other. So that broke up the bargain between them.
And little Brother Rabbit sat in the bushes and laughed, and laughed,
and laughed.
FOOTNOTES:
[15] Adapted from two tales included in the records of the American
Folk-Lore Society.
THE LITTLE HALF-CHICK
There was once upon a time a Spanish Hen, who hatched out some nice
little chickens. She was much pleased with their looks as they came from
the shell. One, two, three, came out plump and fluffy; but when the
fourth shell broke, out came a little half-chick! It had only one leg
and one wing and one eye! It was just half a chicken.
The Hen-mother did not know what in the world to do with the queer
little Half-Chick. She was afraid something would happen to it, and she
tried hard to protect it and keep it from harm. But as soon as it could
walk the little Half-Chick showed a most headstrong spirit, worse than
any of its brothers. It would not mind, and it would go wherever it
wanted to; it walked with a funny little hoppity-kick, hoppity-kick, and
got along pretty fast.
One day the little Half-Chick said, "Mother, I am off to Madrid, to see
the King! Good-bye."
The poor Hen-mother did everything she could think of to keep him from
doing so foolish a thing, but the little Half-Chick laughed at her
naughtily. "I'm for seeing the King," he said; "this life is too quiet
for me." And away he went, hoppity-kick, hoppity-kick, over the fields.
When he had gone some distance the little Half-Chick came to a little
brook that was caught in the weeds and in much trouble.
"Little Half-Chick," whispered the Water, "I am so choked with these
weeds that I cannot move; I am almost lost, for want of room; please
push the sticks and weeds away with your bill and help me."
"The idea!" said the little Half-Chick. "I cannot be bothered with you;
I am off to Madrid, to see the King!" And in spite of the brook's
begging, he went away, hoppity-kick, hoppity-kick.
A bit farther on, the Half-Chick came to a Fire, which was smothered in
damp sticks and in great distress.
"Oh, little Half-Chick," said the Fire, "you are just in time to save
me. I am almost dead for want of air. Fan me a little with your wing, I
beg."
"The idea!" said the little Half-Chick. "I cannot be bothered with you;
I am off to Madrid, to see the King!" And he went laughing off,
hoppity-kick, hoppity-kick.
When he had hoppity-kicked a good way, and was near Madrid, he came to a
clump of bushes, where the Wind was caught fast. The Wind was
whimpering, and begging to be set free.
"Little Half-Chick," said the Wind, "you are just in time to help me; if
you will brush aside these twigs and leaves, I can get my breath; help
me, quickly!"
"Ho! the idea!" said the little Half-Chick "I have no time to bother
with you. I am going to Madrid, to see the King." And he went off,
hoppity-kick, hoppity-kick, leaving the Wind to smother.
After a while he came to Madrid and to the palace of the King.
Hoppity-kick, hoppity-kick, the little Half-Chick skipped past the
sentry at the gate, and hoppity-kick, hoppity-kick, he crossed the
court. But as he was passing the windows of the kitchen the Cook looked
out and saw him.
"The very thing for the King's dinner!" she said. "I was needing a
chicken!" And she seized the little Half-Chick by his one wing and threw
him into a kettle of water on the fire.
The Water came over the little Half-Chick's feathers, over his head,
into his eyes. It was terribly uncomfortable. The little Half-Chick
cried out,--
"Water, don't drown me! Stay down, don't come so high!"
"But," the Water said, "Little Half-Chick, little Half-Chick, when I was
in trouble you would not help me," and came higher than ever.
Now the Water grew warm, hot, hotter, frightfully hot; the little
Half-Chick cried out, "Do not burn so hot, Fire! You are burning me to
death! Stop!"
But the Fire said, "Little Half-Chick, little Half-Chick, when I was in
trouble you would not help me," and burned hotter than ever.
Just as the little Half-Chick thought he must suffocate, the Cook took
the cover off, to look at the dinner. "Dear me," she said, "this chicken
is no good; it is burned to a cinder." And she picked the little
Half-Chick up by one leg and threw him out of the window.
In the air he was caught by a breeze and taken up higher than the trees.
Round and round he was twirled till he was so dizzy he thought he must
perish. "Don't blow me so, Wind," he cried, "let me down!"
"Little Half-Chick, little Half-Chick," said the Wind, "when I was in
trouble you would not help me!" And the Wind blew him straight up to the
top of the church steeple, and stuck him there, fast!
There he stands to this day, with his one eye, his one wing, and his one
leg. He cannot hoppity-kick any more, but he turns slowly round when the
wind blows, and keeps his head toward it, to hear what it says.
