and read. Then his face changed. He went into the next room and bowed
his head upon his hands. He was greatly troubled. His son-in-law had
asked that Bellerophon should be killed.
"But he has just eaten my bread," said the King of Lycia. "He is my
guest. I cannot kill him." He thought for some time and then spoke
again: "I will not kill him myself. I will send him to fight the
Chimaera."
Now the Chimaera was a terrible monster that roamed the fields of
Lycia. It had the body of a lion and it had three heads. These heads
were those of a lion, a goat, and a dragon. With its fiery breath the
Chimaera burned up everything that came near it.
Bellerophon was troubled when he heard the orders of the King of
Lycia. He went to ask the advice of the wisest man of that country.
The wise man said: "Bellerophon, if you can ride Pegasus, you will
kill the Chimaera easily."
"What is Pegasus?" said Bellerophon.
"Pegasus is a winged horse. His home is on Mount Olympus. But no one
has tamed him except Athene, the goddess of wisdom. I should ask her
help."
Bellerophon prayed in the temple of Athene and then fell asleep. He
dreamed that Athene herself stood by him. He saw her grey eyes, her
golden hair, and her glistening armour. He thought she put a golden
bridle into his hand.
When he awoke, he found it was no dream, for he held a golden bridle.
He hastened at once to a certain spring where Pegasus often came to
drink. There stood the spirited steed. Bellerophon drew near. Pegasus
spread his strong wings and was just about to fly when Bellerophon
held out the bridle. Then the noble horse bent his head and walked up
to the young man. He knew that the golden bridle came from his
mistress.
Bellerophon slipped the bridle upon Pegasus and they soared high into
the air. Pegasus was as swift as an eagle.
The next day Bellerophon fought with the ugly Chimaera. With the help
of Pegasus he easily slew the monster.
Then the King of Lycia gave him other hard tasks. But he did them all
easily, with the help of his winged horse. At last the King gave
Bellerophon his daughter as a wife.
And now, just when he was happiest, trouble came to Bellerophon. He
grew proud and vain. He thought that with his winged horse, he could
do anything.
One day he said, "I should like to visit the gods on Mount Olympus. I
can reach their home easily. I should like to see Jupiter and Mars
face to face."
He mounted Pegasus and turned his head toward the highest heaven.
"This is too great daring," said Jupiter; "Bellerophon must be
punished."
Jupiter sent a gadfly to sting Pegasus. The noble horse reared. He
thought his master had struck him and was furious with pain and anger.
Bellerophon lost his seat and fell to the earth.
All the rest of his days he went about a blind and lame old man.
Thus the gods punished his too great daring.
_The Wolf-Mother of Saint Ailbe_
ABBIE FARWELL BROWN
_Ailbe's Babyhood_
This is the story of a poor little Irish baby whose cruel father and
mother did not care anything about him. But because they could not
sell him nor give him away they tried to lose him. They wrapped him in
a piece of cloth and took him up on the mountain-side, and there they
left him lying all alone on a bush of heather.
Now an old mother-wolf was out taking her evening walk on the mountain
after tending her cubs in the den all day. And as she was passing the
heather bush she heard a faint, funny little cry. She pricked up her
pointed ears and said, "What's that!" And lo and behold, when she came
to sniff out the mystery with her keen nose, it led her straight to
the spot where the little pink baby lay, crying with cold and hunger.
The heart of the mother-wolf was touched, for she thought of her own
little ones at home, and how sad it would be to see them so helpless
and lonely and forgotten. So she picked the baby up in her mouth
carefully and ran with him to her den in the rocks at the foot of the
mountain. Here the little one, whose name was Ailbe, lived with the
baby wolves sharing their breakfast and dinner and supper, playing and
quarrelling and growing up with them. The wolf-mother took good care
of him and saw that he had the best of everything, for she loved him
dearly, indeed. And Ailbe grew stronger and stronger, taller and
taller, handsomer and handsomer every day, living his happy life in
the wild woods of green Ireland.
