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THE
BOOK OF STORIES
FOR THE STORY-TELLER
by
FANNY E. COE
GEORGE G. HARRAP & CO. LTD.
LONDON CALCUTTA SYDNEY
_First published March 1914_
_by_ GEORGE G. HARRAP & COMPANY
_39-41 Parker Street, Kingsway, London, W. C._
* * * * *
_Preface_
There is no need here to enter a plea for story-telling. Its value in
the home and in the school is assured. Miss Bryant, in her charming
book, _How to Tell Stories to Children_, says, "Perhaps never, since
the really old days, has story-telling so nearly reached a recognized
level of dignity as a legitimate and general art of entertainment as
now." And, in the guise of entertainment, the story is often the
vehicle conveying to the child the wholesome moral lesson or the bit
of desirable knowledge so necessary to his well-being at the time.
Thus it has come to be recognized that the ability to tell a story
well is an important part of the equipment of the parent or the
teacher of little children.
The parent is often at a loss for fresh material. Sometimes he "makes
up" a story, with but poor satisfaction to himself or his child. The
teacher's difficulty is quite otherwise. She knows of many good
stories, but these same stories are scattered through many books, and
the practical difficulty of finding time in her already overcrowded
days for frequent trips to the library is well-nigh insurmountable.
The quest is indefinitely postponed, with the result that the stories
are either crowded out altogether, or that the teacher repeats the few
tales she has at hand month after month, and year after year, until
all freshness and inspiration are gone from the story time.
The stories in the present collection are drawn from many nations and
from widely differing sources. Folk tales, modern fairy tales, and
myths have a generous showing; and there is added a new field as a
source for stories. This is Real Life, in which children soon begin to
take decided interest. Under this heading appear tales of child life,
of child heroes, of adult heroes, and of animals.
Mr Herbert L. Willett, of the University of Chicago, has said: "It is
not through formal instruction that a child receives his impulses
toward virtue, honour and courtesy. It is rather from such appeal to
the emotions as can be made most effectually through the telling of a
story. The inculcation of a duty leaves him passionless and unmoved.
The narrative of an experience in which that same virtue finds
concrete embodiment fires him with the desire to try the same conduct
for himself. Few children fail to make the immediate connection
between the hero or heroine of the story and themselves."
Because of this great principle of imitation, a large number of the
stories in this little volume have been chosen for their moral value.
They present the virtues of persistence, faithfulness, truthfulness,
honesty, generosity, loyalty to one's word, tender care of animals,
and love of friends and family. Some themes are emphasized more than
once. "Hans the Shepherd Boy," "The Story of Li'l' Hannibal," and
"Dust under the Rug," teach wholesome facts in regard to work. "The
Feast of Lanterns" and "The Pot of Gold" emphasize the truth that
East or west,
Hame's best.
Filial devotion shines from the stories of "Anders' New Cap," "How the
Sun, the Moon, and the Wind went out to Dinner," and "The Wolf-Mother
of Saint-Ailbe."
The form of each story is such that the parent or teacher can tell or
read the story, as it appears in the book, with only such slight
modification as his intimate knowledge of the individual child or
class would naturally prompt him to make.
The compiler wishes especially to express her appreciation for many
helpful suggestions as to material received from Mrs Mary W. Cronan,
teller of stories at various branches of the Boston Public Library.
* * * * *
_Contents_
FOLK TALES
PAGE
THE FOX AND THE WOLF 11
THE FOX AND THE CAT _R. Nesbit Bain_ 16
THE HOBYAHS _Carolyn Sherwin Bailey_ 19
HOW THE SUN, THE MOON, AND THE WIND
WENT OUT TO DINNER _Fanny E. Coe_ 23
A LEGEND OF THE NORTH WIND _Mary Catherine Judd_ 26
HOW THE ROBIN'S BREAST BECAME RED _Flora J. Cooke_ 30
HOW THE ROBIN CAME 32
THE STORY OF THE RED-HEADED WOODPECKER 35
THE LITTLE RABBITS _Joel Chandler Harris_ 38
"HEYO, HOUSE" _Joel Chandler Harris_ 44
TEENCHY DUCK
_From the French of Frederic Ortoli_
_Translated by Joel Chandler Harris_ 49
ST CHRISTOPHER 63
WONDERING JACK _James Baldwin_ 68
THE FEAST OF LANTERNS
_From W. T. Stead's "Books for the Bairns"_ 81
MODERN FAIRY TALES
PRINCE HARWEDA AND THE MAGIC PRISON _Elizabeth Harrison_ 93
THE HOP-ABOUT MAN _Agnes Grozier Herbertson_ 107
THE STREET MUSICIANS _Lida McMurry_ 118
THE STRAW OX _R. Nesbit Bain_ 124
THE NECKLACE OF TRUTH _Jean Mace_ 131
ANDERS' NEW CAP _Anna Wohlenberg_ 136
DUST UNDER THE RUG _Maud Lindsay_ 142
A NIGHT WITH SANTA CLAUS _Annie R. Annan_ 149
THE STORY OF LI'L' HANNIBAL _Carolyn Sherwin Bailey_ 157
HOW WRY-FACE PLAYED A TRICK ON
ONE-EYE, THE POTATO-WIFE _Agnes Grozier Herbertson_ 164
THE POT OF GOLD _Horace E. Scudder_ 176
THE FROG-TSAREVNA _R. Nesbit Bain_ 188
OEYVIND AND MARIT _Bjoerne Bjoerneson_ 197
THE EMPEROR'S NEW CLOTHES 207
MYTHS
RHOECUS _Fanny E. Coe_ 214
KING SOLOMON AND THE ANTS _Flora J. Cooke_ 217
THE STORY OF PEGASUS _Fanny E. Coe_ 219
THE WOLF-MOTHER OF SAINT AILBE _Abbie Farwell Brown_ 223
WHO WAS THE MIGHTIER? _Fanny E. Coe_ 231
STORIES FROM REAL LIFE
HANS THE SHEPHERD BOY _Ella Lyman Cabot_ 234
NATHAN AND THE BEAR _M. A. L. Lane_ 236
THE MAN ON THE CHIMNEY _Fanny E. Coe_ 241
POCAHONTAS _E. A. and M. F. Blaisdell_ 244
THE DAY KIT AND KAT WENT FISHING _Lucy Fitch Perkins_ 247
THE HONEST FARMER _Ella Lyman Cabot_ 257
DAMON AND PYTHIAS _Ella Lyman Cabot_ 259
LINCOLN'S UNVARYING KINDNESS _Fanny E. Coe_ 261
HOW MOLLY SPENT HER SIXPENCE _Eliza Orne White_ 265
HANS AND HIS DOG _Maud Lindsay_ 275
* * * * *
_The Fox and the Wolf_
_A Russian Fable_
Once upon a time there was a fox so shrewd that, although he was
neither so fleet of foot, nor so strong of limb, as many of his
kindred, he nevertheless managed to feed as comfortably as any of
them.
