she had wished for jewelry, but her parents could not afford to get her
anything but the pretty seal ring which she wore. As to getting such a
necklace as Merlin had given her, it would have taken everything they
owned in the world to so much as buy the diamond clasp.
When she went back to school, the girls all gathered about her and
began to admire the necklace.
“Isn’t it beautiful!” they exclaimed. “What a lucky girl! Your people
must have fallen heirs to a fortune!”
“Isn’t it pretty!” said Coralie, lifting the sparkling string for them
to see better. “Yes, my father and mother gave it to me. You see, I
have been ill, and they were so glad when I got well that they gave me
this for a present.”
“Oh! Oh! Oh!” cried the girls.
And no wonder they did, for all the sparkle left the necklace, and it
looked dull and old and scratched.
“What is the matter?” asked Coralie. “Don’t you think my parents could
give it to me? They bought it, and paid an immense sum for it.”
At that falsehood, the necklace turned from the light purple amethyst
color to a dull gray agate, and the diamond clasp to a mud-color shade.
Then Coralie saw what had happened, and she was frightened.
“No,” she said, “they did not give it to me. We went to the magician,
Merlin, and he lent it to me.”
At these truthful words, the necklace became as beautiful as ever. But
the children began to laugh.
“What are you laughing at?” asked Coralie. “You needn’t make fun.
Merlin was very glad to see us. When he saw us in the distance he sent
his carriage to meet us. It was drawn by two fawn-colored horses, and
the coachman wore livery. There was a great feast spread for us, and
each of us had a servant in back of our chairs. We had golden plates to
eat from, and----”
Suddenly Coralie stopped speaking, for the children were laughing at
her harder than ever. She looked down at her necklace. No wonder they
laughed. It was dull again in color, and had grown so long it rested
upon the ground.
“Ho, ho, Coralie!” cried one. “Come, now! You are stretching the truth!
Set us right!”
“Well,” confessed Coralie, “Merlin didn’t send any one to meet us. We
walked, and we were in his palace only a little while.”
At these words, the necklace shrank to its right size, and resumed its
own beautiful color.
“But now, Coralie,” cried the children, “but now tell us truly where
you got the necklace. Did the magician give it to you?”
“Yes,” said Coralie, “he just handed it to me without saying a word. I
think he----”
She did not finish the sentence, for the necklace had suddenly grown so
tight that it was choking her, and she was gasping for breath.
“Come, come, Coralie!” cried one of the girls. “You are keeping back
part of the truth! Tell the truth! What happened?”
“He said I was one of the most untruthful persons in the world,”
admitted Coralie; and the necklace became itself again.
And so things kept on. Every time Coralie tried to say one untruthful
thing, the necklace behaved in some queer, frightful way. Even the
children became sorry for her, for she began to look worried all the
time.
“If I were you, I’d take the necklace back,” one of the girls told her.
“It gives you no happiness at all.”
“Indeed it doesn’t,” said Coralie, “I wish I----”
“Why don’t you take it back?” the girl asked.
Now, Coralie did not wish to tell her, and kept still, for she was
wondering what she could possibly say; but the necklace began to act
wildly. The stones began to dance up and down so hard that they hurt
her.
“Merlin told me I must not take it off,” she said. “If I should do so,
great harm would come to me. He is coming for it when I’ve worn it for
a year.”
And the necklace shone just a little more brightly than before, and the
diamond clasp sparkled so that it would have dazzled your eyes to look
at it.
And after that Coralie began to lose the worried look, for the telling
of the truth was beginning to be a habit with her. The necklace very
seldom had to remind her, for every day it grew easier for her to tell
the truth.
And when Merlin came for his necklace, he brought her a far more
beautiful gift than the necklace, but it was one that she could not
wear showily. It was a necklace of pearls, pearls of great price which
she wore just over her heart. You see, Merlin needed his magic necklace
for another child who did not tell the truth.
Nobody knows where the magic necklace is to-day; but if I were a child
in the habit of telling falsehoods, I should not feel quite sure that
it would not be found again.
* * * * *
“Will it?” asked Mary Frances, as the Story Lady finished the story.
“It may be,” said the Story King. “I have an idea where it is. Why? Do
you know any children who do not speak the truth?”
“I--I am sorry to say that I do,” Mary Frances said. “I do not know
many, though. I know two who do not always tell the truth; and I know
one child who isn’t kind to her pet cat. I wish I knew a story to tell
her when I go home.”
“All right, perhaps you would like to hear the story of Linda.”
“Please tell it to me?” she asked.
So the Story Lady told the story of “The Cat and the Carrots.”