THE BLACKBERRY-BUSH[16]
A little boy sat at his mother's knees, by the long western window,
looking out into the garden. It was autumn, and the wind was sad; and
the golden elm leaves lay scattered about among the grass, and on the
gravel path. The mother was knitting a little stocking; her fingers
moved the bright needles; but her eyes were fixed on the clear evening
sky.
As the darkness gathered, the wee boy laid his head on her lap and kept
so still that, at last, she leaned forward to look into his dear round
face. He was not asleep, but was watching very earnestly a
blackberry-bush, that waved its one tall, dark-red spray in the wind
outside the fence.
"What are you thinking about, my darling?" she said, smoothing his soft,
honey-coloured hair.
"The blackberry-bush, mamma; what does it say? It keeps nodding, nodding
to me behind the fence; what does it say, mamma?"
"It says," she answered, "'I see a happy little boy in the warm,
fire-lighted room. The wind blows cold, and here it is dark and lonely;
but that little boy is warm and happy and safe at his mother's knees. I
nod to him, and he looks at me. I wonder if he knows how happy he is!
"'See, all my leaves are dark crimson. Every day they dry and wither
more and more; by and by they will be so weak they can scarcely cling to
my branches, and the north wind will tear them all away, and nobody will
remember them any more. Then the snow will sink down and wrap me close.
Then the snow will melt again and icy rain will clothe me, and the
bitter wind will rattle my bare twigs up and down.
"'I nod my head to all who pass, and dreary nights and dreary days go
by; but in the happy house, so warm and bright, the little boy plays all
day with books and toys. His mother and his father cherish him; he
nestles on their knees in the red firelight at night, while they read to
him lovely stories, or sing sweet old songs to him,--the happy little
boy! And outside I peep over the snow and see a stream of ruddy light
from a crack in the window-shutter, and I nod out here alone in the
dark, thinking how beautiful it is.
"'And here I wait patiently. I take the snow and the rain and the cold,
and I am not sorry, but glad; for in my roots I feel warmth and life,
and I know that a store of greenness and beauty is shut up safe in my
small brown buds. Day and night go again and again; little by little the
snow melts all away; the ground grows soft; the sky is blue; the little
birds fly over, crying, "It is spring! it is spring!" Ah! then through
all my twigs I feel the slow sap stirring.
"'Warmer grow the sunbeams, and softer the air. The small blades of
grass creep thick about my feet; the sweet rain helps to swell my
shining buds. More and more I push forth my leaves, till out I burst in
a gay green dress, and nod in joy and pride. The little boy comes
running to look at me, and cries, "Oh, mamma! the little blackberry-bush
is alive and beautiful and green. Oh, come and see!" And I hear; and I
bow my head in the summer wind; and every day they watch me grow more
beautiful, till at last I shake out blossoms, fair and fragrant.
"'A few days more, and I drop the white petals down among the grass,
and, lo! there are the green tiny berries! Carefully I hold them up to
the sun; carefully I gather the dew in the summer nights; slowly they
ripen; they grow larger and redder and darker, and at last they are
black, shining, delicious. I hold them as high as I can for the little
boy, who comes dancing out. He shouts with joy, and gathers them in his
dear hand; and he runs to share them with his mother, saying, "Here is
what the patient blackberry-bush bore for us: see how nice, mamma!"
"'Ah! then indeed I am glad, and would say, if I could, "Yes, take them,
dear little boy; I kept them for you, held them long up to the sun and
rain to make them sweet and ripe for you"; and I nod and nod in full
content, for my work is done. From the window he watches me and thinks,
"There is the little blackberry-bush that was so kind to me. I see it
and I love it. I know it is safe out there nodding all alone, and next
summer it will hold ripe berries up for me to gather again."'"
* * * * *
Then the wee boy smiled, and said he liked the little story. His mother
took him up in her arms, and they went out to supper and left the
blackberry-bush nodding up and down in the wind; and there it is
nodding yet.
FOOTNOTES:
[16] From Celia Thaxter's _Stories and Poems for Children_.
THE FAIRIES[17]
Up the airy mountain,
Down the rushy glen,
We daren't go a-hunting
For fear of little men.
Wee folk, good folk,
Trooping all together;
Green jacket, red cap,
And white owl's feather!
Down along the rocky shore
Some make their home--
They live on crispy pancakes
Of yellow tide-foam;
Some in the reeds
Of the black mountain-lake,
With frogs for their watch-dogs,
All night awake.
High on the hilltop
The old King sits;
He is now so old and gray,
He's nigh lost his wits.
With a bridge of white mist
Columbkill he crosses,
On his stately journeys
From Slieveleague to Rosses;
Or going up with music
On cold starry nights,
To sup with the Queen
Of the gay Northern Lights.