_Ailbe leaves his Forest Home_
Now one day, a year or two after this, a hunter came riding over the
mountain on his way home from the chase, and he happened to pass near
the cave where Ailbe and the wolves lived. As he was riding under the
trees he saw a little white creature run across the path in front of
him. At first he thought it was a rabbit; but it was too big for a
rabbit, and besides, it did not hop. The hunter jumped down from his
horse and ran after the funny animal to find out what it was. His long
legs soon overtook it in a clump of bushes where it was hiding, and
imagine the hunter's surprise when he found that it had neither fur
nor horns nor four feet nor a tail, but that it was a beautiful child
who could not stand upright, and whose little, bare body ran on
all-fours like a baby wolf! It was little Ailbe, the wolf-mother's
pet, who had grown so fast that he was almost able to take care of
himself. But he was not quite able, the hunter thought; and he said to
himself that he would carry the poor little thing home to his kind
wife, that she might take care of him. So he caught Ailbe up in his
arms, kicking and squealing and biting like the wild little animal he
was, and wrapped him in a corner of his great cloak. Then he jumped on
his horse with a chirrup and galloped away out of the woods toward his
village.
But Ailbe did not want to leave his forest home, the wolf-den, and his
little wolf-brothers. Especially he did not want to leave his dear
foster mother. So he screamed and struggled to get away from the big
hunter, and he called to the wolves in their own language to come and
help him. Then out of the forest came bounding the great mother-wolf
with her four children, now grown to be nearly as big as herself. She
chased the fleeting horse and snapped at the loose end of the
huntsman's cloak, howling with grief and anger. But she could not get
the thief, nor get back her adopted son, the little smooth-skinned
foundling. So after following them for miles, the five wolves
gradually dropped farther and farther behind. And at last, as he
stretched out his little arms to them over the hunter's velvet
shoulder, Ailbe saw them stop in the road panting, with one last howl
of farewell. They had given up the hopeless chase. And with their
tails between their legs and their heads drooping low, they slunk back
to their lonely den where they would never see their little boy
playmate any more. It was a sad day for the wolf-mother.
But the hunter carried little Ailbe home with him on the horse's back.
And he found a new mother there to receive him. Ailbe never knew who
his first mother was, but she must have been a bad, cruel woman. His
second mother was the kind wolf. And this one, the third, was a
beautiful Princess. For the hunter who had found the child was a
Prince, and he lived in a grand castle by a lake near Tipperary, with
hundreds of servants and horses and dogs and little pages for Ailbe to
play with. And here he lived and was very happy; and here he learned
all the things which in those days made a little boy grow up into a
wise and great man. He grew so wise and great that he was made a
Bishop and had a palace of his own in the town of Emly. People came
to see him from far and near, who made him presents, and asked him
questions, and ate his dinners.
But though he had grown so great and famous, Ailbe had never forgotten
his second mother, the good wolf, nor his four-footed brothers in
their coats of grey fur. And sometimes when his visitors were stupid
and stayed a long time, or when they asked too many questions, or when
they made him presents which he did not like, Ailbe longed to be back
in the forest with the good beasts.
_Ailbe finds the Wolf-Mother again_
A great many years afterward there was one day a huge hunt in Emly.
All the lords for miles around were out chasing the wild beasts, and
among them was the Prince, Ailbe's foster father. But the Bishop
himself was not with them. He did not see any sport in killing poor
creatures. It was almost night, and the people of Emly were out
watching for the hunters to return. The Bishop was coming down the
village street on his way from church, when the sounds of horns came
over the hills close by, and he knew the chase was nearing home.
Louder and louder came the _tantaratara_! of the horns, and then he
could hear the thud of the horses' hoofs and the yelp of the hounds.
But suddenly the Bishop's heart stood still. Among all the other noises
of the chase he heard a sound which made him think--think--think. It was
the long-drawn howl of a wolf, a sad howl of fear and weariness and
pain. It spoke a language which he had almost forgotten. But hardly had
he time to think again and remember before down the village street came
a gaunt figure, flying in long leaps from the foremost dogs who were
snapping at her heels. It was Ailbe's wolf-mother.
He recognized her as soon as he saw her green eyes and the patch of
white on her right foreleg. And she recognized him too--how I cannot
say, for he had changed greatly since she last saw him, a naked little
sun-browned boy. But, at any rate, in his fine robes of purple and
linen and rich lace, with the mitre on his head and the crozier in his
hand, the wolf-mother knew her dear son. With a cry of joy she bounded
up to him and laid her head upon his breast, as if she knew he would
protect her from the growling dogs and the fierce-eyed hunters. And
the good Bishop was true to her. For he drew his beautiful velvet
cloak about her tired, panting body, and laid his hand lovingly on her
head. Then in the other, he held up his crook warningly to keep back
the ferocious dogs.
