silly things! They did
not know that their only value lay in their keeping close to the ground
and bearing as many fine, smooth-skinned potatoes as possible; that is,
the younger vines did not know this important fact.
Our story, however, is not about the potato vines, but of something very
wonderful which took place upon the outside leaf of a round, green
cabbage-head which stood along with the other cabbage-heads in one
corner of the garden. I don't believe you would have understood much of
what was going on if you had been there, any more than did the
happy-faced, little, black-eyed woman who owned the garden. She thought
she loved her garden, every tree, and shrub, and herb that grew in it;
still she spent a great deal more time looking at the swift-flowing
river and the stretch of hills beyond than she did at her
cabbage-heads. Her neighbors said she was very far-sighted and called
her clever, but the ants and beetles which lived in the garden knew that
she was dull, because she spent hours each day poring over stupid books,
while the most wonderful things were happening all around her, under her
very nose, as it were, or rather, I should say, perhaps, under her very
feet--things far more interesting than her books could possibly have
been.
Among these wonderful things of which her garden could have told her was
the life-story of a little green caterpillar whose home was on the
outside leaf of a large green cabbage-head. He was not an inch long and
not much bigger around than a good-sized broom straw, yet he was an
honest little fellow in his way, and spent most of his time crawling
about on his cabbage-leaf and nibbling holes in it, which you know, is
about all a caterpillar can be expected to do. The great, beautiful sun,
high up in the sky, sent his bright rays of light down to warm the
little caterpillar just as regularly and with seemingly just as much
love as he sent them to make the thousand wavelets of the swift-flowing
river sparkle and gleam like diamonds, or as he sent them down to rest
in calm, still sunshine on the quiet hill-tops beyond.
The little green caterpillar's life was a very narrow one. He had never
been away from his cabbage-leaf, in fact he did not know that there was
anything else in the world except cabbage leaves. He might have learned
something of the beautiful silvery moon, or the shining stars, or of the
glorious sun itself, if he had ever looked up, but he never did,
therefore the whole world was a big cabbage-leaf to him, and all of his
life consisted in nibbling as much cabbage-leaf as possible.
So you can easily imagine his astonishment when one day a dainty, white
butterfly settled down beside him and began laying small green eggs. The
little caterpillar had never before seen anything half so beautiful as
were the wings of the dainty, white butterfly, and when she had finished
laying her eggs and flew off, he for the first time in his whole life,
lifted his head toward the blue sky that he might watch the quick motion
of her wings. She was soon beyond the tallest leaves of the tomato
plants, above the feathery tips of the fine asparagus, even higher than
the plum trees. He watched her until she became a mere speck in the air
and at last vanished from his sight. He then sighed and turned again to
his cabbage leaf. As he did so his eyes rested on the twenty small green
eggs which were no larger than pin heads.
"Did she leave these for me to care for?" said he to himself. Then came
the perplexing question--how could he, a crawling caterpillar, take care
of baby butterflies. He could not teach them anything except to crawl
and nibble cabbage leaves. If they were like their beautiful mother,
would they not soon fly far beyond his reach? This last thought troubled
him a great deal, still he watched over them tenderly until they should
hatch. He could at least tell them of how beautiful their mother had
been and could show them where to fly that they might find her.
He often pictured to himself how they would look, twenty dainty little
butterflies fluttering about him on his cabbage leaf for a time, and
then flying off to the blue sky, for aught he knew, to visit the stars
with their mother. He loved the great sun very dearly now, because it
sent its rays down to warm the tiny eggs.
One day he awoke from his afternoon nap just in time to see a most
remarkable sight! What do you think was happening? One after another of
the small green eggs were breaking open, and out were crawling--what
_do_ you suppose! Little white butterflies? No, nothing of the
kind--Little green caterpillars were creeping out of each shell. Their
foster-father, as he had learned to call himself, could hardly believe
his own eyes. Yet there they were, wriggling and squirming, very much
like the young angleworms in the ground below.
"Well, well, well!" said he to himself, "who would ever dream that the
children of that beautiful creature would be mere caterpillars?" Strange
as it seemed to him, there was no denying the fact and his duty was to
teach them how to crawl about and how to nibble cabbage leaves. "Poor
things," he used to say as he moved among them, "you will never know the
world of beauty in which your mother lived, you will never be able to
soar aloft in the free air, your lives must be spent in creeping about
on a cabbage leaf and filling yourselves full of it each day. Poor
things! Poor things!"