One winter's day, feeling rather hungry, he trotted out of his lair to
take a look round. The neighbouring farmers guarded their hen-roosts
so carefully from his depredations that a nice fat hen was out of the
question, and the weather was too cold to tempt the rabbits out of
their snug warren. Therefore Mr Fox set his wits to work and kept his
eyes open for what might come along.
After a while, as he slunk along the bottom of a dry ditch, he
descried in the distance an old man driving a cart. This was Truvor,
the fisherman, who, since two or three days of December sunshine had
melted the ice, had had a good catch of fish in the lake by the
mountain-side.
"Aha!" said the fox to himself, "I should relish a dinner of fine,
fresh trout. Truvor is far too selfish to share them with me, so I
will have them all."
To achieve the purpose in view, he laid himself flat in the road over
which the fisherman must pass and pretended to be dead. The fisherman
beheld him with surprise when he drew near, and jumping from his seat
poked his sleek sides with his whip. The fox did not move a muscle,
and Truvor decided that he had been frozen to death by the cold of the
preceding night.
"I will take him home to my wife," he remarked, as he flung the limp
body into his cart. "His coat will make a very nice rug for our
parlour, and she can use his brush to dust with."
The fox had much ado to refrain from laughing when he heard this and
found himself amongst the fish. They smelt delicious, but he did not
think it wise to eat them then, so he silently dropped them one by one
into the road, and when the cart was empty, sprang out himself.
Knowing nothing of what had been going on, the old man drove on until
he reached his cottage.
"Come and see what I have brought you!" he called to his wife. You can
imagine the good woman's disgust when she found the cart quite empty.
Not only was she without the rug, but they would have no dinner.
Meanwhile, the fox was thoroughly enjoying himself. The fish that he
could not eat he hid away under a heap of grasses that he might make
use of them some other time. While engaged in this occupation a wolf
came up.
"Won't you give me a taste, little brother?" he asked. "I have had no
food for the last two days, and know not where to seek it."
"You have nothing to do but to go to the lake and dip your tail over
the edge of the bank, or through a hole in the ice if the water has
frozen over again, as I expect it has done from the nip in the air. If
you say these words: 'Come, little fish and big fish. Come!' the
finest fish will take hold of the bait, and when you feel them hanging
on you will have only to whisk your tail out of the water."
The wolf was a dull and stupid fellow and, never doubting the fox,
hied him off to the lake. Sure enough the water had once more frozen
over, but, finding a hole, he thrust in his tail and rammed it
through, and sat down to wait till the fish should come. The fox was
delighted to find him still sitting there as he passed by, and looking
at the sky above him murmured: "Sky, sky, keep clear! Water, water,
freeze, freeze!"
"What are you saying?" inquired the wolf, without turning his head.
"Nothing at all," replied the fox. "I was only trying to help you."
Then he went his way, and the wolf sat on all through the night.
When morning came he was cramped with cold, and tried to draw out his
tail. Finding this impossible, since the water had frozen fast around
it, he congratulated himself on having caught so many fish that their
weight prevented him from lifting his tail. He was still pondering how
to transfer them to the surface when some women came to fill their
water jars.
"A wolf! a wolf!" they exclaimed excitedly. "Oh, come and kill it!"
Their cries soon brought their husbands to their sides, and all united
in belabouring the wolf. With a great effort, however, he managed to
free his tail, and ran off howling into the woods.
The fox, meantime, had profited by the absence of the householders to
make a good meal, visiting the various larders, and feasting at will
on the daintiest morsels he could find. Having eaten rather more than
was good for him, he felt disinclined for much exercise, and
determined to go in search of the wolf that he might induce him to
carry him home.
His sense of hearing being unusually keen, even for a fox, he was soon
guided to the wolf's retreat by his mournful howls.
"Look at my tail," cried the wretched animal, as the fox poked his
nose through the bushes. "See what trouble you brought upon me with
your advice! I am in such pain that I can scarcely keep still."
"Look at my head," returned the fox, who had carefully dipped it into
a flour bin after greasing it with butter that it might have the
appearance of having been skinned. The wolf was kind-hearted, though
stupid, and his sympathy was at once aroused.
"Jump on my back, little brother," he said, "and I will carry you
home."
This was exactly what the fox had been scheming for, and the words
were hardly out ere he had taken a comfortable seat. As he rode home
in this way he hummed to himself a sly little song to the effect that
he who was hurt carried him who had no hurt. Arrived at the end of his
journey, he scampered off without a word of thanks, and, as he made a
hearty supper on the remaining fish, he chuckled at the remembrance of
the trick he had played the stupid wolf.
The Fox and the Cat[1]
R. NESBIT BAIN
In a certain forest there once lived a fox, and near to the fox lived
a man who had a cat that had been a good mouser in its youth, but was
now old and half blind.
[Footnote 1: From _Cossack Fairy Tales_ (London: George G. Harrap and
Company).]
The man didn't want Puss any longer, but not liking to kill it he took
it out into the forest and lost it there. Then the fox came up and
said: "Why, Mr Shaggy Matthew, how d'ye do? What brings you here?"
"Alas!" said Pussy, "my master loved me as long as I could bite, but
now that I can bite no longer and have left off catching mice--and I
used to catch them finely once--he doesn't like to kill me, but he has
left me in the wood, where I must perish miserably."
