But Sir Richard answered, “I have naught in my coffers that I can offer

thee for very shame. I have but ten shillings.”

To this Robin answered, “If thou hast no more, I will not take a penny;

and if thou hast need of more I will lend it to thee.”

Then he called to Little John:

“Go forth and see if there are but ten shillings in the knight’s mantle.”

So Little John spread the mantle on the ground and searched in it; and he

found but ten shillings as the knight had said.

Now Robin wondered at this, and said to Sir Richard:

“Surely thou must have been made a knight against thy will, if thou art

so poor; or else thou hast been a bad husbandman, or a usurer, of hast

done some evil or other.”

But the knight replied:

“I am none of these. My ancestors have been knights before me for a

hundred years. But it has often happened that a knight has been disgraced

through no fault of his own. Two years ago, Robin, I could spend four

hundred pounds yearly, and my neighbors will bear me witness of this. But

now, alas! it has come to pass that I have no property whatsoever.”

“And in what manner,” asked Robin, “didst thou lose thy riches?”

Then Sir Richard told Robin how his son had slain a knight in a joust,

and how to save him he had put his lands in pawn to a rich abbot whose

abbey was near at hand. The sum he had to pay to redeem them was four

hundred pounds, and since he could not pay it, there was nothing left for

him to do but to forfeit his lands and go on a pilgrimage to the Holy

Land. For the men who had boasted of their friendship towards him when he

was rich had now deserted him, so that he could find no one who was now

willing to lend him any money.

Robin and his followers were moved to great pity by this tale, and Robin

sent Little John to his treasury to fetch four hundred pounds to give to

the knight. Then Little John cried:

“Master, his apparel is full thin. Ye must give the knight a suit of

clothes, for ye have scarlet and green-colored cloth in plenty, and there

is no merchant in merry England so rich as ye are!”

“Give him three yards of each color,” said Robin, “and see you measure it

fairly.”

So Little John took his bow as a measure and measured out the cloth, and

then he turned to Robin Hood, saying:

“Master, ye must give the knight a horse to carry home all this cloth.”

So Robin gave the knight a grey courser and a new saddle, and Much added

a good palfrey, and Scarlet a pair of boots, and Little John a pair of

gilt spurs.

Then the knight asked what day he should come back to pay his debt, and

Robin appointed that day twelve-month. And as a last act of kindness, he

sent his trusty yeoman, Little John, to attend his guest on his journey.

So Sir Richard went on his way rejoicing and blessing Robin Hood; and he

redeemed his lands from the abbot’s hands, and then returned home to his

castle, and began to collect money against the day when he should return

to pay Robin Hood the four hundred pounds.

Now the year went by and the appointed day came, but the knight did not

appear, because as he rode on his way to the trysting-place he had turned

aside for the love of Robin to help a poor yeoman who was not receiving

fair play in a wrestling match at some country games. When Robin found,

therefore, that the knight did not come, he sent forth Little John,

Scarlet, and Much, to seek another guest to dine with him, one who would

be able to pay him four hundred pounds; for though he would never rob a

poor man, he did not think it wrong to make the rich pay poor men’s debts.

Before long the three trusty yeomen saw a monk riding towards them,

followed by a retinue of fifty men, with seven strong pack-horses bearing

his riches, and Little John cried:

“Brethren, I dare lay my life that this is the man who shall pay our

master; and though we are but three against so many, we must bring him to

dinner, or we cannot go back to Robin Hood.”

Then he called to the monk:

“Abide, and come no farther, for if thou dost I shall slay thee. Thou

hast made our master wroth, because he has waited for thee fasting for so

long.”

“Who is your master?” asked the monk.

“Robin Hood.”

“He is a thief,” said the monk, “and I have never heard aught good of

him.”

But Little John answered:

“Thou liest, and thou shalt repent it. He is a yeoman of the forest, and

has bidden thee to dine with him.”

Then the yeomen drew their bows, and Much pointed his arrow straight at

the monk’s breast.

At this all his followers turned and fled, save only a little page and a

groom, who led the pack-horses to Robin Hood, while Much and Little John

took the monk in custody between them to their master.

When Robin saw the monk he raised his hood; but the monk was not so

courteous, and did not return the greeting.

Then Robin summoned his yeomen, and they prepared the meal, and served

the monk with his dinner; and afterwards Robin asked, as was his custom,

how much his guest had in his coffers.

“Sir,” said the monk, “but twenty pounds, as I hope to prosper.”

“If there is no more,” said Robin, “I will not take a penny; and if thou

hast need of more I will lend it thee. But if I find more than twenty

pounds thou wilt have to give it up.”

So Robin sent Little John to search the monk’s mantle and there he found

over eight hundred pounds. At this Robin rejoiced, for it was twice the

sum that he needed to repay him for what he had generously lent the

knight.

But the monk was very wroth, and cried:

“By Heaven, ’tis no courtesy to bid a man to dinner and then treat him so

ill.”

“Nevertheless it is an old custom of ours to leave but little behind for

our guests to take away with them,” said Robin.

Then the monk put spurs to his horse, for he feared to stay longer. But

Robin cried after him:

“Will you not have a drink of wine before you go?”

“Nay,” said the monk, “I would I had never come near you, for I should

have dined far more cheaply at Blyth or Doncaster.”

“Greet well your abbot and your prior for me,” Robin called back, “and

bid them send me such a monk as you to dinner every day.”

So the monk rode away, leaving all his riches behind him; and now at last

the knight came riding into the greenwood, with all his merry company.

When he saw Robin he alighted from his palfrey, doffed his hood, and fell

on his knee, saying:

“God save thee, Robin Hood, and all this company.”

“Welcome be thou, gentle knight,” Robin answered. “Hast thou thy land

again?”

“Yea,” said the knight, “and I thank Heaven and thee for it. But take it

not amiss that I am come so late, for I have been at a wrestling match,

where I helped a poor yeoman who was not getting fair play in the game.”

“Sir knight,” Robin answered, “I thank thee. Whoever helps a good yeoman

will always be my friend.”

Now, when they had thus greeted each other the knight said:

“Here is thy four hundred pounds which thou didst lend me, and twenty

pounds more for thy courtesy.”

“Nay, by Heaven,” cried Robin, “thou shalt keep it for thyself, for I

have already received the money for the debt, and it would be a disgrace

to take it twice.” And he told the knight the story of the monk, and they

laughed together over it and made good cheer.

Thus Robin Hood helped the knight out of all his troubles and they were

friends from that time to the end of their days.

How the Queen of the Sky Gave Gifts to Men[26]

By the side of All-Father Odin, upon his high seat in Asgard, sat Frigga,

his wife, the Queen of the Asas. Sometimes she would be dressed in

snow-white garments, bound at the waist by a golden girdle, from which

hung a great bunch of golden keys. And the earth-dwellers, gazing into

the sky, would admire the great white clouds as they floated across the

blue, not perceiving that these clouds were really the folds of Frigga’s

flowing white robe, as it waved in the wind.

At other times she would wear dark gray or purple garments; and then the

earth-dwellers made haste into their houses, for they said, “The sky is

lowering today, and a storm is nigh at hand.”

Frigga had a palace of her own called Fensalir, or the Hall of Mists,

where she spent much of her time at her wheel spinning golden thread, or

weaving web after web of many-colored clouds. All night long she sat at

this golden wheel, and if you look at the sky on a starry night you may

chance to see it set up where the men of the South show a constellation

called the Girdle of Orion.

Frigga was especially interested in all good housewives, and she herself

set them an excellent example in Fensalir. When the snow-flakes fell, the

earth-dwellers knew it was Frigga shaking her great feather bed, and when

it rained they said it was her washing day. It was she who first gave to

them the gift of flax that the women upon earth might spin, and weave,

and bleach their linen as white as the clouds of her own white robe.

And this is how it came about:

There was once a shepherd who lived among the mountains with his wife and

children; and so very poor was he that he often found it hard to give his

family enough to satisfy their hunger. But he did not grumble; he only

worked the harder; and his wife, though she had scarcely any furniture,

and never a chance of a new dress, kept the house so clean, and the old

clothes so well mended, that, all unknown to herself, she rose high in

the favor of the all-seeing Frigga.

Now one day, when the shepherd had driven his few poor sheep up the

mountain to pasture, a fine reindeer sprang from the rocks above him and

began to leap upward along the steep slope. The shepherd snatched up his

crossbow and pursued the animal, thinking to himself: “Now we shall have

a better meal than we have had for many a long day.”

Up and up leaped the reindeer, always just out of reach, and at length

disappeared behind a great boulder just as the shepherd breathless and

weary, reached the spot. No sign of the reindeer was to be seen, but, on

looking around, the shepherd saw that he was among the snowy heights of

the mountains, and almost at the top of a great glacier.

Presently, as he pursued his vain search for the animal, he saw to his

amazement an open door, leading apparently into the heart of the glacier.

He was a fearless man, and so, without hesitation, he passed boldly

through the doorway and found himself standing in a marvelous cavern, lit

up by blazing torches which gleamed upon rich jewels hanging from the

roof and walls. And in the midst stood a woman, most fair to behold, clad

in snow-white robes and surrounded by a group of lovely maidens.

The shepherd’s boldness gave way at this awesome sight, and he sank to

his knees before the Asa, Frigga, for she it was. But Frigga bade him be

of good cheer, and said: “Choose now whatsoever you will to carry away

with you as a remembrance of this place.”

The shepherd’s eyes wandered over the glittering jewels on the walls and

roof, but they came back to a little bunch of blue flowers which Frigga

held in her hand. They alone looked homelike to him; the rest were hard

and cold; so he asked timidly that he might be given the little nosegay.