"I will protect thee, old mother," he said tenderly. "When I was
little and young and feeble, thou didst nourish and cherish and
protect me; and now that thou art old and grey and weak, shall I not
render the same love and care to thee? None shall injure thee."
Then the hunters came tearing up on their foaming horses. Some were
angry, and wanted even now to kill the poor wolf, just as the dogs did
which were prowling about snarling with disappointment. But Ailbe
would have none of it. He forbade them to touch the wolf. And he was
so powerful and wise and holy that they dared not disobey him, but had
to be content with seeing their prey taken out of their clutches.
But before the hunters and their dogs rode away, Saint Ailbe had
something more to say to them. And he bade all the curious towns-folk
who had gathered about him and the wolf listen. He repeated the
promise which he had made to the wolf, and warned everyone henceforth
not to hurt her or her children, either in the village or in the woods
or on the mountain. And, turning to her once more, he said:
"See, mother, you need not fear. They dare not hurt you now you have
found your son to protect you. Come every day with my brothers to my
table, and you and yours shall share my food, as once I so often
shared yours."
And so it was. Every day after that, so long as she lived, the old
wolf-mother brought her four children to the Bishop's palace and
howled at the gate for the porter to let them in. And every day he
opened to them, and the steward showed the five into the great
dining-hall where Ailbe sat at the head of the table, with five places
set for the rest of the family. And there, with her five children
about her in a happy circle, the kind wolf-mother sat and ate the good
things which the Bishop's friends had sent him. But the child she
loved best was none of those in furry coats and fine whiskers that
looked like her; it was the blue-eyed Saint at the top of the table in
his robes of purple and white.
But Saint Ailbe would look about him at his foster mother and his
brothers and would laugh contentedly.
"What a handsome family we are!" he would say. And it was true.
_Who was the Mightier?_[22]
FANNY E. COE
Glooskap, the Indian chief, had returned from the warpath. His foes
were slain or scattered. No other tribe of red men dared to stand
before him.
[Footnote 22: A Tale of the Penobscot Indians.]
Glooskap was very proud of what he had done. "My work is over," he
often said to himself. "Whom else is there for me to conquer? No one."
One day he walked through the village. He was a tall fierce figure
with brightly painted body and brilliant headdress of feathers.
He stopped to speak to an old squaw. He said aloud what he had often
thought, "My work is over, my enemies are dead. Whom is there for me
to conquer?"
The old squaw raised her hand and pointed toward the wigwam. "There
sits one whom no man will ever conquer!" she said.
Glooskap took one stride to the wigwam and raised the canvas door.
Within, seated on the floor, was a fat, happy baby. He was happy
because he was sucking a bit of maple sugar. He opened his bright
black eyes, and stared hard at the gay feathers of the chief.
"Who is he?" asked Glooskap.
"It is the mighty Wasis. But leave him in peace. Otherwise you will be
in sore trouble."
Now the Indian chief had never married. He knew nothing of children
and their ways. But he thought, as is the manner of such, that he knew
everything.
So he knelt on one knee, held out a hand, and smiling sweetly, said,
"Baby, come to me!"
Wasis smiled, but did not stir.
Again the chief smiled kindly and said in a coaxing tone, "Baby, come
to me."
Wasis looked again at the chief. Then he took a bite of the maple
sugar.
Glooskap then arose, frowning; he stamped his foot angrily, and he
spoke savagely. "Baby, come to me."
Wasis dropped his maple sugar. "Goo, goo!" he said; "Goo, goo! Goo,
goo, goo!"
"These must be his war-cries!" thought the chief. "I'll teach him who
is master and must be obeyed."
So he sang his terrible war-songs; he drew his knife and leaped into
the air; he roared his orders to Wasis again and again. "Come to me:
come to me!"
This was too much for the baby. His little face puckered and grew red.
Then he opened his mouth and uttered shrieks so ear-piercing that
their like had never been heard before. At least so the chief thought.
He rushed from the wigwam and fled a mile before he stopped to breathe
deeply.
Meanwhile Wasis had found his maple sugar and was calm again. "Goo,
goo!" he said; "Goo, goo! Goo, goo, goo!"
And to this day when you see a baby crowing and saying "Goo, goo!"
remember he is thinking of the time when he overcame the Indian chief
who had conquered all the world. For of all created things the Baby
alone is master.