"No, dear Pussy!" said the fox; "you leave it to me, and I'll help you
to get your daily bread."
"You are very good, dear little sister foxey!" said the cat, and the
fox built him a little shed with a garden round it to walk in.
Now one day the hare came to steal the man's cabbage.
"_Kreem-kreem-kreem!_" he squeaked. But the cat popped his head out of
the window, and when he saw the hare he put up his back and stuck up
his tail and said: "_Ft-t-t-t-t-Frrrrrrr!_"
The hare was frightened and ran away, and told the bear, the wolf and
the wild boar all about it.
"Never mind," said the bear. "I tell you what, we'll all four give a
banquet, and invite the fox and the cat, and do for the pair of them.
Now, look here! I'll steal the man's mead; and you, Mr Wolf, steal his
fat-pot; and you, Mr Wildboar, root up his fruit-trees; and you, Mr
Bunny, go and invite the fox and the cat to dinner."
So they made everything ready as the bear had said, and the hare ran
off to invite the guests. He came beneath the window and said: "We
invite your little ladyship Foxey-Woxey, together with Mr Shaggy
Matthew, to dinner," and back he ran again.
"But you should have told them to bring their spoons with them," said
the bear.
"Oh, what a head I've got!--if I didn't quite forget!" cried the hare,
and back he went again, ran beneath the window and cried: "Mind you
bring your spoons!"
"Very well," said the fox.
So the cat and the fox went to the banquet, and when the cat saw the
bacon he put up his back and stuck out his tail, and cried: "_Mee-oo,
mee-oo!_" with all his might. But they thought he said: "_Ma-lo,
ma-lo!_"[2]
[Footnote 2: "What a little! What a little!"]
"What!" said the bear, who was hiding behind the beeches with the
other beasts, "here have we four been getting together all we could,
and this pig-faced cat calls it too little! What a monstrous cat he
must be to have such an appetite!"
So they were all four very frightened, and the bear ran up a tree, and
the others hid where they could.
But when the cat saw the boar's bristles sticking out from behind the
bushes he thought it was a mouse, and put up his back again and cried:
"_Ft! ft! ft! Frrrrrrr!_" Then they were more frightened than ever.
And the boar went into a bush still farther off, and the wolf went
behind an oak, and the bear got down from the tree, and climbed up
into a bigger one, and the hare ran right away.
But the cat remained in the midst of all the good things and ate away
at the bacon, and the little fox gobbled up the honey, and they ate
and ate till they couldn't eat any more, and then they both went home
licking their paws.
_The Hobyahs_
CAROLYN SHERWIN BAILEY
Once upon a time there lived a little old man and a little old woman
in a house all made of hemp stalks. And they had a little dog named
Turpie who always barked when anyone came near the house.
One night when the little old man and the little old woman were fast
asleep, _creep_, _creep_, through the woods came the Hobyahs, skipping
along on the tips of their toes.
"Tear down the hemp stalks. Eat up the little old man, and carry away
the little old woman," cried the Hobyahs.
Then little dog Turpie ran out, barking loudly, and he frightened the
Hobyahs so that they ran away home again.
But the little old man woke from his dreams, and he said:
"Little dog Turpie barks so loudly that I can neither slumber nor
sleep. In the morning I will take off his tail."
So when morning came, the little old man took off little Turpie's tail
to cure him of barking.
The second night along came the Hobyahs, _creep_, _creep_, through the
woods, skipping along on the tips of their toes, and they cried:
"Tear down the hemp stalks. Eat up the little old man, and carry away
the little old woman."
Then the little dog Turpie ran out again, barking so loudly that he
frightened the Hobyahs, and they ran away home again.
But the little old man tossed in his sleep, and he said:
"Little dog Turpie barks so loudly that I can neither slumber nor
sleep. In the morning I will take off his legs."
So when morning came, the little old man took off Turpie's legs to
cure him of barking.
The third night the Hobyahs came again, skipping along on the tips of
their toes, and they called out:
"Tear down the hemp stalks. Eat up the little old man, and carry away
the little old woman."
The little dog Turpie barked very loudly, and he frightened the
Hobyahs so that they ran away home again.
But the little old man heard Turpie, and he sat up in bed, and he
said:
"Little dog Turpie barks so loudly that I can neither slumber nor
sleep. In the morning I will take off his head."
So when morning came, the little old man took off Turpie's head, and
then Turpie could not bark any more.
That night the Hobyahs came again, skipping along on the tips of their
toes, and they called out:
"Tear down the hemp stalks. Eat up the little old man, and carry off
the little old woman."
Now, since little dog Turpie could not bark any more, there was no one
to frighten the Hobyahs away. They tore down the hemp stalks, they
took the little old woman away in their bag, but the little old man
they could not get, for he hid himself away under the bed.
Then the Hobyahs hung the bag which held the little old woman up in
their house, and they poked it with their fingers, and they cried:
"Look you! Look you!"
But when daylight came, they went to sleep, for Hobyahs, you know,
sleep all day.
The little old man was very sorry when he found that the little old
woman was gone. He knew then what a good little dog Turpie had been to
guard the house at night, so he fetched Turpie's tail, and his legs,
and his head, and gave them back to him again.
Then Turpie went sniffing and snuffing along to find the little old
woman, and soon came to the Hobyahs' house. He heard the little old
woman crying in the bag, and he saw that the Hobyahs were all fast
asleep. So he went inside.
Then he cut open the bag with his sharp teeth, and the little old
woman hopped out and ran home; but Turpie got inside the bag to hide.
When night came, the Hobyahs woke up, and they went to the bag, and
they poked it with their fingers, crying:
"Look you! Look you!"
But out of the bag jumped little dog Turpie, and he ate every one of
the Hobyahs. And that is why there are not any Hobyahs now.
_How the Sun, the Moon, and the Wind went out to Dinner_[3]
FANNY E. COE
Once upon a time the Sun, the Moon, and the Wind went to dine with
their uncle and aunt, the Thunder and the Lightning. They said
good-bye to their mother, the Evening Star, crossed the great dark
arching sky, and came to the deep cave where live Thunder and
Lightning.