Then Frigga smiled kindly upon him.

“Most wise has been your choice,” said she. “Take with the flowers this

measure of seed and sow it in your field, and you shall grow flowers of

your own. They shall bring prosperity to you and yours.”

So the shepherd took the flowers and the seed, and scarcely had he done

so when a mighty peal of thunder, followed by the shock of an earthquake,

rent the cavern, and when he had collected his sense he found himself

once more upon the mountain side.

When he reached home and had told his tale, his wife scolded him roundly

for not bringing home a jewel which would have made them rich forever.

But when she would have thrown the flowers away he prevented her. Next

day he sowed the seed in his field, and was surprised to find how far it

went.

Very soon after this the field was thick with tiny green shoots; and

though his wife reproached him for wasting good ground upon useless

flowers, he watched and waited in hope until the field was blue with the

starry flax blooms.

Then one night, when the flowers had withered and the seed was ripe,

Frigga, in the disguise of an old woman, visited the lowly hut and showed

the shepherd and his astonished wife how to use the flax stalks; how to

spin them into thread, and how to weave the thread into linen.

It was not long before all the dwellers in that part of the earth had

heard of the wonderful material, and were hurrying to the shepherd’s hut

to buy the bleached linen or the seed from which it was obtained. And so

the shepherd and his family were soon among the richest people in the

land; and the promise of Frigga was amply fulfilled.

King Midas’ Ears[27]

Once upon a time King Midas—the very same King Midas who had been cured

of his hated golden touch—was invited to hear some very wonderful music.

It came about in this wise:

After King Midas had been cured of his golden touch, he loved to wander

in the woods and fields, away from all sight of the wealth of men, and of

the splendors that wealth could buy. In this way he became a great friend

of Pan, who ruled over the woods and fields, and over the shepherds and

their flocks.

Now Pan had invented the shepherd’s flute, which was made from a reed,

and upon which he could play better than could anyone else. It was a very

simple instrument: one that could produce only simple melodies. But after

Pan had learned to play upon it well, he began to think that his pastoral

tunes were wonderfully fine, and at last he imagined that they were quite

equal to the harmonies even of Apollo, who was master of the art of

music, and a matchless player upon a stringed instrument called the lyre.

King Midas, as he walked about the groves and pastures with Pan, listened

with pleasure to the music of his pipe, and praised him so warmly that

Pan’s self-conceit grew beyond all bounds. He thought his simple music

equal to that of the gods.

At length Pan sent a challenge to Apollo, asking him to meet him and let

it be decided by the listeners who was the greater musician of the two.

Apollo accepted the challenge, and at the appointed time the people

gathered in great numbers, for such a meeting had never been heard of

before.

Among the listeners was King Midas.

Pan was the first to play. He stepped forth, clad all in green to match

the verdure of the meadows and of the trees, over which he ruled.

He put his simple pipe of reeds to his lips and began playing, and the

people listened with great interest and pleasure, for surely no one

dreamed that such music could come from the shepherd’s pipe.

But when Pan had finished, Apollo stepped forth. He was clad in royal

purple, and his cloak was thrown back that his right arm might be free.

He struck the strings of the lyre, and the music that fell upon the air

was so marvelously sweet, so full of pathos, so full of ravishing beauty,

that all the people were moved by the sound. Then they applauded Apollo,

and laughed to scorn the boastful challenge of Pan.

“Ho, ho,” they cried, “does Pan think that he can match such melody as

this?”

But King Midas was faithful to his friend, and, unconvinced by Apollo’s

wondrous music, he declared that Pan was the better player of the two.

Apollo, wearing the laurel wreath as his crown of victory, declared that

the ears of King Midas must be depraved, and, that they should thereafter

take on a form more in keeping with the taste of their owner.

King Midas had no sooner reached his castle than he felt a strange

sensation about his ears; and the strange feeling increased until at

length, putting his hands to the sides of his head, he found with terror

that his ears had grown long and were covered inside and outside with

hair, and he could move them about, just as a donkey moves his. In fact,

he found that they had become exactly like the ears of a donkey, or an

ass.

King Midas was overcome with shame and rage, and he kept himself hidden

from all the people.

After a time it occurred to him that he could have a turban or head-dress

made which would cover his monstrous deformity. So he summoned a

hair-dresser, of great skill in his trade, and when the hair-dresser had

finished his task, King Midas was ready to go forth among his people

again, for his ears were quite hidden from sight under the ample folds of

his head-dress.

Only the hair-dresser knew his secret, and he had promised never to tell

it to a living being.

But as the days went by, the secret began to burn in the hair-dresser’s

mind, and it was with the greatest difficulty that he kept from repeating

it. At last he could keep still no longer, yet he dared not disobey the

King and break his promise. So he went into a vacant field and dug a deep

hole in the ground. Then, kneeling down, he breathed into the hole these

words: “King Midas has the ears of an ass; King Midas has the ears of an

ass.”

Rising, he covered the hole with earth and hastened away.

But what do you suppose happened?

The next spring the field produced a great crop of rushes, and when the

rushes had grown quite tall a wind passed over them, and the rushes

murmured, “King Midas has the ears of an ass. King Midas has the ears of

an ass.”

And all summer long, whenever a breeze swept over the field, the rushes

murmured, “King Midas has the ears of an ass.”

And when the hair-dresser heard it, he wrung his hands in despair, and

said, “Not even the rushes of the field can keep a secret.”

Hold Fast, Tom[28]

The sun was setting over the island of St. Helena on a spring evening in

1673, and in its red glow the vast black cliffs stood out like the walls

of a fortress above the great waste of lonely sea that lay around them as

far as the eye could reach. Very quiet and very lonesome did it appear,

that tiny islet of St. Helena, far away in the heart of the boundless

ocean.

But there was _one_ part of the island that was busy and noisy enough,

and that was the spot where the low white houses and single church-spire

of Jamestown, half buried in clustering leaves, nestled in a deep gully

close to the water’s edge, walled in by two mighty precipices nearly a

thousand feet in height. All along the line of forts and batteries,

perched like birds’ nests among the frowning crags that overhung the sea,

there was an unwonted stir and bustle. Cannon were rumbling to and fro,

rusty pikes and muskets were being dragged forth and laid in readiness,

soldiers in buff jackets and big looped-up hats were clustering along the

ramparts, while hoarse words of command, clanking swords, the ceaseless

tramp of feet, and the clatter of gun-stocks and pike-staves made every

cranny of the surrounding cliffs echo again. What could it all mean?

It meant that the stout-hearted Dutchmen who had taken the island from

England a few months before were about to have their courage again put to

the proof. Those five ships of war in the offing, coming down before the

wind under a full press of sail, had just hoisted the red cross of St.

George (not yet changed into the Union Jack), and Englishman and Dutchman

alike were eager to try

Whether John or Jan

Be the better man,

as one of their favorite songs worded it.

Neither side, certainly, lost any time in beginning. The sturdy

Hollanders did not wait even for a summons to surrender. The foremost

English ship had barely dropped her anchor in front of the Zwart Steen

Battery, when there was a red flash from the old gray wall, a loud bang,

and then a cannon-ball came tearing through the foretopsail, and splashed

into the water far beyond. Bang went the Englishman’s whole broadside in

return, and the balls were heard rattling among the rocks, or crashing

into the front of the breastwork; and now the fight began in earnest.

Fire, smoke, flying shot, crashing timbers, deafening uproar, multiplied

a thousand-fold by the echoes of the surrounding hills—it was a hard

fight, for there were Dutchmen behind those batteries who had swept the

Channel with Van Tromp, and there were Englishmen aboard those ships

who had fought him and his men, yardarm to yardarm, under Robert Blake;

and it would have been hard to tell which were the braver or the more

stubborn of the two.

“Fire away, boys, for the honor of Old England!” shouted Captain Richard

Munden, pacing up and down the quarter-deck of the British flagship amid

a hail of shot.

“Stand to it, my sons, as if Father Van Tromp were with you still!” cried

the brave old Dutch commandant, Pieter Van Gebhardt, as he leveled a gun

with his own hands over the fast-crumbling parapet. “Fear not for the

fire and smoke; it is but the Englishman lighting his pipe.”

Both sides fought stoutly, and men began to fall fast; but it seemed as

if on the whole the Dutch were getting the best of it. The ships, lying

out upon the smooth water, made an excellent mark, while the rock-cut

batteries could hardly be distinguished from the cliff itself.

But just at that moment a very unexpected turn of fortune changed the

whole face of the battle.

To explain clearly how this happened we must go back a little way.

The Dutch garrison had given their whole attention to the attack in

front, feeling sure that this was the only point from which they could

be assailed. And they reasoned well; for everywhere else the coast was

merely one great precipice of several hundred feet, rising so sheer out

of the sea that it seemed as if nothing without wings could possibly

scale it.

But they might, perhaps, have been less confident had they seen what was

going on just then at the opposite side of the island.

When the English ships first advanced to the attack, the hindmost of

them, while still hidden from the Dutch by the huge black pyramid of

Sugar-loaf Point, had lowered several large boats filled with armed men,

which instantly shot away round the great rocky bluff of “the Barn” as

fast as eight oars apiece could carry them.

Away they went, past headland after headland, while every eye was fixed

upon the rocky shore, as if seeking something which was not easily to be

found.

At length, just when they rounded the bold, craggy promontory of King

and Queen point, a dull boom reached their ears, followed instantly by

the thunder of a sustained cannonade. At that familiar sound the sailors

clenched their teeth savagely, as they looked up at the tremendous

precipices that seemed to shut them out from all hope of taking part in

the battle.