XIV
THE CAT AND THE CARROTS
LINDA was a little girl who rarely thought of any one but herself. She
would take the warmest place by the fire and the largest piece of cake
on the dish, or the finest apple or pear; and she would take away the
toys from the other children, and did not care for anything as long as
she was amused herself.
Her mother was very sorry to see that Linda was selfish, and used to
talk very seriously to her about it, and to tell her that no one would
love her if she did not mend her ways.
But Linda did not care, and she did not believe what her mother said.
“You will always love me, Mother,” said she.
“Perhaps so,” said her mother; “but then you are my own little girl,
and it is my duty to take care of you. Besides, I shall be very sorry
for you, because you will be very unhappy. But no one else will care
for you. Every one will dislike you because you are selfish--every one
in the world.”
Linda did not say anything, but the words “every one in the world”
came into her head many times during the day, and at night they came
into her dreams, and she fancied she saw the words written in letters
of fire, from which the flames shot up in all directions, and she was
saying half aloud, “The bed will be on fire,” when a voice said--
“But you are not in bed, you are in the farmyard.”
Then she looked round, and saw that she was near the barn, and that
there was a ladder not far off, and a great barrel close by. Also
there was a heap of carrots, which Linda began to toss about, and to
snap in two, and to pull the leaves off; and at last she was throwing
them all into the duck-pond, when a voice suddenly said, “Stop!”
Linda looked round, but no one was to be seen.
“Stop!” said the voice again.
Then Linda looked down, and seated upon a stone she saw a carrot whose
green top-knot of leaves she had broken off. Two little legs and two
little arms had sprouted out, and it had eyes and a mouth, but no nose.
“Have you no feelings?” said the carrot. “Is it not enough to be taken
from my home in the earth, without being knocked about and flung into a
duck-pond? How would you like it?”
“I’m not a carrot,” said Linda.
“You don’t care for any one but yourself,” replied the carrot, growing
redder and redder; “no one likes you, not even carrots, and you will
find that some day people will pay you back for being so selfish. I am
going to begin at once. Come carrots, carrots, carrots!” he shouted.
“In and out
Whirl about;
Pinch and beat her;
Let her know
Selfishness will bring her woe;
Come at once and greet her.”
Then suddenly all the carrots that were lying about sprang up, and
those that were in the duck-pond sprang out of it. They were joined by
those in the gardens near, and they came trooping along like an army.
They could walk as well in the air as on the ground; and they whirled
around Linda and pulled her hair and pinched her arms, till she cried
aloud for mercy.
“Ho! ho! ho! only see
What it is our foe to be,”
shouted the carrots, as they twirled up and down and round and round.
[Illustration: “HAVE YOU NO FEELINGS?” SAID THE CARROT]
The air was full of carrots, and the ground was covered by them, and
Linda made up her mind that if she ever got clear of them she would
never meddle with a carrot again as long as she lived. She kept off
their blows as long as she could, but at last she was too tired to do
so any longer, and she sank down to the ground crying, “Oh, please
leave off! please leave off!”
“We now have done,
But we’ve had some fun,”
said the carrot who had first spoken to her.
“Carrots, depart,” said he, waving his hand.
The last carrot had said “Good-by,” but Linda had not spoken.
She waited till she thought he had gone, and then she looked up. The
carrot certainly was not there, but a large cat was sitting beside her.
“Topsy, poor Topsy!” said Linda.
But Topsy put up her back, and her eyes looked very fierce.
“Poor Topsy, indeed!” said the cat, angrily; “don’t think to coax me,
you never think of me in the house, you pull my whiskers and my tail,
and you never give me a bit of meat, or anything nice that you are
eating; and this morning, though I sat on the chair beside you, longing
for a little new milk, you drank it all up--you did not leave me a
drop. You are the most selfish little girl I know, and I don’t like
you, so I am going to scratch you.”
“Oh dear! oh dear!” said Linda, “please don’t. The carrots have
punished me till I am quite sore.”
“Cats, cats, one and all,
Tabby, tortoise-shell, come when I call,
Gray and yellow, black and white
Cats and kittens, come hither to-night.”
called the cat loudly.
Ah! all the cats and kittens in the world must have come. So many! And
they all thronged round her, and sat upon her shoulders, and clung
round her arms.
“All the cats in the world hate you,” said Topsy.
“We do! we do! we do!” mewed the cats. “She never cares what becomes of
poor cats and kittens.”
Then the cats tumbled over each other, and tumbled over Linda, and
crowded round her and upon her, until she was sitting under a heap of
cats, with only her face peeping out, and Topsy was crouching in front,
looking fiercely at her.
“Now that you cannot stir,” said Topsy, “I am going to scratch you.”