[Footnote 3: A folk-story of India.]
Here a wonderful feast was spread, and all sat down to enjoy it.
Now the Sun and the Wind were very greedy. They bent their heads low
over their plates and they ate and ate of every dish that was passed
to them. They thought of nothing but themselves and the good food
before them.
But the Moon remembered her mother at home. Of every delicious dish
she saved a portion for the Star.
At last the evening was over and they returned to their home.
"Well, my children, what have you brought to me?" asked their mother,
the Star.
"I have brought you nothing," said the Sun. "I was having a jolly
evening with my friends, and, of course, I couldn't fetch a dinner to
you!"
"Neither have I brought you anything, mother!" said the Wind. "How it
would have looked to be taking double portions of every dish!"
Then the Moon stepped forward. "Bring a plate, mother, for see!" She
opened her hands and showered down rich fruit and delicious cakes
which she had saved for her mother.
Then the Star turned to the Sun and said: "Because you forgot your
mother at home, in the midst of your selfish pleasures, this is your
doom. You shall burn, and burn, and burn with great heat, and men
shall hate you. They shall cover their heads when you appear and seek
the spots where your heat cannot beat upon them."
And that is why the Sun is so hot even to-day.
Then the Star turned to the Wind and said: "Because you also forgot
your mother at home, in the midst of your selfish pleasures, this is
your doom. You shall blow, blow, blow the hot sand and dust before you
until men shall hate you. They shall flee from your face to the cool
hills and even to faraway lands where the trees and grass are not
parched and shrivelled by your fiery breath."
And that is why the Wind in the hot weather is so disagreeable.
Then the Star turned to the Moon and said: "Because you thought of
your mother, in the midst of your happiness, receive my blessing.
Henceforth your light shall be so soft, so cool, and so silvery, that
all men shall delight in you and your beams. They shall seek to have
you smile with favour upon all their loves and all their plans. They
shall call you blessed."
And that is why the light of the Moon is so cool, and so bright, and
so beautiful to this very day.
_A Legend of the North Wind_
MARY CATHERINE JUDD
North wind likes a bit of fun as dearly as a boy does, and it is with
boys he likes best to play.
One day, North Wind saw a brave little fellow eating his lunch under a
tree. Just as he went to bite his bread, North Wind blew it out of his
hand and swept away everything else that he had brought for his lunch.
"You hateful North Wind!" cried the little fellow. "Give me back my
supper, I'm so hungry."
Now North Wind, like all brave beings, is noble, and so he tried to
make up for the mischief he had done.
"Here, take this tablecloth," said North Wind, "and in whatever house
you stay, spread it on the table; then wish, and you shall have
everything you wish for to eat."
"Thank you!" said the boy, and he took the tablecloth and ran as fast
as he could to the first house, which proved to be an inn.
"I have enough to pay for lodging, so I'll stay all night," he said to
himself.
"Bring me a table," he ordered the innkeeper, as he went to his room.
"Ha! ha!" laughed the innkeeper. "You mean bring me a supper."
"No, I don't. I want only a table and that right quick. I'm hungry."
The innkeeper brought the table, but after the door was shut he
watched through the keyhole to see what would happen.
"Beans, bread and bacon," ordered the boy, as he spread out his
tablecloth. On came beans, bread and bacon through the open window,
whirled in by North Wind. Smoking hot they all were, too, for the
dishes were tightly covered. After supper was over, the boy fell sound
asleep.
North Wind did not waken him as the innkeeper took the table and the
tablecloth and carried them downstairs. Next morning the boy was
hungry again, but there was no tablecloth and so no breakfast.
"You are a cheat, North Wind; you have taken back your tablecloth."
"No," said North Wind, "that is not the sort of thing I do." But the
boy did not get his tablecloth.
After a time North Wind met him again out under the trees.
"This time I will give you a sheep," he said. "Each time that you rub
his wool, out will drop a gold-piece. Take care of him."
The boy ran back and found the sheep at the door of the stable, behind
the inn. He caught the sheep by a strap which was round its neck, and
led it slowly up the stairs of the inn, to the room from which the
tablecloth had disappeared the night before.
As the boy was hungry for his breakfast, he obeyed North Wind's
command and patted the sheep upon its back. A gold-piece fell out of
its fleece upon the floor.
"Good old North Wind!" said the boy. "Here's my breakfast and some hay
for my sheep. Come breakfast, come hay," and through the open window
came first a bundle of hay, and then a fine breakfast for the hungry
boy. After breakfast, the boy paid for a week's lodging with the
gold-piece.
He slept soundly that night with his sheep for a pillow, and the next
night also, but the third morning, when the boy awoke, his head lay
upon the floor and the sheep was gone.
Perhaps too many gold-pieces had been seen in the boy's hand, for he
had patted his sheep very often.
He blamed North Wind again. "You have taken back your sheep. I don't
like you. You are as cold-hearted as you can be."
But North Wind said nothing. He put a queer stick into a bag and gave
it to the boy and told him to go back and lock his door as tightly as
before.
"Talk to the bag," he said, "and guard it as carefully as if there
were a jewel in it."
That night the boy was wakened out of his soundest sleep by screams
for help in his room. There was the innkeeper running about, and that
queer stick was pounding him, first on the head, then on the feet,
then on his back, then in his face.
"Help! help!" he cried.
"Give me back my sheep," said the boy.
"Get it, it is hidden in the barn," said the innkeeper.
The boy went out and found his sheep in the barn and drove it away as
fast as he could, but he forgot about the innkeeper, and maybe that
stick is pounding him to this day.
_How the Robin's Breast became Red_
FLORA J. COOKE
Long ago in the far North, where it is very cold, there was only one
fire. A hunter and his little son took care of this fire and kept it
burning day and night. They knew that if the fire went out the people
would freeze and the white bear would have the Northland all to
himself. One day the hunter became ill, and his son had all the work
to do.
For many days and nights he bravely took care of his father and kept
the fire burning.