“Can’t we get up anywhere?” growled the captain, of the frigate, who was

in the foremost boat. “We’re disgraced forever if they do the job without

us.”

“With your honor’s leave,” broke in a stalwart young topman, touching

his thick brown forelock, “I think I could get up that rock yonder, and

fasten a rope for the rest to climb by.”

“What! up there?” cried the captain, glancing doubtfully from the young

sailor’s bright, fearless face to the tremendous height above. “Well, my

lad, if you can do it, I’ll give you fifty guineas!”

“It’s for the honor of the flag, not for the money, sir!” answered the

seaman, springing from the boat to the lowest ledge of the terrible rock.

Up, up, up, ever higher he clambered, with the rising wind flinging his

loose hair to and fro, and the startled sea-birds whirling around him

with hoarse screams of mingled fear and rage. To the watching eyes far

below, the tiny points of rock to which he clung were quite invisible,

and he seemed to be hanging in mid-air, like a fly on the side of a wall.

And now he was two-thirds of the way up the precipice; and now he was

within a few yards of the top; and now his hand almost touched the

highest ledge, when suddenly his feet were seen to slide from under him,

and in a moment he was swinging in the empty air, grasping a projecting

crag with the strength of desperation.

“Hold fast, Tom!” yelled his comrades, as they saw him.

Tom did hold fast, and the strong hands that had defied the full fury of

an Atlantic gale to loosen them from the slippery rigging did him good

service once more. He regained his footing, and the indrawn breath of

the anxious gazers below sounded like a hiss in the grim silence as they

watched the final effort that brought him safely to the top.

The rope was soon fixed, and the last man had scarcely mounted when the

daring band were hurrying across the ridgy interior of the island toward

the spot whence the cannonade still boomed upon the evening air. And

there it was at last, as they crowned the farthest ridge, the tall masts

standing up through billowy smoke, and the batteries marked out amid

the gathering darkness by the flashes of their own cannon. A deadly

volley of English musketry cracked along the cliff, and several of the

Dutch were seen to fall while dismay and confusion spread fast among

the survivors. Thus, caught between two fires, with the British ships

thundering upon them from below, and the British marksmen shooting them

down from above, the defenders had no chance; and at length brave old Van

Gebhardt, with a look of bitter grief on his iron face, slowly hauled

down the Dutch flag in token of surrender.

“Mynheer,” said he to the English captain, as the latter came marching

into the fort at the head of his men, “my followers have done all that

men could do; but yours have done more.”

“And if we had not done more, we could never have beaten the gallant

Dutchmen,” answered the captain, taking off his battered cocked hat with

a polite bow.

Thus it was that the English regained St. Helena, over which the

British flag flies to this day. Nor has the brave fellow who led that

daring attack been forgotten, for the crag which he scaled (and a very

grim-looking crag it is) still goes by the name of “Hold-Fast Tom.”

Nils and the Bear[29]

[Nils Holgarsson, a young boy, has been traveling high over the

country in company with a wild goose. He is blown from her back

during a hard wind, and alights among the iron mines. He is

discovered by bears and taken to their cave.]

Father Bear pushed Mother Bear aside.

“Don’t meddle with what you don’t understand!” he roared. “Can’t you

scent that human odor about him from afar? I shall eat him at once, or he

will play us some mean trick.”

He opened his jaws again; but meanwhile Nils had had time to think,

and, quick as a flash, he dug into his knapsack and brought forth some

matches—his sole weapon of defense—struck one on his leather breeches,

and stuck the burning match into the bear’s open mouth.

Father Bear snorted when he smelled the burning sulphur, and with that

the flame went out. The boy was ready with another match, but, curiously

enough, Father Bear did not repeat his attack.

“Can you light many of those little blue roses?” asked Father Bear.

“I can light enough to put an end to the whole forest,” replied the boy,

for he thought that in this way he might be able to scare Father Bear.

“Perhaps you could also set fire to houses and barns?” said Father Bear.

“Oh, that would be no trick for me!” boasted the boy, hoping that this

would make the bear respect him.

“Good!” exclaimed the bear. “You shall render me a service. Now, I’m very

glad that I did not eat you.”

Father Bear carefully took the boy between his tusks and climbed up from

the pit. As soon as he was up he speedily made for the woods. It was

evident that Father Bear was created to squeeze through dense forests.

The heavy body pushed through the brushwood as a boat does through the

water.

Father Bear ran along till he came to a hill at the skirt of the forest,

where he could see the big noise-shop. Here he lay down and placed the

boy in front of him, holding him securely between his forepaws.

“Now look down at that big noise-shop!” he commanded.

The great iron works, with many tall buildings, stood at the edge of

a waterfall. High chimneys sent forth dark clouds of smoke, blasting

furnaces were in full blaze, and light shone from all the windows and

apertures. Within, hammers and rolling mills were going with such force

that the air rang with their clatter and boom. Just beyond the workshops

were long rows of workingmen’s homes, pretty villas, schoolhouses,

assembly halls, and shops. But there all was quiet and apparently

everybody was asleep. The boy did not glance in that direction, but

gazed intently at the iron works. The earth around them was black; the

sky above them was like a great fiery dome; the rapids, white with foam,

rushed by; while the buildings themselves were sending out light and

smoke, fire and sparks. It was the grandest sight the boy had ever seen.

“Surely you don’t mean to say you can set fire to a place like that?”

remarked the bear doubtingly.

The boy, wedged between the beast’s paws, was thinking the only thing

that might save him would be that the bear should have a high opinion of

his capability and power.

“It’s all the same to me,” he answered with a superior air. “Big or

little, I can burn it down.”

“Then I’ll tell you something,” said Father Bear. “My forefathers lived

in this region from the time that the forests first sprang up. From them

I inherited hunting grounds and pastures, lairs and retreats, and have

lived here in peace all my life. In the beginning I wasn’t troubled much

by the human kind. They dug in the mountains and picked up a little ore

down here by the rapids; they had a forge and a furnace, but the hammers

sounded only a few hours during the day, and the furnace was not fired

more than two moons at a stretch. It wasn’t so bad but that I could

stand it; but these last years, since they have built this noise shop,

which keeps up the same racket both day and night, life here has become

intolerable. There are so many people that I never feel safe from them. I

thought that I should have to move away, but I have discovered something

better!”

The boy wondered what Father Bear had hit upon, but no opportunity was

afforded him to ask, as the bear took him between his forepaws and held

him up.

“Try to look into the house!” he commanded. A strong current of air

was forced into a big cylinder which was suspended from the ceiling

and filled with molten iron. As this current rushed into the mess of

iron with an awful roar, showers of sparks of all colours spurted up in

bunches, in sprays, in long clusters! They struck against the wall and

came splashing down over the whole big room. Father Bear let the boy

watch the gorgeous spectacle until the blowing was over and the flowing

and sparkling red steel had been poured into ingot moulds.

The boy was completely charmed by the marvellous display and almost

forgot that he was imprisoned between a bear’s two paws.

“I call that real man’s work!” the boy remarked to himself.

The bear then let the boy have a peep at the furnace and the forge, and

he became more and more astonished as he saw how the blacksmiths handled

iron and fire.

“Those men have no fear of heat and flames,” he thought. The workmen were

sooty and grimy. He fancied they were some sort of firefolk—that was why

they could bend and mould the iron as they wished. He could not believe

that they were just ordinary men, since they had such power!

“They keep this up day after day, night after night,” said Father Bear,

as he dropped wearily down on the ground. “You can understand that one

gets rather tired of that kind of thing. I’m mighty glad that at last I

can put an end to it!”

“Indeed!” said the boy. “How will you go about it?”

“Oh, I thought that you were going to set fire to the buildings!” said

Father Bear. “That would put an end to all this work, and I could remain

in my old home.”

The boy was all of a shiver.

So, it was for this that Father Bear had brought him here!

“If you will set fire to the noise-works I’ll promise to spare your

life,” said Father Bear. “But if you don’t do it, I’ll make short work of

you! Will you or won’t you?”

The boy knew that he ought to answer promptly that he would not, but he

also knew that then the bear’s paws would squeeze him to death; therefore

he replied:

“I shall have to think it over.”

“Very well, do so,” assented Father Bear. “Let me say to you that iron

is the thing that has given men the advantage over us bears, which is

another reason for my wishing to put an end to the work here.”

The boy thought he would use the delay to figure out a way of escape,

but instead he began to think of the great help that iron had been to

mankind. They needed iron for everything. There was iron in the plow

that broke up the field; in the axe that felled the tree for building

houses; in the scythe that mowed the grain; and in the knife, which would

be turned to all sorts of uses. There was iron in the horse’s bit, in

the lock on the door, in the nails that held furniture together. The

rifle that drove away wild beasts was made of iron; iron covered the

men-of-war; the locomotives steamed through the country on iron rails;

the needle that had stitched his coat was of iron; the shears that

clipped the sheep and the kettle that cooked the food. Father Bear was

perfectly right in saying that it was the iron that had given men their

mastery over the bears.

“Now will you or won’t you?” Father Bear repeated.

The boy was startled from his musing.

“You mustn’t be so impatient,” he said. “This is a serious matter for me,

and I’ve got to have time to consider.”

“I can wait a little longer,” said Father Bear. “But after that you’ll

get no more grace.”

The boy swept his hand across his forehead. No plan of escape had as yet

come to his mind, but this much he knew—he did not wish to do any harm

to the iron, which was so useful to rich and poor alike, and which gave

bread to so many people in this land.

“Come, come!” growled the bear. “Will you or won’t you?”

“I won’t!” said the boy.

Father Bear squeezed him a little harder, but said nothing.

“You’ll not get me to destroy the iron works!” defied the boy. “The iron

is so great a blessing that it will never do to harm it.”