“Oh! oh! oh!” shrieked Linda, and she gave such a start that all the
cats fell down upon the ground; and at that moment she opened her eyes,
and found herself in her bed, with her mother standing beside her.
“What is the matter?” asked her mother, for she had heard Linda scream.
“Oh! oh! oh!” sobbed Linda, “I have had such a horrid dream.”
“Well, it was only a dream. You are awake now, and I am with you.”
“Every one in the world hates me, even the cats and the carrots,”
sobbed Linda, and bit by bit she told her mother all her dream.
“It was such a horrid dream, and I was so frightened,” said Linda, “I
can’t think why it came.”
“I will tell you,” said her mother; “it came out of your own heart.
You had been thinking of the words I said to you, that every one would
dislike you but myself. I am glad that you have had this dream, for it
shows me that my words have sunk into my little girl’s heart, and I
hope now that she will try to improve.”
“I will try,” said Linda.
And she did try, and whenever she was inclined to do any selfish act
she thought of her wonderful dream, and said to herself, “I should not
wish all the world to be like the cats and the carrots.”
* * * * *
“That’s a good story,” said Mary Frances to the Queen. “I shall try to
remember it.”
“It is a good story,” replied the Queen, smiling; “but we have still
better, as you shall hear.”
Here a page boy who sat on a stool at the foot of the Story Lady began
to fidget, as if to ask a question.
“Well, what is it, Roland?” asked the Story Lady.
“If you please, can’t we have a story about a boy?” answered Roland.
“Yes,” said the Story Lady; “you shall have two stories--one about a
tiger, and the other about a page boy who killed a dragon.”
XV
THE BRAHMIN, THE TIGER, AND THE JACKAL
ONCE upon a time a Brahmin, who was walking along the road, came upon
an iron cage in which some men had shut up a great Tiger.
As the Brahmin passed by, the Tiger called out:
“O brother Brahmin, brother Brahmin, have pity on me, and let me out
for only one minute! I am so thirsty I shall die unless I can have a
drink of water.”
“I am afraid,” said the Brahmin, “that if I let you out you will eat
me.”
“No, indeed,” said the Tiger. “As soon as I have had some water, I will
go back to my cage.”
Then the Brahmin was sorry for the thirsty beast, and opened the cage
door. Instantly the Tiger jumped out, and cried, “I will eat you first
and drink the water afterwards.”
“Do not be in such a hurry,” said the Brahmin. “Let us ask the opinions
of six, and, if they all say it is fair for you to kill me, then I am
willing to die.”
“Very well,” said the Tiger, “we will ask the first six living things
we meet.”
So they walked on till they came to a Banyan-tree, and the Brahmin
said, “Banyan-tree, Banyan-tree, hear and judge.”
“Let me hear,” said the Banyan-tree.
“This Tiger,” said the Brahmin, “begged me to let him out of his cage
to drink a little water and he promised not to hurt me. Now that he is
free, he wishes to eat me. Is it fair that he should do so?”
Then the Banyan-tree said: “Men come to rest in my cool shade. When
they have rested, they break my branches and scatter my leaves. They
are a cruel race. Let the Tiger eat the man.”
“Tiger, Tiger,” said the Brahmin, “do not eat me yet. You said that you
would hear the judgment of six.”
“Very well,” said the Tiger, and they went on their way. Soon they met
a Camel.
“Camel, Camel,” cried the Brahmin, “hear and judge.”
“Let me hear,” said the Camel.
Then the Brahmin told his story.
“When I was young and strong and could work, my master took good care
of me,” said the Camel; “but now that I am old, he starves me and beats
me without mercy. Men are a cruel race. Let the Tiger eat the man.”
The Tiger would have killed the Brahmin then and there, but he said:
“Tiger, Tiger, do not eat me yet. You said that you would hear the
judgment of six.”
“Very well,” said the Tiger, and they went on their way. Soon they saw
an Ox lying near the road.
“Brother Ox, brother Ox,” cried the Brahmin, “hear and judge.”
“Let me hear,” said the Ox, and the Brahmin told his story.
“When I was young,” said the Ox, “my master was kind to me. Now that I
am too old to work he has left me here to die. Men are a cruel race.
Let the Tiger eat the man.”
They next saw an Eagle flying through the air, and the Brahmin cried:
“O Eagle, great Eagle, hear and judge.”
“Let me hear,” said the Eagle.
The Brahmin told his story, and the Eagle said:
“Whenever men see me, they try to shoot me; they climb the rocks to my
nest and steal away my little ones. Men are a cruel race. Let the Tiger
eat the man.”