_Hans the Shepherd Boy_
ELLA LYMAN CABOT
Hans was a little shepherd boy who lived in Germany. One day he was
keeping his sheep near a great wood when a hunter rode up to him.
"How far is it to the nearest village, my boy?" asked the hunter.
"It is six miles, sir," said Hans. "But the road is only a
sheep-track. You might easily miss your way."
"My boy," said the hunter, "if you will show me the way, I will pay
you well."
Hans shook his head. "I cannot leave the sheep, sir," he said. "They
would stray into the wood, and the wolves might kill them."
"But if one or two sheep are eaten by the wolves, I will pay you for
them. I will give you more than you can earn in a year."
"Sir, I cannot go," said Hans. "These sheep are my master's. If they
are lost, I should be to blame."
"If you cannot show me the way, will you get me a guide? I will take
care of your sheep while you are gone."
"No," said Hans, "I cannot do that. The sheep do not know your
voice--and----" Then he stopped.
"Can't you trust me?" asked the hunter.
"No," said Hans. "You have tried to make me break my word to my
master. How do I know that you would keep your word?"
The hunter laughed. "You are right," he said. "I wish I could trust my
servants as your master can trust you. Show me the path. I will try to
get to the village alone."
Just then several men rode out of the wood. They shouted for joy.
"Oh, sir!" cried one, "we thought you were lost."
Then Hans learned to his great surprise that the hunter was a Prince.
He was afraid that the great man would be angry with him. But the
Prince smiled and spoke in praise of him.
A few days later a servant came from the Prince and took Hans to the
palace.
"Hans," said the Prince, "I want you to leave your sheep to come to
serve me. I know you are a boy whom I can trust."
Hans was very happy over his good fortune. "If my master can find
another boy to take my place, then I will come to serve you."
So Hans went back and tended the sheep until his master found another
boy. After that he served the Prince many years.
_Nathan and the Bear_
M. A. L. LANE
Little Nathan King was driving home his father's cows.
It was a cold night in October. In the clear sky the stars shone
bright.
The dry leaves fluttered down upon the road where they lay in drifts.
The air was sharp. Once a chestnut burr dropped at the boy's feet.
"Winter will soon be here," Nathan said to himself. He was thinking of
the snug kitchen and the good warm supper that his mother would have
ready for him.
It was dark. Nathan could just see the black shapes of the cows.
There were five of them. They were good, kind cows. Nathan liked to
take care of them.
He liked to pat their sleek, smooth sides.
The cows were fond of Nathan. Sometimes the black cow would put out
her rough tongue and touch his hand.
Now they were all in a hurry to reach the warm barn. They walked along
the road as fast as they could.
"I think I will go by the wood path," said Nathan to himself. "It is
only half as far, and I know every step of the way."
So he ran on before the cows, and let down the bars into the wood
path.
The cows went on after him. They, too, knew every step of the path.
Nathan often took them home that way. The end of the wood path was
near the door of the barn.
It was very still in the woods. The dry leaves rustled as the cows
walked through them. There was no other sound. The trees looked big
and black.
Nathan whistled as he walked. He had never been in the woods after
dark before. He was glad that he was not far from home.
Once the black cow stepped on a long, dry branch. The other end of the
branch flew up in Nathan's face and made him jump.
"What a baby I am!" said he. "There is nothing to be afraid of. I can
see the lamp in our kitchen now."
Nathan was now on the top of the hill. The trees were cut down on one
side of the path. He could look across a cornfield to his home.
He whistled more loudly than ever and walked bravely on.
"I wonder if there are any bears in these woods," he was thinking.
"Tom Shaw's father saw a bear on the mountain last week. Tom says he
would like to meet one. I should run if I heard a bear coming."
Nathan stopped a moment to listen. His heart beat fast. He could feel
it thump, thump, thump against his jacket. But there was no sound
except the breaking of twigs and the rustling of leaves under the
heavy step of the cows.
"Home at last!" said Nathan.
His father heard him open the great gate, and came out with a light.
Nathan stood aside to let the cows go through the gateway. He always
counted them as they went through.
One, two, three, four, five--one, two, three, four, five--Nathan
rubbed his eyes. Then he counted again. One, two, three, four, five,
six! Where did the sixth cow come from? Was it a cow? It looked more
like a dog.