“Then, of course, you don’t expect to be allowed to live very long?” said

the bear.

“No, I don’t expect it,” returned the boy, looking the bear straight in

the eye.

Father Bear gripped him a little harder.

But just then the boy heard something click very close to them, and saw

the muzzle of a rifle two paces away.

“Father Bear! Don’t you hear the clicking of a trigger?” cried the boy.

“Run, or you’ll be shot!”

Father Bear grew terribly hurried. He thought he heard hounds and hunters

pursuing him.

But the boy stood in the forest, free and unharmed, and could hardly

understand how it was possible.

Jericho Bob[30]

Jericho Bob, when he was four years old, hoped that one day he might be

allowed to eat just as much turkey as he possibly could. He was eight

now, but that hope had not been realized.

Mrs. Jericho Bob, his mother, kept hens for a living, and she expected

that they would lay enough eggs in the course of time to help her son to

an independent career as a boot-black.

They lived in a tumbledown house in a waste of land near the steam cars,

and besides her hens, Mrs. Bob owned a goat.

Our story has, however, nothing to do with the goat except to say he was

there, and that he was on nibbling terms, not only with Jericho Bob, but

with Bob’s bosom friend, Julius Caesar Fish, and it was surprising how

many old hat-brims and other tidbits of clothing he could swallow during

a day.

As Mrs. Bob truly said, it was no earthly use to get something new for

Jericho, even if she could afford it; for the goat browsed all over him,

and had been known to carry away even a leg of his trousers.

Jericho Bob was eight years old, and the friend of his bosom, Julius

Caesar Fish, was nine. They both, were of a lovely black; a tallow-dip

couldn’t take the kink out of their hair, and the hardest whipping did

not disturb the even cheerfulness of their spirits. They were so much

alike that if it hadn’t been for Jericho’s bow-legs and his turn-up nose,

you really could not have told them apart.

A kindred taste for turkey also united them.

In honor of Thanksgiving Day, Mrs. Bob always sacrificed a hen which

would, but for such blessed release, have died of old age. One drumstick

was given to Jericho, whose interior remained an unsatisfied void.

Jericho Bob had heard of turkey as a fowl larger, sweeter, and more

tender than hen; and about Thanksgiving time he would linger around the

provision stores and gaze with open mouth at the noble array of turkeys

hanging, head downward, over bushels of cranberries, as if even at that

uncooked stage, they were destined for one another. And turkey was his

dream.

It was springtime, and the hens were being a credit to themselves. Mrs.

Bob was laid up with rheumatism.

“Jericho Bob!” she said to her son, shaking her red and yellow turban at

him, “Jericho Bob, you go down an’ fetch de eggs today. Ef I find yer

don’t bring me twenty-three, I’ll—well, never mind what I’ll do, but yer

won’t like it.”

Now, Jericho Bob meant to be honest, but the fact was he found

twenty-four eggs, and the twenty-fourth was so big, so remarkably big!

Twenty-three eggs he brought to Mrs. Bob, but the twenty-fourth he

sinfully left in charge of the discreet hen.

On his return he met Julius Caesar Fish, with his hands in his pockets

and his head extinguished by his grandfather’s fur cap.

Together they went toward the hen-coop and Julius Caesar Fish spoke, or

rather lisped (he had lost some of his front teeth):

“Jericho Bobth, tha’th a turkey’th egg.”

“Yer don’t say so?”

“I think i’th a-goin’ ter hatch.” No sooner said than they heard a pick

and a peck in the shell.

“Pick!” a tiny beak broke through the shell. “Peck!” more beak. “Crack!”

a funny little head, a long, bare neck, and then “Pick! Peck! Crack!”

before them stood the funniest, fluffiest brown ball resting on two weak

little legs.

“Hooray!” shouted the woolly heads.

“Peep!” said turkeykin.

“It’s mine!” Jericho shouted excitedly.

“Ith Marm Pitkin’th turkey’th; she laid it there.”

“It’s mine, and I’m going to keep it, and next Thanksgiving I’m going ter

eat him.”

“Think yer ma’ll let you feed him up for thath?” Julius Caesar asked,

grinning triumphantly.

Jericho Bob’s next Thanksgiving dinner seemed destined to be a dream. His

face fell.

“I’ll tell yer whath I’ll do,” his friend said, benevolently; “I’ll keep

’m for you, and Thanksgivin’ we’ll go halvth.”

Jericho resigned himself to the inevitable, and the infant turkey was

borne home by his friend.

Fish, Jr., lived next door, and the only difference in the premises was a

freight-car permanently switched off before the broken-down fence of the

Fish yard; and in this car turkeykin took up his abode.

I will not tell you how he grew and more than realized the hopes of

his foster-fathers, nor with what impatience and anticipation they saw

spring, summer, and autumn pass, while they watched their Thanksgiving

dinner stalk proudly up the bare yard, and even hop across the railroad

tracks.

But, alas! the possession of the turkey brought with it strife and

discord.

Quarrels arose between the friends as to the prospective disposal of his

remains. We grieve to say that the question of who was to cook him led

to blows.

It was the day before Thanksgiving. There was a coldness between the

friends which was not dispelled by the bringing of a pint of cranberries

to the common store by Jericho, and the contributing thereto of a couple

of cold boiled sweet potatoes by Julius Caesar Fish.

The friends sat on an ancient wash-tub in the back yard, and there was

a momentary truce between them. Before them stood the freight-car, and

along the track beyond an occasional train tore down the road, which so

far excited their mutual sympathy that they rose and shouted as one man.

At the open door of the freight-car stood the unsuspecting turkey, and

looked meditatively out on the landscape and at the two figures on the

wash-tub.

One had bow-legs, a turn-up nose, and a huge straw hat. The other wore

a fur cap and a gentleman’s swallow-tail coat, with the tails caught up

because they were too long.

The turkey hopped out of the car and gazed confidingly at his protectors.

In point of size he was altogether their superior.

“I think,” said Jericho Bob, “we’d better ketch ’im; tomorrow’s

Thanksgiving. Yum!”

And he looked with great joy at the innocent, the unsuspecting fowl.

“Butcher Tham’th goin’ to kill ’im for uth,” Julius Caesar hastened to

say, “an’ I kin cook ’im.”

“No, you ain’t. I’m going to cook ’im,” Jericho Bob cried, resentfully.

“He’s mine.”

“He ain’th; he’th mine.”

“He was my egg,” and Jericho Bob danced defiance at his friend.

The turkey looked on with some surprise, and he became alarmed when he

saw his foster-fathers clasped in an embrace more of anger than of love.

“I’ll eat ’im all alone!” Jericho Bob cried.

“No, yes sha’n’t!” the other shouted.

The turkey shrieked in terror, and fled in a circle about the yard.

“Now, look yere,” said Julius Caesar, who had conquered. “We’re goin’ to

be squar’. He wath your egg, but who brought ’im up? Me! Who’th got a

friend to kill ’im? Me! Who’th got a fire to cook ’im? Me! Now you git

up and we’ll kitch ’im. Ef you thay another word about your egg I’ll jeth

eat ’im up all mythelf.”

Jericho Bob was conquered. With mutual understanding they approached the

turkey.

“Come yere; come yere,” Julius Caesar said, coaxingly.

For a moment the bird gazed at both, uncertain what to do.

“Come yere,” Julius Caesar repeated, and made a dive for him. The turkey

spread his tail. Oh, didn’t he run!

“Now, I’ve got her!” the wicked Jericho Bob cried, and thought he had

captured the fowl; when, with a shriek from Jericho Bob, as the turkey

knocked him over, the Thanksgiving dinner spread his wings, rose in the

air, and alighted on the roof of the freight-car.

The turkey looked down over the edge of the car at his enemies, and they

gazed up at him. Both parties surveyed the situation.

“We’ve got him,” Julius Caesar cried at last, exultantly. “You git on the

roof, and ef you don’t kitch ’im up thar, I’ll kitch ’im down yere.”

With the help of the wash-tub, an old chair, Julius Caesar’s back, and

much scrambling, Jericho Bob was boosted on top of the car. The turkey

was stalking solemnly up and down the roof with tail and wings half

spread.

“I’ve got yer now,” Jericho Bob said, creeping softly after him. “I’ve

got yer now, sure,” he was just repeating, when, with a deafening roar

the express-train for New York came tearing down the road.

For what possible reason it slowed up on approaching the freight-car

nobody ever knew; but the fact remains that it did, just as Jericho Bob

laid his wicked black, paw on the turkey’s tail.

The turkey shrieked, spread his wings, shook the small black boy’s grasp

from his tail, and with a mighty swoop alighted on the roof of the very

last car as it passed; and in a moment more Jericho Bob’s Thanksgiving

dinner had vanished, like a beautiful dream, down the road!

Jerusalem Artie’s Christmas Dinner[31]

Jerusalem Artie sat on the door-step of his mammy’s cabin, buried in

thought. It was a very unusual condition for Jerusalem Artie, but then,

the occasion was an unusual one. The next day would be Christmas.

Presently he looked up. “Mammy,” he questioned, “what’s we-all a-gwine

hab fo’ Chris-mus dinnah?”

“Lan’ sakes, chile,” his mammy answered, “how-all’s I a-gwine know dat?

Yo’ pappy ain’t got nuthin’ yit, an’ I ain’t a-reckonin’ he will git

nuthin’.”

Jerusalem Artie looked down, and was once more lost in thought.

He made a comical little figure there on the door-step, but to this fact

both he and his mammy were blissfully oblivious. On his head he wore an

old straw hat which his pappy had discarded for a fur cap at the approach

of winter weather. In the spring the exchange would be made again, and

Jerusalem Artie would wear the fur. But this did not trouble the boy.

