She cried, as happy as any queen,
While the starving sparrow she fed and warmed,
And danced with rapture, she was so charmed.
Children, this story I tell to you,
Of Piccola sweet and her bird, is true.
In the far-off land of France, they say,
Still do they live to this very day.
FOOTNOTES:
[21] From Celia Thaxter's _Stories and Poems for Children_.
THE LITTLE FIR TREE
When I was a very little girl some one, probably my mother, read to me
Hans Christian Andersen's story of the Little Fir Tree. It happened that
I did not read it for myself or hear it again during my childhood. One
Christmas Day, when I was grown up, I found myself at a loss for the
"one more" story called for by some little children with whom I was
spending the holiday. In the mental search for buried treasure which
ensued, I came upon one or two word-impressions of the experiences of
the Little Fir Tree, and forthwith wove them into what I supposed to be
something of a reproduction of the original. The latter part of the
story had wholly faded from my memory, so that I "made up" to suit the
tastes of my audience. Afterward I told the story to a good many
children, at one time or another, and it gradually took the shape it has
here. It was not until several years later that, in rereading Andersen
for other purposes, I came upon the real story of the Little Fir Tree,
and read it for myself. Then indeed I was amused, and somewhat
distressed, to find how far I had wandered from the text.
I give this explanation that the reader may know I do not presume to
offer the little tale which follows as an "adaptation" of Andersen's
famous story. I offer it plainly as a story which children have liked,
and which grew out of my early memories of Andersen's _The Little Fir
Tree_.
Once there was a Little Fir Tree, slim and pointed, and shiny, which
stood in the great forest in the midst of some big fir trees, broad, and
tall, and shadowy green. The Little Fir Tree was very unhappy because he
was not big like the others. When the birds came flying into the woods
and lit on the branches of the big trees and built their nests there, he
used to call up to them,--
"Come down, come down, rest in my branches!" But they always said,--
"Oh, no, no; you are too little!"
When the splendid wind came blowing and singing through the forest, it
bent and rocked and swung the tops of the big trees, and murmured to
them. Then the Little Fir Tree looked up, and called,--
"Oh, please, dear wind, come down and play with me!" But he always
said,--
"Oh, no; you are too little, you are too little!"
In the winter the white snow fell softly, softly, and covered the great
trees all over with wonderful caps and coats of white. The Little Fir
Tree, close down in the cover of the others, would call up,--
"Oh, please, dear snow, give me a cap, too! I want to play, too!" But
the snow always said,--
"Oh no, no, no; you are too little, you are too little!"
The worst of all was when men came into the wood, with sledges and teams
of horses. They came to cut the big trees down and carry them away.
Whenever one had been cut down and carried away the others talked about
it, and nodded their heads, and the Little Fir Tree listened, and heard
them say that when you were carried away so, you might become the mast
of a mighty ship, and go far away over the ocean, and see many wonderful
things; or you might be part of a fine house in a great city, and see
much of life. The Little Fir Tree wanted greatly to see life, but he
was always too little; the men passed him by.
But by and by, one cold winter's morning, men came with a sledge and
horses, and after they had cut here and there they came to the circle of
trees round the Little Fir Tree, and looked all about.
"There are none little enough," they said.
Oh! how the Little Fir Tree pricked up his needles!
"Here is one," said one of the men, "it is just little enough." And he
touched the Little Fir Tree.
The Little Fir Tree was happy as a bird, because he knew they were about
to cut him down. And when he was being carried away on the sledge he lay
wondering, _so_ contentedly, whether he should be the mast of a ship or
part of a fine city house. But when they came to the town he was taken
out and set upright in a tub and placed on the edge of a path in a row
of other fir trees, all small, but none so little as he. And then the
Little Fir Tree began to see life.
People kept coming to look at the trees and to take them away. But
always when they saw the Little Fir Tree they shook their heads and
said,--
"It is too little, too little."
Until, finally, two children came along, hand in hand, looking
carefully at all the small trees. When they saw the Little Fir Tree they
cried out,--
"We'll take this one; it is just little enough!"
They took him out of his tub and carried him away, between them. And the
happy Little Fir Tree spent all his time wondering what it could be that
he was just little enough for; he knew it could hardly be a mast or a
house, since he was going away with children.