They stole little Bridget
For seven years long;
When she came down again
Her friends were all gone.
They took her lightly back,
Between the night and morrow;
They thought that she was fast asleep,
But she was dead with sorrow.
They have kept her ever since
Deep within the lake,
On a bed of flag-leaves,
Watching till she wake.
By the craggy hillside,
Through the mosses bare,
They have planted thorn-trees,
For pleasure here and there.
Is any man so daring
As dig them up in spite,
He shall find their sharpest thorns
In his bed at night.
Up the airy mountain,
Down the rushy glen,
We daren't go a-hunting
For fear of little men.
Wee folk, good folk,
Trooping all together;
Green jacket, red cap,
And white owl's feather!
FOOTNOTES:
[17] By William Allingham.
THE ADVENTURES OF THE LITTLE FIELD MOUSE
Once upon a time, there was a little brown Field Mouse; and one day he
was out in the fields to see what he could find. He was running along in
the grass, poking his nose into everything and looking with his two eyes
all about, when he saw a smooth, shiny acorn, lying in the grass. It was
such a fine shiny little acorn that he thought he would take it home
with him; so he put out his paw to touch it, but the little acorn rolled
away from him. He ran after it, but it kept rolling on, just ahead of
him, till it came to a place where a big oak-tree had its roots spread
all over the ground. Then it rolled under a big round root.
Little Mr Field Mouse ran to the root and poked his nose under after the
acorn, and there he saw a small round hole in the ground. He slipped
through and saw some stairs going down into the earth. The acorn was
rolling down, with a soft tapping sound, ahead of him, so down he went
too. Down, down, down, rolled the acorn, and down, down, down, went the
Field Mouse, until suddenly he saw a tiny door at the foot of the
stairs.
The shiny acorn rolled to the door and struck against it with a tap.
Quickly the little door opened and the acorn rolled inside. The Field
Mouse hurried as fast as he could down the last stairs, and pushed
through just as the door was closing. It shut behind him, and he was in
a little room. And there, before him, stood a queer little Red Man! He
had a little red cap, and a little red jacket, and odd little red shoes
with points at the toes.
"You are my prisoner," he said to the Field Mouse.
"What for?" said the Field Mouse.
"Because you tried to steal my acorn," said the little Red Man.
"It is my acorn," said the Field Mouse; "I found it."
"No, it isn't," said the little Red Man, "I have it; you will never see
it again."
The little Field Mouse looked all about the room as fast as he could,
but he could not see any acorn. Then he thought he would go back up the
tiny stairs to his own home. But the little door was locked, and the
little Red Man had the key. And he said to the poor mouse,--
"You shall be my servant; you shall make my bed and sweep my room and
cook my broth."
So the little brown Mouse was the little Red Man's servant, and every
day he made the little Red Man's bed and swept the little Red Man's room
and cooked the little Red Man's broth. And every day the little Red Man
went away through the tiny door, and did not come back till afternoon.
But he always locked the door after him, and carried away the key.
At last, one day he was in such a hurry that he turned the key before
the door was quite latched, which, of course, didn't lock it at all. He
went away without noticing,--he was in such a hurry.
The little Field Mouse knew that his chance had come to run away home.
But he didn't want to go without the pretty, shiny acorn. Where it was
he didn't know, so he looked everywhere. He opened every little drawer
and looked in, but it wasn't in any of the drawers; he peeped on every
shelf, but it wasn't on a shelf; he hunted in every closet, but it
wasn't in there. Finally, he climbed up on a chair and opened a wee, wee
door in the chimney-piece,--and there it was!
He took it quickly in his forepaws, and then he took it in his mouth,
and then he ran away. He pushed open the little door; he climbed up, up,
up the little stairs; he came out through the hole under the root; he
ran and ran through the fields; and at last he came to his own house.
When he was in his own house he set the shiny acorn on the table. I
expect he set it down hard, for all at once, with a little snap, it
opened!--exactly like a little box.
And what do you think! There was a tiny necklace inside! It was a most
beautiful tiny necklace, all made of jewels, and it was just big enough
for a lady mouse. So the little Field Mouse gave the tiny necklace to
his little Mouse-sister. She thought it was perfectly lovely. And when
she wasn't wearing it she kept it in the shiny acorn box.
And the little Red Man never knew what had become of it, because he
didn't know where the little Field Mouse lived.
ANOTHER LITTLE RED HEN[18]
Once upon a time there was a little Red Hen, who lived on a farm all by
herself. An old Fox, crafty and sly, had a den in the rocks, on a hill
near her house. Many and many a night this old Fox used to lie awake
and think to himself how good that little Red Hen would taste if he
could once get her in his big kettle and boil her for dinner. But he
couldn't catch the little Red Hen, because she was too wise for him.