When it grew too hot, he left off any sort of head covering; and when it

grew too cold, he wrapped one of mammy’s gay bandanas about his woolly

head, and set the battered straw on top of that.

His shirt, and his one-sided suspenders, and even the trousers that he

wore, had also belonged to his pappy. As Jerusalem Artie was only eight

years old, the trousers were a trifle long. He had once suggested cutting

them off, but his mammy had objected.

“Co’se yo’ cain’t, chile! Yo’ pappy might hab to weah dem pants some mo’

hisself yit, an’ how-all’d he look den?”

The question was unanswerable.

“An’ what-all’d _I_ weah den?” he had queried, dismayed at the

possibility.

“How-all yo’ s’pose I’s a-gwine know dat?” his mammy had responded.

“Maybe yo’ skin.”

So Jerusalem Artie had rolled, and rolled, and rolled the bottom of the

trouser legs till his little black toes emerged from the openings.

But now, as he sat on the door-step, his mind was not upon his clothes,

not even upon the offending trousers. It was upon the Christmas dinner

for which he was longing, but which did not exist.

“All neighbo’ folks a-gwine hab Chris’mus dinnahs,” he was saying to

himself. “Boys done tol’ me so. An’ we’s gwine hab Chris’mus dinnah,

too,” he added, straightening up suddenly.

He got up from the door-step and started slowly toward the bit of tangled

underbrush that grew back of the cabin. He did not know, yet, where the

Christmas dinner was coming from. He had gotten no further than the

resolve that there should be one.

“Folks hab turkey, er goose,” he was saying to himself, “er chickun,

er—rabbit pie,” he ended with a sudden whoop, and made a dash toward the

tangled brush, for, at that very moment, a rabbit’s white flag of a tail

had flashed before his eyes.

“Hi, yo’ Molly Cottontail, I git yo’ fo’ a pie!” yelled Jerusalem Artie,

and the chase was on.

Into the brush dashed Molly, and after her came Jerusalem Artie; and, as

he ran, one leg of his trousers began to unroll. But there was no time to

stop.

Molly Cottontail had the advantage, but Jerusalem Artie’s eyes were

sharp, and Molly’s white flag led him on. Molly slid beneath the tangled

brush, and Jerusalem Artie made desperate leaps above it, each leap

marked by a flying trouser leg.

Suddenly Molly doubled on her tracks, for her pursuer was close at hand.

Jerusalem Artie attempted to do the same, but his free foot became

entangled with the elongated leg, and down went Jerusalem Artie—squarely

on top of Molly Cottontail.

It pretty well knocked the breath out of both of them, but Jerusalem

Artie recovered first, naturally, for he was on top.

“Chris’mus pie! Chris’mus pie!” he squealed, as he wriggled one hand

cautiously beneath him and got a good firm hold of Molly’s long ears.

Then carefully he got upon his feet.

The rabbit hung limp from his hand.

“Knocked yo’ breaf’ clean out fo’ suah!” he exclaimed, deliberately

surveying his prize.

Then slowly he made his way to the road, for the chase had taken him

some distance from the cabin, and the dragging trouser leg made walking

difficult.

Reaching the roadside, he held aloft the still limp rabbit surveying it

with a grin of satisfaction.

“Reckon she’s done fo’ as suah as I’s a niggah chile,” he soliloquized;

and laying his Christmas dinner on the grass beside him, he proceeded to

roll up the entangling trouser leg.

While he was in the midst of this occupation, there was a startling

“honk, honk,” close at hand and a big red motor car flashed into sight.

The sudden noise startled Jerusalem Artie. It also startled Molly

Cottontail. Her limp, and apparently lifeless, body gathered itself,

leaped, and cleared the roadway, barely escaping the wheels of the big

red motor car as it flashed by.

Jerusalem Artie rose to his feet, the trouser leg half rolled, and

shrieked: “M’ Chris’mus dinnah! M’ Chris’mus dinnah!” for Molly

Cottontail had disappeared.

As he stood looking helplessly after the offending cause of his loss, a

man in the back seat turned, laughed, and, leaning over the side of the

car, threw something bright and shining back into the road.

Jerusalem Artie pounced upon the spot, dug with his disentangled toes in

the dust, and brought to view a silver half-dollar.

“Chris’mus dinnah yit,” he exclaimed, “as suah as I’se a niggah chile!”

Then, with the half-dollar held hard between his teeth, he finished

rolling up the leg of his trousers.

“Mammy,” he cried, a moment later, as, dusty and breathless, he

reappeared in the cabin doorway, “see what-all I foun’ in de road.”

And Mammy’s look of dark suspicion faded as Jerusalem Artie recounted his

brief and tragic adventure with Molly Cottontail.

“Yo-all’s a honey chile,” said Mammy, when he had concluded; “an we-all’s

a-gwine right now an’ git a plumb fat chickun.”

The next day, as Mammy cleared away the remains of the Christmas dinner,

she said: “Now, chile, yo’ c’n tote dese yere chickun bones out on de

do’-step an’ gnaw ’em clean. An’, Jerus’lem Artie, yo’ pappy say yo’ c’n

cut off de laigs o’ dem pants, an’ hab ’em fo’ yo’self.”

Robin’s Christmas[32]

When I was a little girl I used to look for Robin Redbreast perched

in the holly on my Christmas cards, and nearly always he was there,

fluttering about in the green, or singing a merry greeting from among

the red berries. Nowadays I do not see him so often, but I have heard the

story of how he came to be there. Listen, and you shall hear it, too.

First, you must know that the English Robin Redbreast (which is the one

in my story) does not go South in the fall as our robin does. That is why

the little English children sing:

The North wind doth blow,

And we shall have snow,

And what will the robin do then, poor thing?

He’ll stay in the barn,

And keep himself warm,

And tuck his head under his wing, poor thing.

Generally Robin gets through the winter very well, but sometimes he has a

pretty hard time, and that is why this story came to be told.

One year, about Christmas time, there came a long spell of cold, stormy

weather. It would snow, and all the children would shout for joy; then

it would rain, and they would almost cry from disappointment; then again

it would freeze, and they would run and slide and skate on the ice, only

to be driven in by more snow and wind. So Christmas eve found them all

snug in their houses, making the rooms gay with holly and evergreen, and

talking about Santa Claus and their Christmas stockings.

But outdoors in the cold a poor little Robin Redbreast was far from being

snug and comfortable. It seemed to him that he hadn’t had anything to

eat for a month. Every grain of corn in the barnyard was under the snow,

no one threw out any crumbs, and the seed pods and berries that were

food in the coldest weather were so thickly coated with ice that it was

like pecking glass beads to try to eat one. The North wind seemed to be

everywhere. It drove him out of each corner in which he tried to nestle,

and Farmer Gray’s barn door was closed while he was busy in the hedge

trying to get a mouthful of seeds. When it came night, poor Robin felt so

chilled and hungry and miserable that he simply couldn’t “tuck his head

under his wing,” much less “keep himself warm.”

Once, when the lamps were lighted, he fluttered up to a window and tried

to get behind the blind, but he could not squeeze in. Then he pecked at

the glass, for he was a friendly birdie, and had more than once been fed

from a window, but no one heard his little tap, tap, and away he flew,

trying once more to find shelter from the driving storm.

Now, there was a church near by. People had been going in and out all

day, making it beautiful with Christmas greens, and preparing the

children’s Christmas tree. Robin finally perched himself in the ivy at

one window, though the North wind threatened to blow him off any moment.

There were lights within, and he could hear the happy children gathered

round the Christmas tree. After awhile every one went away, and the

lights were turned out.

A half hour later the faithful sexton came back through the storm to

take one more look at his fires, and make sure that all was safe for the

night. Robin, just settling himself for a long, cold night, could see

his lantern swinging as he pushed his way through the snowdrifts. When

he opened the great church door, the wind and snow blew in—and something

else, too—a cold, hungry little robin. But the sexton never knew. He

banked his fires a little more and went home, leaving Robin alone.

Oh, how warm and quiet and comfortable it was! Robin tucked his head

under his wing and was soon asleep on an oaken rafter. When he awoke in

the morning, his first thought was that he was in the forest. How big and

green and beautiful! Evergreen and holly were everywhere. Great festoons

were looped from chancel to window. A great mass of holly hid the choir

rail. Little Christmas trees were banked against the walls. Wreaths hung

from the arches, and the red and golden lights from the windows bathed

all in sunshine. Robin could hardly believe his eyes.

“Chirp! Chirp!” he cried, and flew from rafter to rafter, and from there

to the organ loft. What a wonderful place to awaken in! Why had he never

found it before? And what were those little red berries? Were they really

good to eat?

“Chirp! Chirp! I think I’ll try one!” said he.

He hadn’t had a good meal for two days and a half, and if the ladies

could have seen him eating their lovely decorations, I am afraid they

would have been shocked. How good the holly berries tasted! And there

was such an abundance! No hunting and picking good from bad; no fuss of

any kind. Hungry Robin flew from festoon to wreath and enjoyed the best

breakfast he had known that winter. In fact, he ate till he was tired,

and then he had another little nap on the rafter.

While he was sleeping the church bell rang, and the children began to

flock in again. They had come to sing their carols at early morning

service, and soon the church was filled with happy faces. Then the organ

played and they began to sing. Robin woke up and watched everything

quietly from his perch. He felt warm and happy, and he liked the music;

in fact, he began to feel like singing, too. In the middle of the second

verse he broke in. High and clear and sweet he sang, and the children

looked up amazed. Suddenly the minister held up his hand. Wonderingly the

organist and the children ceased. Robin was singing a solo, now. Perched

high on the rafter, he threw his little head back and sang and sang,

while the delighted children listened. When had they ever heard Robin

Redbreast sing in church? How did he get in? What a wonderful song!