He kept wondering, while they took him in through some big doors, and
set him up in another tub, on the table, in a bare little room. Very
soon they went away, and came back again with a big basket, which they
carried between them. Then some pretty ladies, with white caps on their
heads and white aprons over their blue dresses, came bringing little
parcels. The children took things out of the basket and began to play
with the Little Fir Tree, just as he had often begged the wind and the
snow and the birds to do. He felt their soft little touches on his head
and his twigs and his branches. When he looked down at himself, as far
as he could look, he saw that he was all hung with gold and silver
chains! There were strings of white fluffy stuff drooping around him;
his twigs held little gold nuts and pink, rosy balls and silver stars;
he had pretty little pink and white candles in his arms; but last, and
most wonderful of all, the children hung a beautiful white, floating
doll-angel over his head! The Little Fir Tree could not breathe, for joy
and wonder. What was it that he was, now? Why was this glory for him?
After a time every one went away and left him. It grew dusk, and the
Little Fir Tree began to hear strange sounds through the closed doors.
Sometimes he heard a child crying. He was beginning to be lonely. It
grew more and more shadowy.
All at once, the doors opened and the two children came in. Two of the
pretty ladies were with them. They came up to the Little Fir Tree and
quickly lighted all the little pink and white candles. Then the two
pretty ladies took hold of the table with the Little Fir Tree on it and
pushed it, very smoothly and quickly, out of the doors, across a hall,
and in at another door.
The Little Fir Tree had a sudden sight of a long room with many little
white beds in it, of children propped up on pillows in the beds, and of
other children in great wheeled chairs, and others hobbling about or
sitting in little chairs. He wondered why all the little children looked
so white and tired; he did not know that he was in a hospital. But
before he could wonder any more his breath was quite taken away by the
shout those little white children gave.
"Oh! oh! m-m! m-m!" they cried.
"How pretty! How beautiful! Oh, isn't it lovely!"
He knew they must mean him, for all their shining eyes were looking
straight at him. He stood as straight as a mast, and quivered in every
needle, for joy. Presently one little weak child-voice called out,--
"It's the nicest Christmas tree I ever saw!"
And then, at last, the Little Fir Tree knew what he was; he was a
Christmas tree! And from his shiny head to his feet he was glad, through
and through, because he was just little enough to be the nicest kind of
tree in the world!
HOW MOSES WAS SAVED
Thousands of years ago, many years before David lived, there was a very
wise and good man of his people who was a friend and adviser of the king
of Egypt. And for love of this friend, the king of Egypt had let numbers
of the Israelites settle in his land. But after the king and his
Israelitish friend were dead, there was a new king, who hated the
Israelites. When he saw how strong they were, and how many there were of
them, he began to be afraid that some day they might number more than
the Egyptians, and might take his land from him.
Then he and his rulers did a wicked thing. They made the Israelites
slaves. And they gave them terrible tasks to do, without proper rest, or
food, or clothes. For they hoped that the hardship would kill off the
Israelites. They thought the old men would die and the young men be so
ill and weary that they could not bring up families, and so the race
would dwindle away.
But in spite of the work and suffering, the Israelites remained strong,
and more and more boys grew up, to make the king afraid.
Then he did the most wicked thing of all. He ordered his soldiers to
kill every boy baby that should be born in an Israelitish family; he did
not care about the girls, because they could not grow up to fight.
Very soon after this wicked order, a boy baby was born in a certain
Israelitish family. When his mother first looked at him her heart was
nearly broken, for he was even more beautiful than most babies are,--so
strong and fair and sweet. But he was a boy! How could she save him from
death?
Somehow, she contrived to keep him hidden for three whole months. But at
the end of that time, she saw that it would not be possible to keep him
safe any longer. She had been thinking all this time about what she
should do, and now she carried out her plan.
First, she took a basket made of bulrushes and daubed it all over with
pitch, so that it was water-tight, and then she laid the baby in it;
then she carried it to the edge of the river and laid it in the flags by
the river's brink. It did not show at all, unless one were quite near
it. Then she kissed her little son and left him there. But his sister
stood far off, not seeming to watch, but really watching carefully to
see what would happen to the baby.
Soon there was the sound of talk and laughter, and a train of beautiful
women came down to the water's edge. It was the king's daughter, come
down to bathe in the river, with her maidens. The maidens walked along
by the river side.