The young caterpillars soon became so expert that they no longer needed
his care. Feeling very tired and sleepy, he one day decided to make for
himself a bed, or bag and go to sleep, not caring much whether or not
he ever awoke. He was soon softly wrapped from head to foot in the
curious covering he had made, and then came a long, long sleep of three
weeks or more. When at last he awakened, he began to work his head out
of his covering. Soon his whole body was free and he began to breathe
the fresh air and feel the warm sunshine. He was sure that something had
happened to him though he could not tell what. He turned his head this
way and that, and at last caught sight of his own sides. What do you
think he saw? Wings! Beautiful white wings! And his body was white, too!
The long sleep had changed him into a butterfly!
He began to slowly stretch his wings. They were so new he could hardly
believe that they were part of himself. The more he stretched them the
more beautiful they became, and soon they quivered and fluttered as
gracefully as did other butterfly wings. Just at this moment a strong,
fresh breeze swept over the garden, and before he had time to refuse,
the new butterfly was lifted off the cabbage leaf and was dancing
through the air, settling down now on a bright flower, and now on a
nodding blade of grass, then up and off again. He rejoiced gaily in his
freedom for a time, but soon came the longing to try his wings in the
upper sunshine.
Before attempting the unknown journey, however, he flew back to the
round, green cabbage-head on which he had lived so long. There were the
twenty, small, green caterpillars, still creeping slowly about and
filling themselves with cabbage-leaf. This was all they knew how to do,
and this they did faithfully. "Never mind, little caterpillars," said
the new butterfly as he hovered over them, "keep on at your work; the
cabbage leaf gives you food, and the crawling makes you strong. By and
by you, too, shall be butterflies and go forth free and glad into God's
great upper world."
Having said this in so low a tone of voice that you would not have heard
him had you been standing close by, he flew far away, so far that
neither you nor I could have followed him with our eyes. As for the
happy-faced, little, black-eyed woman, she did not even know that he had
been near her, for her eyes were fastened on her book, as usual. But the
small, green, caterpillars must have heard, for they went on crawling
and nibbling cabbage-leaves quite contentedly, and not one of them was
ever heard to complain of having to be a caterpillar, though
occasionally one and then another of them would lift his head, and I
doubt not he was thinking of the time when he, too, should become a
beautiful white butterfly.
_THE DISCONTENTED MILL WINDOW._
A tall flour mill once stood in the midst of a busy noisy town. Its
steep, slanting roof was far above any other roof in the place, and its
many windows looked out over the chimney tops, and into the back yards
and saw all that was going on in them.
Under the very eaves of this slanting roof was a little round window.
Because it was so high above the other windows, from it you could have
seen not only all that was being done in the busy city, but the broad,
green fields outside of the town, and, on a clear day, you could even
have caught a glimpse of the vast ocean which lay shining so
mysteriously beyond the end of land. It was because this glimpse of the
great ocean could be seen through the little round window that the
mill-owner brought many visitors up to the top story to see the
beautiful vision. Oftentimes the guests reached the window, panting, and
out of breath from having to climb so many steps, but they always
exclaimed, "How glad I am that I came! How beautiful it is! How
_beautiful_ it is!"
Every noon some of the tired, dusty workmen would come and look out of
the little round window, sometimes almost forgetting to eat the bread
and meat they held in their hands. Oftentimes the window would hear them
say, "It rests one's tired bones to know that the great ocean is not so
far away after all." There was one pale, sad-faced man who used to come
every day and lean his elbows on the window sill and gaze, and gaze as
if he were never tired of looking out on the view which the little round
window presented.
When the mill whistle sounded its shrill, sharp note, telling the men
that the noonday rest was over and that they must be back at their work,
the pale, sad-faced man would sigh, and as he turned away, would say
softly to himself, "I don't believe I could stand the grind of this mill
life if I didn't get a breath of ocean air from this window each day!"
Once in a while, a good father would bring his children up to the window
and, lifting them in his strong arms, would let them see the green
fields and shining ocean. Then the children would clap their hands and
shout aloud for joy. Occasionally one would beg that he might be
allowed to go away from the noisy, dusty town, through the broad, green
fields to the endless ocean beyond.
At night when all the town was hushed in sleep, and even the green
fields looked cold and dark, and deep shadows seemed to be on every
object, the vision of the great ocean was, if possible, more beautiful
than during the bright day. At such hours the little, round window had
the gleam of the never sleeping waters all to itself, as very few people
have courage to climb much in the night, and none of them knew how
beautiful the mighty ocean looked in the midst of darkness. So they lost
the gleam of the heavenly stars as they were reflected in its wavelets.