When Robin was through he flew to the top of the organ and looked down on

them with bright eyes, as if to say: “That is all I can do to thank you

for my breakfast and shelter!”

“Children,” said the minister, “this little bird must have flown in

here last night from the storm. He sings because he is grateful to the

Heavenly Father who cares for all, and knows when even a sparrow falleth.

Let us lift our hearts and voices, and thank him in our carols for this

happy Christmas. Let our voices be as sweet as Robin Redbreast’s—our

little brother who is welcome to all the comfort our church can give him!”

The children sang their carols as they never sang them before, and they

never forgot the Christmas day when they found Robin in church. That was

years ago, but that is why, for a long time, Robin Redbreast was on the

Christmas cards. Did you ever see him there?

A Tale of the Christ Child[33]

It was Christmas eve. The soft snow fell in big flakes like white

blossoms from the trees of June. It covered the house roofs and

glorified the trees. It hung jewels above the windows of the poor, and

softened the lowliest hut to the white beauty of a palace.

And through the beautiful white pathway of the snow a herald rode, and

cried that to-night the dear Christ Child would walk through the streets,

and even as the falling snow made all barren and ugly things lovely, so

would the Christ Child’s coming glorify the souls of them that met him

aright, and they would be forever blest who should gain speech with him.

No wonder that a million candles lighted the streets. No wonder that

great and proud, rich and poor, the sick, the old, and the lame thronged

the white beauty of the streets and wandered up and down, wondering and

waiting.

The King came forth in royal robes with a throng of courtiers at his

back. He bore himself proudly, and proudly he waited.

The priest was there, bearing the blessed cross, and lifting prayerful

eyes to the white sky.

The great singer came, singing his loveliest songs in tones so sweet that

all who heard him wondered, and said, “Surely he will have speech with

the Christ Child.”

The poet came with his book, and soldiers with gleaming swords, boasting

of battles they had won, and all looked with eager eyes up and down the

streets, each longing to be the first to see the Christ Child in all his

beauty.

So, in their eagerness they pressed now this way and now that, heeding

nothing but their one desire. The shivering beggar was jostled, the

lame man was trampled under foot, and lay moaning in a doorway, and

children were thrust aside from their eager gazing, and fell, weeping and

disappointed, or fled from the stern presence of some blustering soldier,

to hide in alleyways, praying that the little Christ Child would find

them there, waiting to worship him.

Among the children was one braver than the others—little Karl. He had

gone out with a glad heart, saying to his mother, “I will not come back,

though I walk the streets all night, until I will see the Christ Child

and gain a blessing for you and for me.” But his mother kissed him

fondly, saying, “Go my son, but do not grieve if you do not see the

Christ Child, for there is blessing even in seeking him.”

So little Karl, seeing so many crushed and crowded back, though fearing

that the Christ Child should pass while he spent the time, lifted the

lame man to a place of safety, apart from the crowd, followed the

shivering beggar and lent him his cloak, and comforted the weeping

children.

And meanwhile the crowd pushed and jostled and threatened, and no one

gave heed to a ragged boy who pressed slowly through the throng, going

from street to street, and saying now and again, “I hunger. Will one give

me a crust of bread?”

No one gave heed, save that the King drew back his royal robes and bade

his courtiers clear his pathway of beggars; the great singer asked

angrily who was this who dared to interrupt him in his singing, and

turned his back upon the child to begin his song anew; the poet saw

him not, because his eyes were not lifted from the book, while some,

impatient at the interrupted melody, or taking counsel from the king’s

frown, jostled him in rude malice.

True, the priest turned on him a kindly glance and would have spoken,

but that a sudden movement in the crowd gave hope of the Christ Child’s

coming, and he forgot all else to press after the others.

But little Karl, now shivering with cold, had pity, and crept to the

stranger boy’s side, and broke his one piece of bread with him and

offered him a place in his sheltered doorway.

“It is cold,” Karl said, “and I have lent my cloak, or we could share it

with each other, and the bread is old, but it is all I have, and indeed

one feels hunger and cold but lightly who watches for the Christ Child

and hopes for his blessing.”

When, lo! as the ragged boy broke the bread and ate with Karl, his face

became glorified, and a light like soft moonlight played about his fair

temples, and the eyes that looked into the very soul of Karl, as he rose

in glad amaze, were clear and wonderful as the winter stars, and yet

gentle as the eyes of a pet lamb.

And suddenly, as he gazed, Karl fell, worshiping, for he knew that he had

had speech with the Christ Child.

Then, while the crowd still surged and quarreled and waited, watching,

the Christ Child walked through the soft falling snows, where little Karl

led the way. And they sought out the beggar, and the lame man, and the

little children, and the great who were also good, and all whose smiles

were kindly and whose hearts were like those of little children.

Story of the Ark[34]

Now God saw that the wickedness of man was great in the earth, and it

repented God that he had made man. But Noah was a just man and perfect in

his generation, and Noah walked with God.

And God said unto Noah, The end of all flesh is come before me; for the

earth is filled with violence through them, and, behold, I will destroy

them with the earth.

Make thee an ark of gopher wood; rooms shalt thou make in the ark, and

shalt pitch it within and without with pitch. A window shalt thou make to

the ark; and the door of the ark shalt thou set in the side thereof; with

lower, second, and third stories shalt thou make it.

And behold, I, even I, do bring a flood of waters upon the earth, to

destroy all flesh; and everything that is in the earth shall die. But

with thee will I establish my covenant; and thou shalt come into the ark,

thou, and thy sons, and thy wife, and thy sons’ wives with thee.

And of every living thing, two of every sort shalt thou bring into the

ark, to keep them alive with thee; they shall be male and female. Of

fowls after their kind, and of cattle, and of every creeping thing of the

earth, two of every sort shall come unto thee, to keep them alive.

And take thou unto thee of all food that is eaten; and it shall be for

food for thee, and for them.

Thus did Noah, according to all that God commanded him, so did he.

The Flood[35]

And the Lord said unto Noah, Come thou and all thy house into the ark;

for thee have I seen righteous before me in this generation.

And Noah went in, and his sons, and his wife, and his sons’ wives with

him, into the ark, because of the waters of the flood. Of clean beasts,

and of beasts that are not clean, and of fowls, and of everything that

creepeth upon the earth, there went in two and two unto Noah into the

ark, the male and the female, as God had commanded Noah. And the Lord

shut him in.

And it came to pass after seven days, that the waters of the flood were

upon the earth. In the six hundredth year of Noah’s life, in the second

month, the seventeenth day of the month, the same day were all the

fountains of the great deep broken up, and the windows of heaven were

opened.

And the rain was upon the earth forty days and forty nights. And the

waters increased, and bare up the ark, and it was lift up above the

earth, and all flesh died that moved upon the earth. And every living

substance was destroyed which was upon the face of the ground, both man,

and cattle, and the creeping things, and the fowl of the heaven; and Noah

only remained alive, and they that were with him in the ark, and the ark

went upon the face of the waters.

And the waters prevailed upon the earth an hundred and fifty days.

The Olive Leaf[36]

And God remembered Noah, and every living thing, and the cattle that was

with him in the ark: and God made a wind to pass over the earth, and the

waters asswaged. The fountains also of the deep and the windows of heaven

were stopped, and the rain from heaven was restrained; and the waters

returned from off the earth continually, and after the end of the hundred

and fifty days the waters were abated.

And the ark rested in the seventh month, on the seventeenth day of the

month, upon the mountains of Ararat. And the waters decreased continually

until the tops of the mountains were seen.

And it came to pass at the end of forty days, that Noah opened the window

of the ark which he had made: and he sent forth a raven, which went forth

to and fro, until the waters were dried up from the earth.

Also he sent forth a dove from him, to see if the waters were abated from

off the face of the ground; but the dove found no rest for the sole of

her foot, and she returned unto him into the ark, for the waters were on

the face of the whole earth; then he put forth his hand, and took her,

and pulled her in unto him into the ark.

And he stayed yet other seven days; and again he sent forth the dove out

of the ark; and the dove came in to him in the evening; and, lo, in her

mouth was an olive leaf pluckt off: so Noah knew that the waters were

abated from off the earth.

And he stayed yet other seven days; and he sent forth the dove; which

returned not again unto him any more. And Noah removed the covering of

the ark, and looked, and, behold, the face of the ground was dry.

And God spake unto Noah, saying, Go forth of the ark, thou, and thy sons,

and thy wife, and thy sons’ wives with thee. Bring forth with thee every

living thing of all flesh, both of fowl, and of cattle, and of every

creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth, that they may be fruitful

and multiply upon the earth.

And Noah went forth, and his sons, and his wife, and his sons’ wives with

him: every beast, every creeping thing, and every fowl, went forth out of

the ark.

And Noah builded an altar unto the Lord.

The Rainbow of Promise[37]

And the Lord said in his heart, I will not again curse the ground any

more for man’s sake; for the imagination of man’s heart is evil from his

youth; neither will I again smite any more every thing living, as I have

done.

While the earth remaineth, seed time and harvest, and cold and heat, and

summer and winter, and day and night shall not cease.

And God blessed Noah and his sons. And God spake unto Noah, and to his

sons with him, saying, And I, behold, I establish my covenant with you,

and with your seed after you; and with every living creature that is with

you, of the fowl, of the cattle, and of every beast of the earth with

you; from all that go out of the ark, to every beast of the earth. I will

establish my covenant with you; neither shall all flesh be cut off any

more by the waters of a flood; neither shall there any more be a flood to

destroy the earth.