As the king's daughter came near to the water, she saw the strange
little basket lying in the flags, and she sent her maid to bring it to
her. And when she had opened it, she saw the child; the poor baby was
crying. When she saw him, so helpless and so beautiful, crying for his
mother, the king's daughter pitied him and loved him. She knew the cruel
order of her father, and she said at once, "This is one of the Hebrews'
children."
At that moment the baby's sister came to the princess and said, "Shall I
go and find thee a nurse from the Hebrew women, so that she may nurse
the child for thee?" Not a word did she say about whose child it was,
but perhaps the princess guessed; I don't know. At all events, she told
the little girl to go.
So the maiden went, and brought her mother!
Then the king's daughter said to the baby's mother, "Take this child
away and nurse it for me, and I will give thee wages."
Was not that a strange thing? And can you think how happy the baby's
mother was? For now the baby would be known only as the princess's
adopted child, and would be safe.
And it was so. The mother kept him until he was old enough to be taken
to the princess's palace. Then he was brought and given to the king's
daughter, and he became her son. And she named him Moses.
But the strangest part of the whole story is, that when Moses grew to be
a man he became so strong and wise that it was he who at last saved his
people from the king and rescued them from the Egyptians. The one child
saved by the king's own daughter was the very one the king would most
have wanted to kill, if he had known.
THE TEN FAIRIES[22]
Once upon a time there was a dear little girl, whose name was Elsa.
Elsa's father and mother worked very hard and became rich. But they
loved Elsa so much that they did not like her to do any work; very
foolishly, they let her play all the time. So when Elsa grew up, she did
not know how to do anything; she could not make bread, she could not
sweep a room, she could not sew a seam; she could only laugh and sing.
But she was so sweet and merry that everybody loved her. And by and by,
she married one of the people who loved her, and had a house of her own
to take care of.
Then, then, my dears, came hard times for Elsa! There were so many
things to be done in the house, and she did not know how to do any of
them! And because she had never worked at all it made her very tired
even to try; she was tired before the morning was over, every day. The
maid would come and say, "How shall I do this?" or "How shall I do
that?" and Elsa would have to say, "I don't know." Then the maid would
pretend that she did not know, either; and when she saw her mistress
sitting about doing nothing, she, too, sat about, idle.
Elsa's husband had a hard time of it; he had only poor food to eat, and
it was not ready at the right time, and the house looked all in a
muddle. It made him sad, and that made Elsa sad, for she wanted to do
everything just right.
At last, one day, Elsa's husband went away quite cross; he said to her,
as he went out of the door, "It is no wonder that the house looks so,
when you sit all day with your hands in your lap!"
Little Elsa cried bitterly when he was gone, for she did not want to
make her husband unhappy and cross, and she wanted the house to look
nice. "Oh, dear," she sobbed, "I wish I could do things right! I wish I
could work! I wish--I wish I had ten good fairies to work for me! Then I
could keep the house!"
As she said the words, a great grey man stood before her; he was wrapped
in a strange grey cloak that covered him from head to foot; and he
smiled at Elsa. "What is the matter, dear?" he said. "Why do you cry?"
"Oh, I am crying because I do not know how to keep the house," said
Elsa. "I cannot make bread, I cannot sweep, I cannot sew a seam; when I
was a little girl I never learned to work, and now I cannot do anything
right. I wish I had ten good fairies to help me!"
"You shall have them, dear," said the grey man, and he shook his strange
grey cloak. Pouf! Out hopped ten tiny fairies, no bigger than that!
"These shall be your servants, Elsa," said the grey man; "they are
faithful and clever, and they will do everything you want them to, just
right. But the neighbours might stare and ask questions if they saw
these little chaps running about your house, so I will hide them away
for you. Give me your little useless hands."
Wondering, Elsa stretched out her pretty, little, white hands.
"Now stretch out your little useless fingers, dear!"
Elsa stretched out her pretty pink fingers.
The grey man touched each one of the ten little fingers, and as he
touched them he said their names: "Little Thumb; Forefinger;
Thimble-finger; Ring-finger; Little Finger; Little Thumb; Forefinger;
Thimble-finger; Ring-finger; Little Finger!" And as he named the
fingers, one after another, the tiny fairies bowed their tiny heads;
there was a fairy for every name.
"Hop! hide yourselves away!" said the grey man.