Sometimes the broad silver path which the moon spread upon the surface
of the water looked as if it might be the shining stairway to the
heavenly gates themselves, and the little round window felt quite sure
that it saw bright angels ascending and descending this silvery stairway
just as they had done in the dream of Jacob of old. At such times the
little window would tremble all over with delight.
But alas! alas! now comes the sad part of my story. Time passed on, and
so many people came to look through the little, round window that
scarcely a day went by in which the window did not hear exclamations of
pleasure and admiration escape from their lips. Soon the foolish little
window began to think that the people were talking of it, and not of the
vision of the great ocean which could be seen through its round window
pane. Thus it grew proud and vain, and thought _it_ somehow, must be
superior to ordinary glass windows, and therefore it ought not to be
treated like them. So when the wet rain clouds came one day, as usual,
to wash the dust off the faces of all the windows in the town, the
little round window in the top of the tall mill refused to be washed.
"Tut, tut, tut!" said the rain, "what nonsense! A window is good for
nothing unless it is washed about once in so often."
However, the vain, little window would not listen, but held on to the
grimy soot and yellow dust which had accumulated upon its surface. Even
the rattle of the fierce thunder did not frighten it, and when the wind
sighed and sobbed and moaned as if to beg the little window to be
sensible and take the washing which the rain was trying to give it, the
obstinate window merely shook in its frame and answered, "I tell you I
am not like other windows. Every body admires me. Why should I have to
mind that cold, wet rain, just because other windows do. I am not going
to give up my soot and my dust. _I am going to do just as I please._ Am
I not above all the other windows? It is well enough for them to be
slapped in the face by the rain and even sometimes washed and scrubbed
from within, but none of that for _me_."
And thus the vain, foolish little window lost its chance to be made pure
and clean again.
Gradually the dust from the street, and the smoke from the neighboring
chimneys settled thicker and thicker upon it, and of course the view of
the busy, noisy town, of the quiet green fields and of the great,
shining ocean, became dimmer and dimmer until at last they were lost
sight of altogether and nothing could be seen but the round form of the
window, so thick was the grime and dirt upon it.
Now the men ceased coming to the top story at their noon time, and the
owner of the mill brought no more guests to its side, and the little
round window, left to itself, became sad and lonely. Day after day
passed and no one came near it. In fact, people seemed to have forgotten
that it was in existence. One day two boys climbed to the attic in
which it had been built, and the little round window said eagerly to
itself, "Now I shall hear some of the praise that belongs to me." But in
a very few moments one of the boys said "Whew! how close and dark it is
up here! Let's go down!" "All right," replied the other, and down they
scampered without even so much as noticing the dust-covered window.
At first the window was indignant at what it termed their lack of
appreciation. However, as day and night succeeded each other and days
grew into weeks, and weeks stretched into a month, the little round
window had plenty of time to think, and by and by came the thought, "Why
did people ever crowd around me, and climb many stairs to get near me?"
Then it recalled the words which it had heard, and with the recalling
came the realization that the talk had all been about the beautiful view
which it presented, and not about itself.
Then, indeed, it would have hung its head in shame if it could have done
so, but although a window has a face, it has no head, you know, so that
all it could do was to turn itself on its wooden pivots until its round
face was ready to catch any drop of rain that might fall. Nor did it
have long to wait. The beautiful white clouds which had been drifting
dreamily across the blue sky, changed into soft gray, and then their
under parts became a heavy, dark gray, and soon they began massing
themselves together. The wind arose and hurried the smaller clouds
across the sky as a general might marshal his troops for a battle, and
in a little while the whole heavens were covered with gray, not even a
single spot of blue sky remained, nor could one yellow sunbeam be seen
on the whole landscape. The low rumble of thunder could now be heard,
and quick flashes of lightning darted from raincloud to raincloud and
back again as if they were messengers sent to see if all was in
readiness for the storm. Soon down poured the rain.
Not even the thirsty earth itself was more glad to receive the tens of
thousands of water-drops than was the little round window in the top
story of the tall mill. It not only had its outside face freed from the
dust and soot, but with some help from the wind, it managed to turn its
inside face out and thus be cleansed within as well as without.
At last the storm passed away; the sun shone again; the trees rustled
their fresh, shining, green leaves, and all nature rejoiced in the
renewed life which the reviving rain had brought with it. The little
round window fairly glistened as its shining face caught the golden
radiance of the last beams of the setting sun. "Ah, look at the round
mill window!" said the miller's wife, "the rain has washed it bright and
clean. See how it reflects the sunset. To-morrow we will go up and get a
view of the ocean from it--I had almost forgotten it."