The white bear was always hiding near, watching the fire. He longed to
put it out, but he did not dare, for he feared the hunter's arrows.
When he saw how tired and sleepy the little boy was, he came closer to
the fire and laughed to himself.
One night the poor boy could endure the fatigue no longer and fell
fast asleep.
The white bear ran as fast as he could and jumped upon the fire with
his wet feet, and rolled upon it. At last he thought it was all out
and went happily away to his cave.
A brown robin was flying near and saw what the white bear was doing.
She waited until the bear went away. Then she flew down and searched
with her sharp little eyes until she found a tiny live coal. This she
fanned patiently with her wings for a long time.
Her little breast was scorched red, but she did not stop until a fine
red flame blazed up from the ashes.
Then she flew away to every hut in the Northland. Wherever she touched
the ground, a fire began to burn. Soon, instead of one little fire,
the whole North country was lighted up.
The white bear went farther back into his cave in the iceberg and
growled terribly. He knew that there was now no hope that he would
ever have the Northland all to himself.
This is the reason that the people in the North countries love the
robin, and are never tired of telling their children how its breast
became red.
_How the Robin Came_[4]
Long ago, as you know, the Indians roved over the plains and through
the forests of America. Their leaders were called chiefs. This story
tells about an Indian chief and his son.
[Footnote 4: This story is based upon a legend of the Algonquin
Indians. John Greenleaf Whittier has a poem with a similar title,
written upon the same theme.]
The Indian chief was very strong and very brave. He could bear cold,
hunger and pain without a word. He was a wonderful hunter and a fierce
enemy. Nothing ever made him afraid.
He had one son, whom he loved with all his heart. He hoped that this
son would grow up to be a warrior, greater than his father.
But the lad was slender and white-faced. He did not seem strong; long
marches wearied him. When the Indian boys are about eighteen years of
age, they like to show that they will make brave warriors. To do this
they take certain tests. These are some of them. They go without food
and water, five, seven, or even ten days. Again they go without sleep
for ten days. They let their friends cut them with knives and never
even cry out.
The time came when the son of the chief must take the test. He went
away to the wigwam, or lodge, where the testing took place. His father
hoped that he would act like a brave young man.
When some days had passed, the father went to see his son. Pale and
weak, he lay on the ground. He had not eaten nor slept.
"Father," he whispered, "I cannot bear this. Let me go free."
"Ah no, my boy," said the chief. "They will call you woman, if you
fail. It is but two days more. Then you shall have good meat and deep
sleep. Think of the time when you will be a great chief, with a
hundred scalps at your belt. Be strong."
But the lad only shook his head.
Two days later, the father rose with the sun. He heaped moose-meat and
corn into a wooden bowl and set off to his son.
As he drew near the wigwam he called, "Here is food, my son."
There was no reply.
He entered, and there, on the ground before him, lay his boy, dead.
They dug his grave close by the lodge, and brought his bow, pipe, and
knife to bury with him.
As they were placing the youth in his grave, they heard a strange, new
song. They looked up and saw, on the top of the lodge, an unknown
bird. It had a brown coat and a red breast. As they watched, it began
to sing. Its song seemed to say:
"I was once the chief's son. But now I am a bird. I am happier than if
I had lived to be a fierce warrior, with scalps at my belt. Now I
shall make all glad with my song. I shall tell the little children
when spring has come. Then they will search for pussy-willows and
anemones. I am the robin, a little brother to man! Who so happy as I?"
Even the father's grief was comforted by the bright little messenger.
"It is best after all," he said. "My son could not kill men nor
beasts; he is happier as a singer, even as this little bird."
_The Story of the Red-Headed Woodpecker_[5]
Long, long ago, there lived an old woman in a little cottage by the
forest. She was not a poor old woman. She had plenty of wood to burn
in winter, and plenty of meal to bake into bread all the year round.
Her clothes were old-fashioned but warm. She always wore a grey dress
and a little red cap.
[Footnote 5: This story is told in verse in Phoebe Cary's _A Legend
of the Northland_].
Late one summer afternoon, the cottage door was open. The old woman
stood by her fire, baking cakes for her evening meal. How good they
smelled!
A tall old man who was passing by the cottage stopped a moment. Then
he pushed open the garden gate and walked up the path to the door.
The old woman was bending low over the cakes, but she saw his shadow
and looked up.
"Will you give me one of your cakes?" said the man.
The woman thought to herself, "Why did I leave the door open? The
smell of these hot cakes will bring every beggar within miles to my
house." Then she looked a second time at the man and saw that he was
no beggar. He stood like a king in the doorway. His blue eyes were
kind but very keen.
She looked at the six cakes that lay crisp and hot on the hearth.
"Well, I will give him one," she thought, "but these are all too
large."
She took a small handful of meal from the barrel and began to bake it
into a cake. The man watched her from the door. As she turned the
cake, it seemed to her too large to give away.
"I will bake a smaller one," she said to herself. She did not glance
toward the stranger, but caught up a wee bit of meal and began to cook
the second cake.
But that also looked too large to give away. She cooked a third cake
that was no larger than a thimble. But when it was done, she shook her
head, for it also was too large to give away. And still the old man
waited patiently in the doorway, watching it all.
Then the old woman gathered up the cakes, large and small, and put
them on a plate. The plate she set on the pantry shelf and then locked
the door.
"I have no food for you," she said to the old man. "My cakes seem very
small when I eat them, but they are far too large to give away. Ask
bread at another door."
The old man's blue eyes flashed with fire as he drew himself up
proudly.
"I have been round the world but never have I met a soul so small. You
have shelter, food, and fire, but you will not share with another.
This is your punishment. You shall seek your scanty food with pain.
You shall bore, bore, bore in hard tree-trunks for your food."
The old man struck his staff on the floor. A strong gust of wind
carried the old woman up the chimney. The flames scorched her grey
clothes black; but her red cap was unharmed.
A woodpecker flew out of the chimney and away to the wood. Rap! rap!
rap! you can hear her tapping her beak on the tree-trunks as she hunts
for food. But always and everywhere, she wears a black coat and a
little red cap. Watch for the woodpecker and see if it is not so.