And God said, This is the token of the covenant which I make between

me and you and every living creature that is with you, for perpetual

generations: I do set my bow in the cloud, and it shall be for a token

of covenant between me and the earth.

And it shall come to pass, when I bring a cloud over the earth, that the

bow shall be seen in the cloud: and I will remember my covenant, which is

between me and you and every living creature of all flesh; and the waters

shall no more become a flood to destroy all flesh.

And Noah lived after the flood three hundred and fifty years. And all the

days of Noah were nine hundred and fifty years.

The Story of David[38]

More than two thousand years ago, there was a great battle in the land

of Palestine. At that time, Saul was king of Israel, and the battle was

fought between the Israelites and the Philistines, their enemies. Now,

the Israelites worshiped God or Jehovah, while the Philistines worshiped

images of wood and stone.

And the Philistines stood on the mountain on the one side, and Israel

stood on the mountain on the other side; and the ravine was between them.

And as the armies were drawn up for battle, there stepped out from

the ranks of the Philistines a champion named Goliath. He was a giant

in stature, and he was clothed in a corselet of scales, with a helmet

of bronze upon his head. His spear was like a weaver’s beam—and a

shield-bearer went before him.

And Goliath stood and cried to the people of Israel, “I have come forth

to defy the army of Israel. Choose ye a man who shall come and fight with

me. If he slays me, then will the Philistines be your servants, but if I

slay him, then shall ye be the servants of the Philistines.”

Then were the Israelites dismayed, and no man dared go forth to fight

with Goliath.

Every night and every morning for forty days, Goliath came forth and

challenged the army of Israel, and no man dared go forth to fight him.

At this same time, away off among the hills of Bethlehem, there was a

young man named David, who was tending his father’s sheep. He was a

shepherd lad, but ruddy, and of a beautiful appearance. His father’s

name was Jesse. Now, Jesse’s three older sons were in the army of Saul,

but David, the youngest, cared for the sheep. He loved the country about

Bethlehem, and he had many beautiful thoughts while watching over the

sheep that he loved.

But one day his father called him away from the sheep pastures, and sent

him to see his brothers, and to bring back a message from them, for he

was anxious about their welfare. And he gave him parched corn and ten

loaves as a gift for them.

So David journeyed to where his brothers were, and when he reached them,

the armies were drawn up, the Philistines on one mountain, and the

Israelites on the other, with the ravine between. And as David reached

the place, he saw Goliath, coming forth to challenge the army of Israel,

as he had done for forty days.

And when David heard Goliath’s words, and saw that all the army of Israel

was dismayed, he was filled with indignation, and he asked, “Who is this

Philistine, that he should defy the armies of the living God?”

And David’s words were repeated to Saul, and Saul sent for David, and

David told Saul that he would go forth and fight with Goliath.

Then said Saul, “But thou art but a youth, and this is a man of war.”

Then David answered, “I have slain with my hands both a lion and a bear,

when they came to destroy a lamb of my flock. And I can also slay this

Philistine, for Jehovah, who delivered me out of the paw of the lion and

of the bear, will deliver me out of the hand of this Philistine.”

And Saul said to David, “Go, and Jehovah be with thee.” And he would have

put his armor upon David, but David refused it, and taking his staff in

his hand, he chose five smooth stones out of the brook and put them in

the pocket of the shepherd’s bag which he wore. Then with his sling in

his hand, he advanced to meet Goliath.

But when Goliath saw David, he exclaimed, “Am I a dog, that thou comest

to me with a staff? Come on, then, and I will give thy flesh to the fowls

of the heavens and to the beasts of the field.”

And David answered, “Thou comest to me with a sword and with a spear, but

I come to thee in the name of Jehovah of hosts, the God of the armies of

Israel, whom thou hast defied. This day will Jehovah deliver thee into

my hand, and all the earth shall know that Israel has a God.”

And David put his hand into his bag and drew forth a stone and put it

into his sling and he slung it; and it struck the Philistine in the

forehead, and he fell on his face to the earth.

And the army of Israel arose and shouted, and the Philistines became the

servants of Israel, and great honors were heaped upon David.

Some years after this, at the death of Saul, David became king of Israel,

but he never forgot his days upon the hills of Bethlehem, when he tended

his father’s sheep; and he was called the “Shepherd King.”

After he had become king, David wrote many beautiful songs or psalms, and

one of the most beautiful of them all is the twenty-third psalm, which

shows that even when all the glory and honor of being a king were his, he

loved to think of himself as one of the sheep over whom the Lord watched

as a shepherd.

The Twenty-third Psalm

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the

still waters.

He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his

name’s sake.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear

no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.

Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou

anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I

will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.

FOOTNOTES

[4] From _The Angler’s Reveille_, by Henry van Dyke.—By permission of

Charles Scribner’s Sons.

[5] From _Chinese Mother Goose Rhymes_. Translated by Isaac T. Headland.

By permission of Fleming H. Revell Company.

[6] From _Firelight Stories_, by Carolyn Sherwin Bailey (Milton Bradley

Company). By permission of the author and publishers.

[7] Jane Arnold, in _American Motherhood_. By permission of the

publishers.

[8] From _Aesop’s Fables_; adapted by D. L. Graves in _American

Motherhood_. By permission of the author and publishers.

[9] This story, reprinted by permission from the second book of the

series of _Jones Readers_ (Ginn and Company), is an especially good type

of story to tell to small children, since it is full of action and of

conversation, two features which they particularly enjoy, and its lesson

of forethought is made very plain through the development of the story

itself.

[10] By Carolyn Sherwin Bailey, in _Firelight Stories_ (Milton Bradley

Company). By permission of the author and publishers.

[11] From _Queer Little People_, by Harriet Beecher Stowe (Houghton,

Mifflin Company). By permission of the publishers. (Abridged.)

[12] By Margaret and Clarence Weed, in _St. Nicholas_. By permission of

the authors and publishers.

[13] English Folk-tale.

[14] Original adaptation of an old legend.

[15] Original adaptation of Old Folk-tale.

[16] An Ojibway legend from _Wigwam Stories_, by Mary Catherine Judd

(Ginn and Company). By permission of the author and publishers.

[17] Original adaptation of an old legend.

[18] Schoolcraft. From _Wigwam Stories_, by Mary Catherine Judd (Ginn and

Company). By permission of the author and publishers.

[19] By Grace MacGowan Cooke, in the _Delineator_. By permission of the

author and the publishers.

[20] Chippewa. From _Wigwam Stories_, by Mary Catherine Judd (Ginn and

Company). By permission of author and publishers.

[21] Original adaptation from the folk-lore of South Slavonia. There is

another and different version of “Why the Dog and Cat Are Enemies” under

the title, “The Enchanted Wine Jug,” in _Stories to Tell_ (A. Flanagan

Company), compiled by the author of this book. Stories of animals are

always of interest to children, and the more familiar the animals the

greater the child’s interest in the story. These two versions of the

above story, I have found are not generally known to either teachers or

children, for they seem to have been generally overlooked in the many

collections of folk-tales.

[22] From _Myths and Legends of the Pacific Northwest_, by Katharine B.

Judson (A. C. McClurg & Co.). (Abridged.)

[23] By Frances Margaret Fox in _Little Folks_ (S. E. Cassino Company).

By permission of the publishers.

[24] Abridged from _Jolly Calle_, by Helena Nyblom (J. M. Dent and Sons,

London).

[25] From _Stories from Old English Romance_, by Joyce Pollard (Frederick

A. Stokes Company). By permission of the publishers. (Abridged.)

[26] From stories of _Norse Heroes_, by E. M. Wilmot-Buxton (Thomas Y.

Crowell Company). By permission of the publishers. (Abridged.)

[27] Adapted from Greek mythology.

[28] By David Ker, in _St. Nicholas_. By permission of the publishers.

[29] Abridged from _Further Adventures of Nils_, by Selma Lagerlof

(Doubleday, Page and Company). By permission of the publishers.

[30] By Mrs. John Lane, in _St. Nicholas_. By permission of the author

and publishers.

[31] By Julia Darrow Cowles, in _St. Nicholas_. By permission of the

publishers.

[32] By A. Gertrude Maynard, in _Kindergarten Review_. By permission of

the publishers.

[33] By Phila Butler Bowman, in _Kindergarten Review_. By permission of

the publishers.

[34] Genesis vi, 5-22.

[35] Genesis vii.

[36] Genesis viii.

[37] Genesis viii, 21, 22; ix, 1, 8-15, 28, 29.

[38] First Samuel xvii. (Adapted.)