Every time she went out to market she locked the door of the house
behind her, and as soon as she came in again she locked the door behind
her and put the key in her apron pocket, where she kept her scissors and
some sugar candy.
At last the old Fox thought out a way to catch the little Red Hen. Early
in the morning he said to his old mother, "Have the kettle boiling when
I come home to-night, for I'll be bringing the little Red Hen for
supper." Then he took a big bag and slung it over his shoulder, and
walked till he came to the little Red Hen's house. The little Red Hen
was just coming out of her door to pick up a few sticks for firewood. So
the old Fox hid behind the wood-pile, and as soon as she bent down to
get a stick, into the house he slipped, and scurried behind the door.
In a minute the little Red Hen came quickly in, and shut the door and
locked it. "I'm glad I'm safely in," she said. Just as she said it, she
turned round, and there stood the ugly old Fox, with his big bag over
his shoulder. Whiff! how scared the little Red Hen was! She dropped her
apronful of sticks, and flew up to the big beam across the ceiling.
There she perched, and she said to the old Fox, down below, "You may as
well go home, for you can't get me."
"Can't I, though!" said the Fox. And what do you think he did? He stood
on the floor underneath the little Red Hen and twirled round in a circle
after his own tail. And as he spun, and spun, and spun, faster, and
faster, and faster, the poor little Red Hen got so dizzy watching him
that she couldn't hold on to the perch. She dropped off, and the old Fox
picked her up and put her in his bag, slung the bag over his shoulder,
and started for home, where the kettle was boiling.
He had a very long way to go, up hill, and the little Red Hen was still
so dizzy that she didn't know where she was. But when the dizziness
began to go off, she whisked her little scissors out of her apron
pocket, and snip! she cut a little hole in the bag; then she poked her
head out and saw where she was, and as soon as they came to a good spot
she cut the hole bigger and jumped out herself. There was a great big
stone lying there, and the little Red Hen picked it up and put it in the
bag as quick as a wink. Then she ran as fast as she could till she came
to her own little farmhouse, and she went in and locked the door with
the big key.
The old Fox went on carrying the stone and never knew the difference.
My, but it bumped him well! He was pretty tired when he got home. But he
was so pleased to think of the supper he was going to have that he did
not mind that at all. As soon as his mother opened the door he said, "Is
the kettle boiling?"
"Yes," said his mother; "have you got the little Red Hen?"
"I have," said the old Fox. "When I open the bag you hold the cover off
the kettle and I'll shake the bag so that the Hen will fall in, and then
you pop the cover on, before she can jump out."
"All right," said his mean old mother; and she stood close by the
boiling kettle, ready to put the cover on.
The Fox lifted the big, heavy bag up till it was over the open kettle,
and gave it a shake. Splash! thump! splash! In went the stone and out
came the boiling water, all over the old Fox and the old Fox's mother!
And they were scalded to death.
But the little Red Hen lived happily ever after, in her own little
farmhouse.
FOOTNOTES:
[18] Adapted from the verse version, by Horace E. Scudder, which follows
this as an alternative.
THE STORY OF THE LITTLE RID HIN
There was once't upon a time
A little small Rid Hin,
Off in the good ould country
Where yees ha' nivir bin.
Nice and quiet shure she was,
And nivir did any harrum;
She lived alane all be herself,
And worked upon her farrum.
There lived out o'er the hill,
In a great din o' rocks,
A crafty, shly, and wicked
Ould folly iv a Fox.
This rashkill iv a Fox,
He tuk it in his head
He'd have the little Rid Hin:
So, whin he wint to bed,
He laid awake and thaught
What a foine thing 'twad be
To fetch her home and bile her up
For his ould marm and he.
And so he thaught and thaught,
Until he grew so thin
That there was nothin' left of him
But jist his bones and shkin.
But the small Rid Hin was wise,
She always locked her door,
And in her pocket pit the key,
To keep the Fox out shure.
But at last there came a schame
Intil his wicked head,
And he tuk a great big bag
And to his mither said,--
"Now have the pot all bilin'
Agin the time I come;
We'll ate the small Rid Hin to-night,
For shure I'll bring her home."
And so away he wint
Wid the bag upon his back,
An' up the hill and through the woods
Saftly he made his track.
An' thin he came alang,
Craping as shtill's a mouse,
To where the little small Rid Hin
Lived in her shnug ould house.
An' out she comes hersel',
Jist as he got in sight,
To pick up shticks to make her fire:
"Aha!" says Fox, "all right.