_The Little Rabbits_[6]
JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS
"Honey," said Uncle Remus to the little boy, "why don' you git some
flesh on yo' bones? If I wuz ole Brer Wolf en you wuz a young rabbit,
I wouldn't git hongry 'nuff fer ter eat you, caze you's too bony."
[Footnote 6: From _Uncle Remus and his Friends_.]
"Did Brother Wolf want to eat the young rabbit, Uncle Remus?" inquired
the little boy.
"Ain't I done tole you 'bout dat, honey? Des run over in yo' min' en
see ef I ain't."
The youngster shook his head.
"Well," said Uncle Remus, "ole Brer Wolf want ter eat de little Rabs
all de time, but dey wuz one time in 'tickeler dat dey make his mouf
water, en dat wuz de time when him en Brer Fox wuz visitin' at Brer
Rabbit's house. De times wuz hard, but de little Rabs wuz slick and
fat, en des ez frisky ez kittens. Ole Brer Rabbit wuz off som'ers, en
Brer Wolf en Brer Fox wuz waitin' fer 'im. De little Rabs wuz playin'
'roun', en dough dey wuz little dey kep' der years open. Brer Wolf
look at um out'n de cornder uv his eyes, en lick his chops en wink at
Brer Fox, en Brer Fox wunk back at 'im. Brer Wolf cross his legs, en
den Brer Fox cross his'n. De little Rabs, dey frisk en dey frolic.
"Brer Wolf ho'd his head to'rds um en 'low, 'Dey er mighty fat.'
"Brer Fox grin, en say, 'Man, hush yo' mouf!'
"De little Rabs frisk en dey frolic, en play furder off, but dey keep
der years primed.
"Brer Wolf look at um en 'low, 'Ain't dey slick en purty?'
"Brer Fox chuckle, en say, 'Oh, I wish you'd hush!'
"De little Rabs play off furder en furder, but dey keep der years
open.
"Brer Wolf smack his mouf, en 'low, 'Dey er joosy en tender.'
"Brer Fox roll his eye en say, 'Man, ain't you gwine ter hush up, 'fo'
you gi' me de fidgets?'
"Der little Rabs dey frisk en dey frolic, but dey hear ev'ything dat
pass.
"Brer Wolf lick out his tongue quick, en 'low, 'Less us whirl in en
eat um.'
"Brer Fox say, 'Man, you make me hongry! Please hush up!'
"De little Rabs play off furder en furder, but dey know 'zackly what
gwine on. Dey frisk en dey frolic, but dey got der years wide open.
"Den Brer Wolf make a bargain wid Brer Fox dat when Brer Rabbit git
home, one un um ud git 'im wropped up in a 'spute 'bout fust one thing
en den anudder, whiles tudder one ud go out en ketch de little Rabs.
"Brer Fox 'low, 'You better do de talkin', Brer Wolf, en lemme coax de
little Rabs off. I got mo' winning ways wid chilluns dan what you is.'
"Brer Wolf say, 'You can't make gourd out'n punkin, Brer Fox. I ain't
no talker. Yo' tongue lots slicker dan mine. I kin bite lots better'n
I kin talk. Dem little Rabs don't want no coaxin'; dey wants
ketchin'--dat what dey wants. You keep ole Brer Rabbit busy, en I'll
ten' der de little Rabs.'
"Bofe un um know'd dat whichever cotch de little Rabs, de tudder one
ain't gwine smell hide ner hair un um, en dey flew up en got ter
'sputin', en whiles dey wuz 'sputin', en gwine on dat way, de little
Rabs put off down de road--_blickety-blickety_,--fer ter meet der
daddy. Kase dey know'd ef dey stayed dar dey'd git in big trouble.
"Dey went off down de road, de little Rabs did, en dey ain't gone so
mighty fur 'fo' dey meet der daddy comin' 'long home. He had his
walkin' cane in one han' en a jug in de udder, en he look ez big ez
life, en twice ez natchul.
"De little Rabs run to'rds 'im en holler, 'What you got, daddy? What
you got, daddy?'
"Brer Rabbit say, 'Nothin' but er jug er 'lasses.'
"De little Rabs holler, 'Lemme tas'e, daddy! Lemme tas'e, daddy!'
"Den ole Brer Rabbit sot de jug down in de road en let um lick de
stopper a time er two, en atter dey is done get der win' back, dey
up'n tell 'im 'bout de 'greement dat Brer Wolf en Brer Fox done make,
en 'bout de 'spute what dey had. Ole Brer Rabbit sorter laugh ter
hisse'f en den he pick up his jug en jog on to'rds home. When he git
mos' dar he stop en tell de little Rabs fer stay back dar out er
sight, en wait twel he call um 'fo' dey come. Dey wuz mighty glad ter
do des like dis, kaz dey done seed Brer Wolf tushes, en Brer Fox red
tongue, en dey huddle up in de broom-sage ez still ez a mouse in de
flour bar'l.
"Brer Rabbit went on home, en sho 'nuff, he fin' Brer Wolf en Brer Fox
waitin' fer 'im. Dey'd done settle der 'spute, en dey wuz settin' dar
des ez smilin' ez a basket er chips. Dey pass the time er day wid Brer
Rabbit, en den dey ax 'im what he got in de jug. Brer Rabbit hummed
en haw'd, en looked sorter sollum.
"Brer Wolf looked like he wuz bleedz ter fin' out what wuz in de jug,
en he keep a-pesterin' Brer Rabbit 'bout it; but Brer Rabbit des shake
his head en look sollum, en talk 'bout de wedder en de craps, en one
thing en anudder. Bimeby Brer Fox make out he wuz gwine atter a drink
er water, en he slip out, he did, fer to ketch de little Rabs. Time he
git out de house, Brer Rabbit look all 'roun' ter see ef he lis'nen,
en den he went ter de jug en pull out de stopper.
"He han' it ter Brer Wolf en say, 'Tas'e dat.'
"Brer Wolf tas'e de 'lasses, en smack his mouf. He 'low, 'What kinder
truck dat? Hit sho is good.'