"Father!" cried Nathan. "Here's a bear with the cows!"
Mr King laughed. He had opened the barn door. The cows were going in,
one by one.
"What a boy you are!" he said. "You and Tom Shaw--why, it is a bear!"
Yes, it really was a bear. Mr King swung the lantern close, to make
sure.
When the bear saw the bright light, he turned slowly; then he went
back through the gateway across the road, into the wood path.
"Let me get my gun!" cried Mr King. "Take the lantern, Nathan!"
"Oh, don't shoot him, father!" begged Nathan. "Please don't shoot him.
He came all the way through the woods with me, and he did not hurt me
at all."
The boy was almost crying. He was holding his father's arm with both
hands.
"Please don't shoot him!" he said again.
"Well," said Mr King, "I don't like to let a bear go like that. He
seems gentle enough, but he might do some harm. Where did you find
him, Nathan?"
"I did not find him," said the boy, still holding fast his father's
arm. "He must have been in the woods. I was counting the cows just
now, and there he was! I wish you would let him go. He was good to me
when he might have hurt me. I think it would be mean to shoot him
now."
"It is strange that the cows were not frightened," said Mr King. "I
suppose the old fellow was cold. He thought you looked as if you were
a kind boy, Nathan."
Nathan knew that his father would not go after the bear now. He
laughed gaily as he went into the barn.
"I wish Tom Shaw had been here," said he. "I think I shall come home
by the road to-morrow night. I am not very fond of bears, after all."
_The Man on the Chimney_
FANNY E. COE
Once upon a time some workmen were repairing the tall chimney of a
factory. It was so tall that no ladder could reach its top, so the men
went up and down on a rope. The rope passed through a pulley which was
firmly fixed to the top of the chimney.
At last the work was ended. The workmen came down quickly, glad to be
safe on the ground once more.
When the next to the last man reached the ground, by mistake he pulled
the rope from the pulley. Then he looked back and saw another man
standing alone on the chimney.
"Oh! what have I done!" he cried. "Poor fellow, what will become of
him? He cannot get down! He will die!"
The workmen were so alarmed that they could think of no way to help
their comrade. They stood helpless, looking first at the coil of rope
at their feet and then at their friend high in the air.
"He will starve if he stays there, and he will be killed if he tries
to climb down," they said sadly.
Just then the wife of the man appeared. She did not cry, scold, or
fret. Instead, she said to herself, "What can I do to save him? There
must be some way."
Soon a bright idea came to her, and she shouted to her husband:
"John! John! Unravel your stocking! Begin at the toe!"
John understood at once. He took off the coarse yarn stocking that she
had knitted for him, cut off the toe, and began to unravel the yarn.
When he had pulled out a long piece, he tied the end around a small
piece of brick. This he very carefully let down to the ground.
How eagerly the men below seized upon it. They fastened the yarn to a
ball of twine which John's wife had fetched. Then they shouted:
"Pull up the yarn till you get the twine."
Soon John called to them:
"I have it."
They next fastened the twine to the heavy rope and shouted:
"Pull up the twine till you get the rope."
"All right," said John, and in a very few minutes he held the stout
rope in his hand. With its aid, he let himself safely down to the
ground. How they all cheered as his foot touched the earth!
Do you think he left the remnant of his stocking on the chimney-top?
No, indeed. He brought it down, buttoned under his coat. It was a
precious keepsake. He often showed it to his children, as he told them
the wonderful story of how his life had been saved by their mother.
_Pocahontas_
E. A. AND M. F. BLAISDELL
Pocahontas was a beautiful Indian maiden, the daughter of the great
chief, Powhatan, and she was so good and kind that she was loved by
all the tribe over which her father ruled.
She lived in the forests of Virginia, with the birds and squirrels for
her companions.
She was an Indian princess, but she learned to cook and to sew and to
weave mats, just like the other Indian girls. She liked to embroider,
too, and spent many happy hours decorating her dresses with the
pretty-coloured shells and beads that were given to her father.
One day, when she was twelve years old, an Indian came to Powhatan and
told him a white man had been captured and brought to the village.
"He is a wonderful man," said the scout. "He can talk to his friends
by making marks on paper, and he can make a fire without a flint."
"Bring him here," said the chief, and Captain John Smith was brought
before Powhatan.
The chief received the prisoner in his wigwam, and talked with him,
asking him many questions.