Hop, hop! The fairies sprang to Elsa's knee, then to the palms of her
hands, and then--whisk! they were all hidden away in her little pink
fingers, a fairy in every finger! And the grey man was gone.
Elsa sat and looked with wonder at her little white hands and the ten
useless fingers. But suddenly the little fingers began to stir. The tiny
fairies who were hidden away there were not used to remaining still, and
they were getting restless. They stirred so that Elsa jumped up and ran
to the cooking table, and took hold of the bread board. No sooner had
she touched the bread board than the little fairies began to work: they
measured the flour, mixed the bread, kneaded the loaves, and set them to
rise, quicker than you could wink; and when the bread was done, it was
as nice as you could wish. Then the little fairy-fingers seized the
broom, and in a twinkling they were making the house clean. And so it
went, all day. Elsa flew about from one thing to another, and the ten
fairies did the work, just right.
When the maid saw her mistress working, she began to work, too; and when
she saw how beautifully everything was done, she was ashamed to do
anything badly herself. In a little while the housework was going
smoothly, and Elsa could laugh and sing again.
There was no more crossness in that house. Elsa's husband grew so proud
of her that he went about saying to everybody, "My grandmother was a
fine housekeeper, and my mother was a fine housekeeper, but neither of
them could hold a candle to my wife. She has only one maid, but, to see
the work done, you would think she had as many servants as she has
fingers on her hands!"
When Elsa heard that, she used to laugh, but she never, never told.
FOOTNOTES:
[22] Adapted from the facts given in the German of _Die Zehn Feen_ in
_Märchen und Erzählungen_, Zweiter Teil, by H.A. Guerber.
THE ELVES AND THE SHOEMAKER
Once upon a time there was an honest shoemaker, who was very poor. He
worked as hard as he could, and still he could not earn enough to keep
himself and his wife. At last there came a day when he had nothing left
but one piece of leather, big enough to make one pair of shoes. He cut
out the shoes, ready to stitch, and left them on the bench; then he said
his prayers and went to bed, trusting that he could finish the shoes on
the next day and sell them.
Bright and early the next morning, he rose and went to his work bench.
There lay a pair of shoes, beautifully made, and the leather was gone!
There was no sign of anyone having been there. The shoemaker and his
wife did not know what to make of it. But the first customer who came
was so pleased with the beautiful shoes that he bought them, and paid so
much that the shoemaker was able to buy leather enough for two pairs.
Happily, he cut them out, and then, as it was late, he left the pieces
on the bench, ready to sew in the morning. But when morning came, two
pairs of shoes lay on the bench, most beautifully made, and no sign of
anyone who had been there. The shoemaker and his wife were quite at a
loss.
That day a customer came and bought both pairs, and paid so much for
them that the shoemaker bought leather for four pairs, with the money.
Once more he cut out the shoes and left them on the bench. And in the
morning all four pairs were made.
It went on like this until the shoemaker and his wife were prosperous
people. But they could not be satisfied to have so much done for them
and not know to whom they should be grateful. So one night, after the
shoemaker had left the pieces of leather on the bench, he and his wife
hid themselves behind a curtain, and left a light in the room.
Just as the clock struck twelve the door opened softly, and two tiny
elves came dancing into the room, hopped on to the bench, and began to
put the pieces together. They were quite naked, but they had wee little
scissors and hammers and thread. Tap! tap! went the little hammers;
stitch, stitch, went the thread, and the little elves were hard at work.
No one ever worked so fast as they. In almost no time all the shoes were
stitched and finished. Then the tiny elves took hold of each other's
hands and danced round the shoes on the bench, till the shoemaker and
his wife had hard work not to laugh aloud. But as the clock struck two,
the little creatures whisked away out of the window, and left the room
all as it was before.
The shoemaker and his wife looked at each other, and said, "How can we
thank the little elves who have made us happy and prosperous?"
"I should like to make them some pretty clothes," said the wife, "they
are quite naked."
"I will make the shoes if you will make the coats," said her husband.
That very day they commenced their task. The wife cut out two tiny, tiny
coats of green, two weeny, weeny waistcoats of yellow, two little pairs
of trousers, of white, two bits of caps, bright red (for every one knows
the elves love bright colours), and her husband made two little pairs of
shoes with long, pointed toes. They made the wee clothes as dainty as
could be, with nice little stitches and pretty buttons; and by Christmas
time, they were finished.