"Brer Rabbit git up close ter Brer Wolf en say, 'Don't tell nobody.
Hit's Fox-blood.'
"Brer Wolf looked 'stonish'. He 'low, 'How you know?'
"Brer Rabbit say, 'I knows what I knows!'
"Brer Wolf say, 'Gimme some mo'!'
"Brer Rabbit say, 'You kin git some mo' fer yo'se'f easy 'nuff, en de
fresher 'tis, de better.'
"Brer Wolf 'low, 'How you know?'
"Brer Rabbit say, 'I knows what I knows!'
"Wid dat Brer Wolf stepped out, en start to'rds Brer Fox. Brer Fox
seed 'im comin', en he sorter back off. Brer Wolf got little closer,
en bimeby he make a dash at Brer Fox. Brer Fox dodge, he did, en den
he put out fer de woods wid Brer Wolf right at his heels.
"Den atter so long a time, atter Brer Rabbit got done laughin', he
call up de little Rabs, gi' um some 'lasses fer supper, en spanked um
en sont um ter bed.'"
"Well, what did he spank 'em for, Uncle Remus?" asked the little boy.
"Ter make um grow, honey,--des ter make um grow!"
"Did Brother Wolf catch Brother Fox?"
"How I know, honey? Much ez I kin do ter foller de tale when it keeps
in de big road, let 'lone ter keep up wid dem creeturs whiles dey gone
sailin' thoo de woods. De tale ain't persoo on atter um no furder dan
de place whar dey make der disappear'nce. I tell you now, when I goes
in de woods, I got ter know whar I'm gwine."
_"Heyo, House"_[7]
JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS
One evening Uncle Remus was telling the little boy a mighty tale of
how Brer Rabbit got the better of ole Brer Lion. He ended in this way:
"All de creeturs hear 'bout it, en dey go 'roun' en say dat Brer
Rabbit sholy is got deze 'ere things up here." Uncle Remus tapped his
forehead, and the little boy laughed.
[Footnote 7: From _Uncle Remus and his Friends_.]
"I don't think Brother Lion had much sense," remarked the little boy.
"Yes, he had some," said Uncle Remus. "He bleedz ter had some, but he
ain't got much ez Brer Rabbit. Dem what got strenk ain't got so mighty
much sense.
"After Brer Rabbit done make way wid ole Brer Lion, all de yuther
creeturs say he sholy is a mighty man, en dey treat 'im good. Dis make
'im feel so proud dat he bleedz ter show it, en so he strut 'roun'
like a boy when he git his fust pa'r er boots.
"'Bout dat time, Brer Wolf tuck a notion dat ef Brer Rabbit kin outdo
ole Brer Lion, he can't outdo him. So he pick his chance one day
whiles ole Miss Rabbit en de little Rabs is out pickin' sallid for
dinner. He went in de house, he did, en wait fer Brer Rabbit ter come
home. Brer Rabbit had his hours, en dis was one un um, en 't wan't
long 'fo' here he come. He got a mighty quick eye, mon, en he tuck
notice dat ev'ything mighty still. When he got a little nigher, he
tuck notice dat de front door wuz on de crack, en dis make 'im feel
funny, kaze he know dat when his ole 'oman en de chillun out, dey
allers pulls de door shet en ketch de latch. So he went up a little
nigher, en he step thin ez a batter-cake. He peep here, en he peep
dar, yit he ain't see nothin'. He lissen in de chimbley cornder, en he
lissen und' de winder, yit he ain't hear nothin'.
"Den he sorter wipe his mustach en study. He 'low ter hisse'f, 'De pot
rack know what gwine up de chimbley, de rafters know who's in de loft,
de bed-cord know who und' de bed. I ain't no pot-rack, I ain't no
rafter, en I ain't no bed-cord, but, please gracious! I'm gwine ter
fin' who's in dat house, en I ain't gwine in dar nudder. Dey mo' ways
ter fin' out who fell in de mill-pond widout fallin' in yo'se'f.'
"Some folks," Uncle Remus went on, "would 'a' rushed in dar, en ef dey
had, dey wouldn't 'a' rushed out no mo', kaze dey wouldn't 'a' been
nothin' 'tall lef' un um but a little scrap er hide en a han'ful er
ha'r.
"Brer Rabbit got better sense dan dat. All he ax anybody is ter des
gi' 'im han'-roomance, en den what kin ketch 'im is mo' dan welly-come
ter take 'im. Dat 'zackly de kinder man what Brer Rabbit is. He went
off a little ways fum de house en clum a 'simmon stump en got up dar
en 'gun ter holler.
"He 'low, 'Heyo, house!'
"De house ain't make no answer, en Brer Wolf, in dar behime de door,
open his eyes wide. He ain't know what ter make er dat kinder doin's.
"Brer Rabbit holler, 'Heyo, house! Why n't you heyo?'
"House ain't make no answer, en Brer Wolf in dar behime de door sorter
move roun' like he gittin' restless in de min'.
"Brer Rabbit out dar on de 'simmon stump holler mo' louder dan befo',
'Heyo, house! Heyo!'
"House stan' still, en Brer Wolf in dar behime de door 'gun ter feel
col' chills streakin' up and down his back. In all his born days he
ain't never hear no gwines on like dat. He peep thoo de crack er de
door, but he can't see nothin'.
"Brer Rabbit holler louder, 'Heyo, house! Ain't you gwine ter heyo? Is
you done los' what little manners you had?'
"Brer Wolf move 'bout wuss'n befo'. He feel like sum un done hit 'im
on de funny-bone.
"Brer Rabbit holler hard ez he kin, but still he ain't git no answer,
en den he 'low, 'Sholy sump'n nudder is de matter wid dat house, kaze
all de times befo' dis, it been holler'n back at me, "Heyo, yo'se'f!"'
"Den Brer Rabbit wait little bit, en bimeby he holler one mo' time,
'Heyo, house!'
"Ole Brer Wolf try ter talk like he speck a house 'ud talk, en he
holler back, 'Heyo, yo'se'f!'
"Brer Rabbit wunk at hisse'f. He 'low, 'Heyo, house! why n't you talk
hoarse like you got a bad col'?'