"Begorra, now, I'll have yees
Widout much throuble more";
An' in he shlips quite unbeknownst,
An' hides be'ind the door.
An' thin, a minute afther,
In comes the small Rid Hin,
An' shuts the door, and locks it, too,
An' thinks, "I'm safely in."
An' thin she tarns around
An' looks be'ind the door;
There shtands the Fox wid his big tail
Shpread out upon the floor.
Dear me! she was so schared
Wid such a wondrous sight,
She dropped her apronful of shticks,
An' flew up in a fright,
An' lighted on the bame
Across on top the room;
"Aha!" says she, "ye don't have me;
Ye may as well go home."
"Aha!" says Fox, "we'll see;
I'll bring yees down from that."
So out he marched upon the floor
Right under where she sat.
An' thin he whiruled around,
An' round an' round an' round,
Fashter an' fashter an' fashter,
Afther his tail on the ground.
Until the small Rid Hin
She got so dizzy, shure,
Wid lookin' at the Fox's tail,
She jist dropped on the floor.
An' Fox he whipped her up,
An' pit her in his bag,
An' off he started all alone,
Him and his little dag.
All day he tracked the wood
Up hill an' down again;
An' wid him, shmotherin' in the bag,
The little small Rid Hin.
Sorra a know she knowed
Awhere she was that day;
Says she, "I'm biled an' ate up, shure
An' what'll be to pay?"
Thin she betho't hersel',
An' tuk her schissors out,
An' shnipped a big hole in the bag,
So she could look about.
An' 'fore ould Fox could think
She lept right out--she did,
An' thin picked up a great big shtone,
An' popped it in instid.
An' thin she rins off home,
Her outside door she locks;
Thinks she, "You see you don't have me,
You crafty, shly ould Fox."
An' Fox he tugged away
Wid the great big hivy shtone,
Thimpin' his shoulders very bad
As he wint in alone.
An' whin he came in sight
O' his great din o' rocks,
Jist watchin' for him at the door
He shpied ould mither Fox.
"Have ye the pot a-bilin'?"
Says he to ould Fox thin;
"Shure an' it is, me child," says she;
"Have ye the small Rid Hin?"
"Yes, jist here in me bag,
As shure as I shtand here;
Open the lid till I pit her in:
Open it--nivir fear."
So the rashkill cut the shtring,
An' hild the big bag over;
"Now when I shake it in," says he,
"Do ye pit on the cover."
"Yis, that I will"; an' thin
The shtone wint in wid a dash,
An' the pot o' bilin' wather
Came over them ker-splash.
An' schalted 'em both to death,
So they couldn't brathe no more;
An' the little small Rid Hin lived safe,
Jist where she lived before.
THE STORY OF EPAMINONDAS AND HIS AUNTIE[19]
Epaminondas used to go to see his Auntie 'most every day, and she nearly
always gave him something to take home to his Mammy.
One day she gave him a big piece of cake; nice, yellow, rich gold-cake.
Epaminondas took it in his fist and held it all crunched up tight, like
this, and came along home. By the time he got home there wasn't anything
left but a fistful of crumbs. His Mammy said,--
"What you got there, Epaminondas?"
"Cake, Mammy," said Epaminondas.
"Cake!" said his Mammy. "Epaminondas, you ain't got the sense you was
born with! That's no way to carry cake. The way to carry cake is to wrap
it all up nice in some leaves and put it in your hat, and put your hat
on your head, and come along home. You hear me, Epaminondas?"
"Yes, Mammy," said Epaminondas.
Next day Epaminondas went to see his Auntie, and she gave him a pound of
butter for his Mammy; fine, fresh, sweet butter.
Epaminondas wrapped it up in leaves and put it in his hat, and put his
hat on his head, and came along home. It was a very hot day. Pretty soon
the butter began to melt. It melted, and melted, and as it melted it ran
down Epaminondas' forehead; then it ran over his face, and in his ears,
and down his neck. When he got home, all the butter Epaminondas had was
_on him_. His Mammy looked at him, and then she said,--
"Law's sake! Epaminondas, what you got in your hat?"
"Butter, Mammy," said Epaminondas; "Auntie gave it to me."
"Butter!" said his Mammy. "Epaminondas, you ain't got the sense you was
born with! Don't you know that's no way to carry butter? The way to
carry butter is to wrap it up in some leaves and take it down to the
brook, and cool it in the water, and cool it in the water, and cool it
in the water, and then take it on your hands, careful, and bring it
along home."
"Yes, Mammy," said Epaminondas.
By and by, another day, Epaminondas went to see his Auntie again, and;
this time she gave him a little new puppy-dog to take home.