Then the Tiger began to roar, but the Brahmin said, “Wait! we have yet
two to ask.”
Soon they saw an Alligator, and the Brahmin told his story. But the
Alligator said:
“Whenever I put my nose out of the water, men torment me. They are a
cruel race. Let the Tiger eat the man.”
The Brahmin was now in despair, but the Tiger was willing to keep his
word. And the sixth judge was a Jackal. Now the Jackal is a miserable
little beast whom no one likes, but he listened to the Brahmin’s story.
“You must show me just where it was and how it happened,” said the
Jackal.
So they all went back to the cage.
“I was here,” said the Brahmin, standing in the road.
“And I was in the cage,” said the Tiger.
“Which way were you looking?” said the Jackal; “and show me the side of
the cage where you stood.”
“I was on this side,” said the Tiger, jumping into the cage.
“Oh, yes, I see,” said the Jackal. “And was the cage door shut?”
“Shut and bolted,” said the Brahmin.
“Then shut and bolt it,” said the Jackal.
When the Brahmin had done this, the Jackal said: “O wicked and
ungrateful Tiger, you would have killed the good Brahmin who opened
your cage door. Your cruelty shall be punished, for no one will ever
let you out again. Go your way, friend Brahmin, and go in peace.”
* * * * *
“Good for the jackal!” said Roland, clapping his hands. “Now for the
dragon!”
So the Story Lady went right on.
XVI
THE RED DRAGON
THERE lived in a marsh near a certain village, a red dragon which
terrorized all the people round about; so the king of the country
offered a great reward to any one who would kill the frightful beast.
A great many knights of the king’s army went out one after the other to
slay it, and each came back with a wonderful tale of how he had fought
with the dragon; and, after wounding it, had given up the fight only
for fear of being slain by the monster.
“Never mind; you will have better success next time,” the kind king
would say to each defeated knight. Then he would give him a valuable
gift as a reward for his brave effort.
There was among the king’s pages a little boy who was a great butterfly
hunter. The king’s librarian paid him a gold piece for every new
butterfly he found.
This page was a great favorite of the king, and often rode with him on
long journeys. One day when the king stopped in the neighborhood in
which the dragon lived, the page boy slipped off with his net to hunt
butterflies; and, in chasing a rare specimen, lost his way and wandered
into the very swamp where the dragon was roaming about.
When the fierce old dragon saw the boy, he came rushing and roaring
at him in a great rage. The frightened boy looked around; there were
no trees to climb for safety, and he knew that if he ran he could not
escape, for run as he might, the dragon could run still faster.
[Illustration: “WOW,” SHRIEKED THE DRAGON]
He had nothing with which to fight except his butterfly net. The net
was fastened to the end of a long stout stick, and the boy decided to
defend himself with this as best he could. When the monster charged
down upon him, bellowing fearfully, he raised his stick and thrust it
with all his might into the bulging side of the beast.
“Wow!” shrieked the dragon; and with a puff it went up in the air and
burst, just as a balloon does when a hole is slashed in its cover.
The fierce old dragon was nothing but skin and air!
When he was sure it was quite dead, the boy grasped the empty dragon
skin by its spiked tail, and dragged it back to the castle and showed
it to the king. He was the maddest king you ever heard of when he saw
the dead dragon lying there, and sent off at once for the bold knights
who had pretended to fight it so bravely.
“You old humbugs,” he cried. “There lies the red dragon you bragged so
much about fighting. It wasn’t a thing but skin and air. If any one of
you had so much as touched it with the point of a sword, it would have
gone to pieces, as it did when my brave page boy struck it with his
butterfly net.”
The cowardly knights had no word to say. So the king ordered them to
give the gifts they had received for fighting the dragon to the page
boy, who was then so rich that he was able to buy a castle of his own.
When he grew up, he was known as one of the bravest knights of that
country.
XVII
TWO POEMS
“THE page was pretty brave,” said Roland. “When I was little I used
to be scared of the dark, and my mother taught me a poem about being
brave.”
“Oh, say it for us, please!” cried a girl near him.
The boy shook his head in refusal, but Mary Frances gave him a smile
and said, encouragingly, “Please, I want to hear it.”
Then Roland rose, made a bow, and recited his poem:
IF I COULD CROW
Sometimes I waken up at night,
And cannot see a speck of light;
I snuggle down into my bed,
And pull the clothes in overhead.
I look and peer into the dark,
As something seems to whisper, “Hark!”
Then, with an awful sudden jump,
My heart begins to thump and thump.
Oh, my, I think I’ll be so brave,
And all my courage try to save;
Then, as I feel my courage go,
Our yellow rooster starts to crow.