"Den Brer Wolf holler back, hoarse ez he kin, 'Heyo, yo'se'f!'
"Dis make Brer Rabbit laugh twel a little mo' en he'd a drapt off'n
dat ar 'simmon stump en hurt hisse'f.
"He 'low, 'Eh-eh, Brer Wolf! dat ain't nigh gwine ter do. You'll
hatter stan' out in de rain a mighty long time 'fo' you kin talk
hoarse ez dat house!'
"I let you know," continued Uncle Remus, laying his hand gently on the
little boy's shoulder, "I let you know, Brer Wolf come a-slinkin'
out, en made a break fer home. Atter dat, Brer Rabbit live a long time
wid'out any er de yuther creeturs a-pesterin' un 'im!"
_Teenchy Duck_[8]
FREDERIC ORTOLI
_Teenchy Duck finds a Purse of Gold_
Once upon a time there lived in a village in some country (I do not
know where, but certainly nowhere near here), an old man and an old
woman who were very poor indeed. They had never been able to save a
single penny. They had no farm, not even a garden. They had nothing
but a little Duck that walked around on her two feet every day singing
the song of famine. "Quack! quack! Who will give me a piece of bread?
Quack! quack! Who will give me a piece of bread?" This little duck was
so small that she was named Teenchy Duck.
[Footnote 8: Translated from the French by Joel Chandler Harris.]
It so happened one day that Teenchy Duck was paddling in the water
near the river's edge when she saw a fine purse filled with gold. At
once she began to flap her wings and cry: "Quack! quack! Who has lost
his beautiful money? Quack! quack! Who has lost his beautiful money?"
Just at that moment the Prince of the Seven Golden Cows passed along
the road. He was richer than all the kings and emperors, but he was
mean and miserly. He walked along with a stick in his hand, and as he
walked he counted in his mind the millions that he had stored away in
his strong-box.
"Quack! quack! Who lost his beautiful money? Quack! quack! Who lost
his beautiful money?" cried Teenchy Duck.
"I have lost it," cried the Prince of the Seven Golden Cows, and then
he seized the purse full of money that Teenchy Duck held in her bill,
and went on his way.
The poor Puddle Duck was so astonished at this that she could scarcely
stand on her feet.
"Well, well!" she exclaimed, "that rich lord has kept all for himself
and given me nothing. May he be destroyed by a pestilence!"
Teenchy Duck at once ran to her master, and told him what had
happened. When her master learned the value of what Teenchy Duck had
found, and the trick that had been played on her by the Prince of the
Seven Golden Cows, he went into a rage.
"Why, you big simpleton!" he exclaimed, "you find money and you do not
bring it to us! You give it to a big lord, who did not lose it, when
we poor people need it so much! Go out of this house instantly, and
don't dare to come back until you have brought me the purse of gold!"
Poor Teenchy Duck trembled in all her limbs, and made herself small
and humble; but she found her voice to say:
"You are right, my master! I go at once to find the Prince of the
Seven Golden Cows."
But once out of doors the poor Puddle Duck thought to herself
sorrowfully: "How and where can I find the Prince who was so mean as
to steal the beautiful money?"
Teenchy Duck was so bewildered that she began to strike her head
against the rocks in despair. Suddenly an idea came into her mind. She
would follow his tracks and the marks that his walking-stick made in
the ground until she came to the castle of the Prince of the Seven
Golden Cows.
No sooner thought than done. Teenchy Duck went waddling down the road
in the direction taken by the miserly Prince, crying with all her
might:
"Quack! quack! Give me back my beautiful money! Quack! quack! Give me
back my beautiful money!"
_Teenchy Duck's Friends go with her on her Quest_
Brother Fox, who was taking his ease a little way from the road, heard
Teenchy Duck's cries, and knew her voice. He went to her and said:
"What in the world is the matter with you, my poor Teenchy Duck? You
look sad and broken-hearted."
"I have good reason to be," said Teenchy Duck. "This morning, while
paddling in the river, I found a purse full of gold, and gave it to
the Prince of the Seven Golden Cows, thinking it was his. But now,
here comes my master and asks me for it, and says he will kill me if I
do not bring it to him soon."
"Well, where are you going in this style?" asked Brother Fox.
"I am going straight to the Prince of the Seven Golden Cows," said
Teenchy Duck.
"Shall I go with you?" asked Brother Fox.
"I'd be only too glad if you would," exclaimed Teenchy Duck.
"But how can I go?" said Brother Fox.
"Get into my satchel," said Teenchy Duck, "and I'll try to carry you."
"It isn't big enough," said Brother Fox.
"It will stretch," said Teenchy Duck. So Brother Fox got into the
satchel, and Teenchy Duck went waddling along the road, crying:
"Quack! quack! Give me back my beautiful money!"
She had not gone far when she met Brother Wolf, who was passing that
way.
"What are you crying so for?" he inquired. "One would think you were
going to die on the journey."
"It is only too true," said Teenchy Duck, and then she told Brother
Wolf about finding the money-purse, just as she had told Brother Fox.
"Perhaps I can be of some service to you," said Brother Wolf. "Shall I
go with you?"
"I am willing," said Teenchy Duck.
"But how can I go so far?" Brother Wolf asked.
"Get into my satchel," said Teenchy Duck, "and I'll carry you as best
I can."
"It is too small," said Brother Wolf.
"It will stretch mightily," said Teenchy Duck.
So Brother Wolf also got into the satchel with Brother Fox.
Teenchy went on her way again. She didn't walk very fast, for her
satchel was heavy; but she never ceased crying: "Quack! quack! Give me
back my beautiful money!"
Now it happened, as she was going along, she came up with a Ladder,
which said, without asking after her health:
"My poor Teenchy Duck! You do not seem to be very happy."
"I should think not!" exclaimed Teenchy Duck.
"What can the matter be?" the Ladder asked.
Teenchy Duck then told her story over again.
"I am not doing anything at present," said the Ladder, "shall I go
with you?"
"Yes," said Teenchy Duck.
"But how can I go, I who never walk?" inquired the Ladder.