_THE STRANGE STORY OF A WONDERFUL SEA-GOD._
I am going to tell you to-day one of the strangest stories that has ever
been told to little children. It is such a wonderful story that even
grown people read it again and again.
Three thousand years ago Greek mothers used to tell it to their children
as they sat together on the seashore. It is about a famous king, named
Menelaus, who after a long and cruel war was over, started in his good
ship for his much loved home in Sparta. Thinking only of himself in his
impatience to get home, he forgot to give worship to the gods, to thank
them for his deliverance and to ask them to guide him safely to his
journey's end. We shall soon see what trouble his thoughtlessness
brought upon him, and not him alone, but all his followers.
In those days there were no great ocean steamers such as we have now,
therefore Menelaus and his men had to cross the dark, mysterious sea in
small boats which they rowed with oars. Sometimes when the wind was
favorable they would hoist a sail and thus be helped along on their
journey. As it was impossible for them to go forward when the strong,
though invisible, wind was not blowing in a favorable direction, you can
easily imagine their dismay when, having stopped one evening in a
sheltered bay on the coast of a small island, they awoke next morning to
find the wind blowing steadily in the opposite direction from the one in
which they wished to sail. They waited all day hoping that the strong
breeze would die down, or change its direction. The next day and the
next passed and still the wind blew steadily away from their beloved
homes. Although it _was_ invisible it had more strength than all of
them, and they could make no headway against it. Had they not watched it
lift huge waves high in the air and dash them against the sharp rocks?
Had they not seen it twist and turn the strong branches of great trees,
and sometimes bend, and even _break_ their mighty trunks? And yet they
knew at other times how gentle it could be. Had they not listened to its
soft, low song as it rustled over the tall grass? How glad they always
were when it rattled and stirred their white sails, filling their
hearts with promises of help on the way? They could not always
understand what it was saying, but they felt sure that it came from the
ever-living gods and always brought some message of love, or command to
them.
So, as day after day it blew a fierce, wild gale over their heads, and
on beyond, hurrying clouds across the sky, dashing the waves against the
shore, whirling the dust into their faces and hurriedly uttering hoarse
whispering sounds as it passed them, they knew that it was warning them
against daring to continue their homeward journey.
Twenty days had come and gone, and still the wind kept up its fierce,
loud tone of command as it rushed from the far away west, shook the
waters of the vast ocean, swept over the small, rocky island and sped on
toward the east. The courage of the poor sailors was almost exhausted.
Their provisions were giving out. They had to catch fish to satisfy each
day's hunger. Menelaus, their chief, was wandering alone upon the
seashore. He was very unhappy, for he feared much that all this trouble
had come upon his comrades because he had not obeyed the law of the gods
before he left Egypt. So he was much distressed in mind as he walked
along the sandy beach.
The sun was sinking to rest, the evening shadows were settling down
between the rocky hills, the darkness of night was approaching, when
suddenly there stood before him a beautiful being, of so dazzling an
appearance that he knew she could not be a woman, she must be an
immortal. Her saffron robes gleamed with light as do the sunset clouds.
Her face was as radiant as are the last rays of the departing sun. It
was the beautiful goddess, Idothea. Her face suddenly became stern as
she looked at King Menelaus and asked him why he tarried idly upon the
small, rocky island. He replied that he did not willingly remain, but
that he must surely have sinned against the gods, as they had sent a
strong, fierce wind to hinder his homeward voyage. Then he earnestly
begged her to tell him what to do. The stern look left her face as she
heard him confess that he had done wrong. She came nearer to him, and
her glittering robes changed from saffron to pink, and blue, and even
gray, and the lights played above, around and about her in the most
wonderful fashion, changing each moment as she spoke.
She told him that she was the daughter of Proteus, the Ancient of the
Deep, who, living for thousands and thousands of years in the bottom of
the great ocean, had gone wherever the restless waves of the sea had
gone, and had learned the secrets of both land and water. He knew the
song of the winds and could interpret every message which they brought
from the gods, therefore he, and he alone, could tell Menelaus what it
was that the strong, fierce wind had been crying out to him and his
companions for the past twenty days.
Now comes the strange part of our story. This sea-god, Proteus, was a
most remarkable being. He had the power to change himself into whatever
form he chose, as you will soon see. The only way to get any secret from
him was to catch him when he was asleep, and then to _hold on_ to him,
no matter what shape he might choose to take, until at last he returned
to his original form of the old man of the sea.