Then I’m ashamed, and feel so small
To think that I’m not brave at all;
To know that in the black, black night,
Our rooster crows--no soul in sight.
He flaps his wings and crows for fair;
His voice sounds like he didn’t care--
Oh, well, what if I’m scared--I know
I’d be brave, too, if I could crow!
Just at this point the cat came bouncing into their midst.
“I have just time enough,” he said, breathlessly; “if you are quite
ready, I will begin.”
You should have heard the children shout!
“We are quite ready! Go on, Puss! Begin, please,” they cried.
So the cat made a bow, twirled his whiskers, and began:
THE TWINS[A]
There were two little kittens, a black and a gray,
And grandmother said, with a frown:
“It never will do to keep them both,
The black one we better drown.
“Don’t cry, my dear,” to tiny Bess,
“One kitten’s enough to keep;
Now run to nurse, for ’tis growing late,
And time you were fast asleep.”
The morrow dawned, and rosy and sweet
Came little Bess from her nap;
The nurse said, “Go into mother’s room,
And look in grandmother’s lap.”
“Come here,” said grandmother, with a smile,
From the rocking-chair where she sat;
“God has sent you two little brothers;
Now what do you think of that?”
Bess looked at the babies a moment,
With their wee heads, yellow and brown,
And then to grandmother soberly said,
“Which one are you going to drown?”
[A] Author unknown.
As soon as he had finished, he waltzed around three times, turned a
somersault, and bounded out of the circle as quickly as he had appeared.
When the Story People had stopped laughing the Story King rose and
waved his hand and said:
“That will do for to-day; we must not tire our guest.”
“Oh, I am not tired,” said Mary Frances; “I could listen to such
stories forever.”
“Dear child, I believe you love stories as much as we do,” said the
Queen, smiling at her enthusiasm. “Well, you shall have a delightful
surprise to-morrow.”
* * * * *
While the stories were being told, Mary Frances had noticed a little
dried-up man, sitting at a table near the Story Lady, and writing
rapidly with an immense quill pen. Before him was a pile of white paper
and an inkwell. As she told the story he wrote it down, keeping even
pace with her words. Mary Frances had never seen any one write so fast
and she watched him, fascinated. Almost without an effort his pen flew
over the paper, and as the last word of the story left the Story Lady’s
lips his pen stopped. Then he folded his papers neatly and laid them on
the table.
As Mary Frances was passing out with the Story Lady, this little man,
much to her surprise, stepped up and handed her the papers he had been
writing.
“These,” said he, “are your copies of the stories you have just heard.”
“Oh, thank you, thank you,” she replied, hesitating to take them.
“Yes, they are for you,” said the Story Lady. “This is the Ready
Writer; he will give you copies of all the stories you hear.”
“Oh, thank you,” said Mary Frances again to the Ready Writer. “How fast
you write! You must be the fastest writer in the world!”
The little man bowed and retired, evidently much pleased with her
praise of his skill.
XVIII
TINY’S ADVENTURES IN TINYTOWN
“BEFORE it grows dark, I have something to show you--one of the most
interesting sights on Story Island,” said the Story Lady. “But we must
hasten, because darkness falls here very suddenly; it drops like a
curtain--all at once.”
Together they walked down the castle steps and through the town. All
was so strange to Mary Frances; the houses, the streets--everything was
so fairy-like or story-like, and yet so familiar, that it seemed as if
she had seen them all before.
“You live in Story Land, indeed,” said Mary Frances, gazing eagerly
about her.
“Yes,” returned the Story Lady, “we are not a very matter-of-fact
people.”
Soon they came to a beautiful park on the outskirts of the town.
“This is the Queen’s Garden,” said the Story Lady. “Here are many of
the trees, flowers and birds you read about in the story books.”
“Oh! Oh!” cried Mary Frances, with delight, as she looked about her.
Many of the wonders were strange, but here and there others were
familiar and she lingered to examine them.
“Not too long,” warned the Story Lady, smiling, “or darkness will
overtake us. Here is a surprise for you.”
They came to an enclosure, surrounded by a white picket-fence about a
foot high.
“What a tiny little town!” cried Mary Frances, looking down.
“Yes, that is what we call it--Tinytown.”
“Why, it’s just like the towns at home,” said Mary Frances, looking
closer. “There’s the school and the flag-staff, the public square and
the fountain, the church, the fire-house, the stores and houses--just
as they are at home! Oh, where did you get it?”
“We found it in your country,” replied the Story Lady; “and we brought
it here and set it up just as you see it and named it after Tiny, the
girl who discovered it--but it’s a long story.”
“Oh, won’t you tell me the story?”
“Yes; this evening.”