INDEX OF SELECTED STORIES

PAGE

ADDER THAT DID NOT HEAR, THE _Old Fable adapted_ 149

ARK, THE _Bible_ 251

BIRDIE WITH A YELLOW BILL _Robert Louis Stevenson_ 6

COBBLER, THE _Old Tale adapted_ 154

COMING OF ARTHUR, THE _Richard Thomas Wyche_ 75

COUNTRY CAT, THE _Grace MacGowan Cooke_ 159

DAVID _Bible_ 257

FISHERMAN, THE _Aesop Fable_ 55

FOUNTAIN, THE _James Russell Lowell_ 54

FLOOD, THE _Bible_ 252

GOLD BUGS, THE _Carolyn Sherwin Bailey_ 128

GOOD KING, THE _Margaret and Clarence Weed_ 137

HISTORY OF TIP-TOP, THE _Harriet Beecher Stowe_ 131

HOLD-FAST TOM _Daniel Ker_ 210

HONEST WOODMAN, THE _Aesop Fable_ 123

HOW THE QUEEN OF THE SKY GAVE GIFTS

TO MEN _E. M. Wilmot-Buxton_ 200

JAPANESE LULLABY 5

JERICHO BOB _Mrs. John Lane_ 226

JERUSALEM ARTIE’S CHRISTMAS DINNER _Julia Darrow Cowles_ 234

KING MIDAS’ EARS _Greek Myth adapted_ 205

KING OF THE FROGS _Old Tale adapted_ 147

LEGEND OF THE ARBUTUS _Mary Catherine Judd_ 162

LESSON OF FAITH, A _Mrs. Gatty_ 8

LITTLE BALDHEAD, THE _Chinese Mother Goose_ 114

LITTLE BOY WHO FORGOT TO WASH HIS

HANDS, THE _Jane Arnold_ 120

LITTLE SISTER KINDNESS AND THE

LOVING STITCHES _Margaret Fox_ 174

MY BED IS A BOAT _Robert Louis Stevenson_ 7

MISER OF TAKHOMA, THE _Katharine Berry Judson_ 168

NILS AND THE BEAR _Selma Lagerlof_ 218

NORTH STAR, THE _Mary Catherine Judd_ 152

OLIVE LEAF, THE _Bible_ 254

OPECHEE, THE ROBIN REDBREAST _Mary Catherine Judd_ 156

PAT-A-CAKE, PAT-A-CAKE _Mother Goose_ 52

PAT, PAT _Chinese Mother Goose_ 52

PLOWMAN WHO FOUND CONTENT, THE _Old Tale adapted_ 141

PUSSY WILLOWS _Henry van Dyke_ 53

QUEEN’S NECKLACE, THE _Helena Nyblom_ 180

RAINBOW OF PROMISE, THE _Bible_ 256

ROBIN’S CAROL, THE _Henry van Dyke_ 113

ROBIN HOOD AND SIR

RICHARD-AT-THE-LEE _Joyce Pollard_ 191

ROBIN’S CHRISTMAS _A. Gertrude Maynard (Old

legend retold)_ 240

SLEEP, LITTLE PIGEON _Eugene Field_ 5

STORY OF ITHENTHIELA _Abbie Farwell Brown and

James M. Bell_ 60

TABBY AND THE MICE _Old Tale adapted_ 126

TALE OF THE CHRIST CHILD _Phila Butler Bowman_ 246

TWENTY-THIRD PSALM _Bible_ 261

WHY THE BEAR SLEEPS ALL WINTER _Carolyn Sherwin Bailey_ 115

WHY THE DOG CANNOT ENDURE THE CAT _Old Tale adapted_ 165

TOPICAL INDEX OF STORIES

PAGE

RHYMES FOR MOTHERS

THE ROBIN’S CAROL 113

THE LITTLE BALDHEAD 114

JAPANESE LULLABY 5

BIRDIE WITH A YELLOW BILL 6

PAT, PAT 52

THE FOUNTAIN (introduction to) 54

PUSSY WILLOWS 53

PAT-A-CAKE, PAT-A-CAKE 52

FABLES AND FOLK-LORE

THE FISHERMAN 55

LEGEND OF THE ARBUTUS 162

WHY THE BEAR SLEEPS ALL WINTER 115

THE COUNTRY CAT 159

THE HONEST WOODMAN 123

THE NORTH STAR 152

THE COBBLER 154

TABBY AND THE MICE 126

OPECHEE, THE ROBIN REDBREAST 156

KING OF THE FROGS 147

THE ADDER THAT DID NOT HEAR 149

WHY THE DOG CANNOT ENDURE THE CAT 165

THE MISER OF TAKHOMA 168

THE PLOWMAN WHO FOUND CONTENT 141

FAIRY STORIES

LITTLE SISTER KINDNESS 174

THE QUEEN’S NECKLACE 180

ETHICAL STORIES

THE GOLD BUGS 128

THE HISTORY OF TIP-TOP 131

THE LITTLE BOY WHO FORGOT TO WASH HIS HANDS 120

THE COUNTRY CAT 159

THE HONEST WOODMAN 123

THE ADDER THAT DID NOT HEAR 149

THE MISER OF TAKHOMA 168

THE PLOWMAN WHO FOUND CONTENT 141

LITTLE SISTER KINDNESS 174

THE QUEEN’S NECKLACE 180

MYTH AND HERO-TALE

ROBIN HOOD AND SIR RICHARD-AT-THE-LEE 191

THE COMING OF ARTHUR 75

STORY OF ITHENTHIELA 60

HOW THE QUEEN OF THE ANT GAVE GIFTS TO MEN 200

KING MIDAS’ EARS 205

HOLD-FAST TOM (modern) 210

NILS AND THE BEAR (modern) 218

STORIES FOR SPECIAL DAYS

A LESSON OF FAITH (Easter) 8

JERICHO BOB (Thanksgiving) 226

ROBIN’S CHRISTMAS 240

JERUSALEM ARTIE’S CHRISTMAS DINNER 234

A TALE OF THE CHRIST CHILD 246

BIBLE STORIES

STORY OF DAVID 257

STORY OF THE ARK 251

STORY OF THE FLOOD 252

THE OLIVE LEAF 254

RAINBOW OF PROMISE 256

TWENTY-THIRD PSALM 261

BOOKS FOR THE STORY-TELLER

All of the following books contain excellent material for the

story-teller. While some of the stories are not perfectly adapted in

form for telling, the best of them can be used with comparatively little

change.

The list is not by any means comprehensive, but the books mentioned will

abundantly reward the story-teller’s search.

MELODIES AND FOLK TALES

MOTHER GOOSE MELODIES—_edited by W. A. Wheeler_

CHINESE MOTHER GOOSE RHYMES—_translated by Isaac T. Headland_

ENGLISH FOLK TALES—_Jacobs_

BOOK OF FOLK STORIES—_Scudder_

LULLABY LAND—_Eugene Fields_

CHILD’S GARDEN OF VERSE—_R. L. Stevenson_

NONSENSE RHYMES—_Edward Lear_

ETHICAL STORIES

PARABLES FROM NATURE—_Mrs. Gatty_

FIRELIGHT STORIES—_Carolyn Sherwin Bailey_

FOR THE CHILDREN’S HOUR—_Carolyn Sherwin Bailey_

MURRAY’S STORY LAND

NATURE STORIES

THE WONDERFUL ADVENTURES OF NILS—_Selma Lagerlof_

FURTHER ADVENTURES OF NILS—_Selma Lagerlof_

TRUE BIRD STORIES—_Olive Thorne Miller_

THE JUNGLE BOOK—_Kipling_

SECRETS OF THE WOODS—_W. J. Long_

TRUE TALES OF BIRDS AND BEASTS—_David Starr Jordan_

TRUE HERO STORIES

ADVENTURES AND ACHIEVEMENTS—_Tappan_

AMERICAN HERO STORIES—_Tappan_

EUROPEAN HERO STORIES—_Tappan_

HEROES EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW—_Mabie_

ST. NICHOLAS—_in bound volumes_

FAIRY TALES AND FOLK LORE

HOUSEHOLD FAIRY TALES—_Grimm_

ANDERSON’S FAIRY TALES—_translated by Mrs. E. Lucas_

FAIRY TALES FROM PERRAULT—_translated by S. R. Littleton_

AESOP’S FABLES—_Jacobs_

THE GOLDEN SPEARS—_Edmund Leamy_ (Irish Fairy Tales)

IN FAIRY-LAND—_Louey Chisholm_

JAPANESE FAIRY TALES—_Williston_

UNCLE REMUS—_Joel Chandler Harris_

TWILIGHT FAIRY TALES—_Maud Ballington Booth_

BLUE FAIRY BOOK—_Lang_

JOLLY CALLE—_Helena Nyblom_ (Swedish Fairy Tales)

HISTORY AND LEGEND

BOYS’ KING ARTHUR—_Lanier_

KING ARTHUR AND HIS KNIGHTS—_M. L. Warren_

MERRY ADVENTURES OF ROBIN HOOD—_Howard Pyle_

SOME GREAT STORIES AND HOW TO TELL THEM—_Wyche_

HALF A HUNDRED HERO TALES—_Storr_

STORY OF SIEGFRIED—_Baldwin_

FIFTY FAMOUS STORIES RETOLD—_Baldwin_

STORIES OF HEROIC DEEDS—_Johonnot_

VIKING TALES—_Hall_

WONDER TALES FROM WAGNER—_Anna Chapin_

TRUE STORY BOOK—_Lang_

STORIES FROM OLD ENGLISH ROMANCE—_Joyce Pollard_

MYTHOLOGICAL STORIES

NORSE STORIES RETOLD—_Mabie_

STORIES OF NORSE HEROES—_Wilmot-Buxton_

AGE OF FABLE—_Bulfinch_

THE WONDER BOOK—_Hawthorne_

TANGLEWOOD TALES—_Hawthorne_

STORY OF THE ILIAD—_Church_

AENEID FOR BOYS AND GIRLS—_Church_

NATURE MYTHS—_Holbrook_

MYTHS OF NORTHERN LANDS—_Guerber_

NORTH AMERICAN INDIAN STORIES

WIGWAM STORIES—_Mary C. Judd_

MYTHS AND LEGENDS OF THE PACIFIC NORTHWEST—_Katharine B. Judson_

INDIAN FAIRY TALES—_Mary Hazelton Wade_

BEHIND THE DARK PINES—_Martha Young_

TALES OF THE RED CHILDREN—_Brown and Bell_

In addition to the above, comprehensive lists of books for story-tellers

may be secured from the librarians of nearly all the large city libraries

for a merely nominal cost, and in some cases without charge except for

postage.