On Christmas eve, the shoemaker cleaned his bench, and on it, instead of
leather, he laid the two sets of gay little fairy-clothes. Then he and
his wife hid away as before, to watch.
Promptly at midnight, the little naked elves came in. They hopped upon
the bench; but when they saw the little clothes there, they laughed and
danced for joy. Each one caught up his little coat and things and began
to put them on. Then they looked at each other and made all kinds of
funny motions in their delight. At last they began to dance, and when
the clock struck two, they danced quite away, out of the window.
They never came back any more, but from that day they gave the shoemaker
and his wife good luck, so that they never needed any more help.
WHO KILLED THE OTTER'S BABIES?[23]
Once the Otter came to the Mouse-deer and said, "Friend Mouse-deer, will
you please take care of my babies while I go to the river, to catch
fish?"
"Certainly," said the Mouse-deer, "go along."
But when the Otter came back from the river, with a string of fish, he
found his babies crushed flat.
"What does this mean, Friend Mouse-deer?" he said. "Who killed my
children while you were taking care of them?"
"I am very sorry," said the Mouse-deer, "but you know I am Chief Dancer
of the War-dance, and the Woodpecker came and sounded the war-gong, so I
danced. I forgot your children, and trod on them."
"I shall go to King Solomon," said the Otter, "and you shall be
punished."
Soon the Mouse-deer was called before King Solomon.
"Did you kill the Otter's babies?" said the king.
"Yes, your Majesty," said the Mouse-deer, "but I did not mean to."
"How did it happen?" said the king.
"Your Majesty knows," said the Mouse-deer, "that I am Chief Dancer of
the War-dance. The Woodpecker came and sounded the war-gong, and I had
to dance; and as I danced I trod on the Otter's children."
"Send for the Woodpecker," said King Solomon. When the Woodpecker came,
he said to him, "Was it you who sounded the war-gong?"
"Yes, your Majesty," said the Woodpecker, "but I had to."
"Why?" said the king.
"Your Majesty knows," said the Woodpecker, "that I am Chief Beater of
the War-gong, and I sounded the gong because I saw the Great Lizard
wearing his sword."
"Send for the Great Lizard," said King Solomon. When the Great Lizard
came, he asked him, "Was it you who were wearing your sword?"
"Yes, your Majesty," said the Great Lizard; "but I had to."
"Why?" said the king.
"Your Majesty knows," said the Great Lizard, "that I am Chief Protector
of the Sword. I wore my sword because the Tortoise came wearing his coat
of mail."
So the Tortoise was sent for.
"Why did you wear your coat of mail?" said the king.
"I put it on, your Majesty," said the Tortoise, "because I saw the
King-crab trailing his three-edged pike."
Then the King-crab was sent for.
"Why were you trailing your three-edged pike?" said King Solomon.
"Because, your Majesty," said the King-crab, "I saw that the Crayfish
had shouldered his lance."
Immediately the Crayfish was sent for.
"Why did you shoulder your lance?" said the king.
"Because, your Majesty," said the Crayfish, "I saw the Otter coming down
to the river to kill my children."
"Oh," said King Solomon, "if that is the case, the Otter killed the
Otter's children. And the Mouse-deer cannot be blamed, by the law of the
land!"
FOOTNOTES:
[23] Adapted from the story as told in _Fables and Folk Tales from an
Eastern Forest_, by Walter Skeat.
EARLY[24]
I like to lie and wait to see
My mother braid her hair.
It is as long as it can be,
And yet she doesn't care.
I love my mother's hair.
And then the way her fingers go;
They look so quick and white,--
In and out, and to and fro,
And braiding in the light,
And it is always right.
So then she winds it, shiny brown,
Around her head into a crown,
Just like the day before.
And then she looks and pats it down,
And looks a minute more;
While I stay here all still and cool.
Oh, isn't morning beautiful?
FOOTNOTES:
[24] From _The Singing Leaves_, by Josephine Preston Peabody.
THE BRAHMIN, THE TIGER, AND THE JACKAL
Do you know what a Brahmin is? A Brahmin is a very good and gentle kind
of man who lives in India, and who treats all the beasts as if they were
his brothers. There is a great deal more to know about Brahmins, but
that is enough for the story.