Transcriber’s Note
Italic text displayed as: _italic_
[Illustration: “There was one vacant space though. The woodchuck had
not yet come.”
_How the Squirrel Got Wings._]
ONCE UPON A TIME
ANIMAL STORIES
BY
CAROLYN SHERWIN BAILEY
Author of
“For the Children’s Hour,” “Stories Children Need,”
“For the Story Teller,” “Tell Me Another
Story,” “Firelight Stories”
1918
MILTON BRADLEY COMPANY
SPRINGFIELD, MASSACHUSETTS
COPYRIGHT, 1918, BY
MILTON BRADLEY COMPANY
SPRINGFIELD, MASS.
INTRODUCTION.
Since the childhood of the races, certain old-world stories have
appeared in different form in the folklore of different nations, all
bearing the stamp of the same source; the interest of primitive people
in attributing human impulses and human lines of conduct to the animal
world.
Perhaps the earliest of all is The Kid Who Would Not Go, which
corresponds to the old New England nursery tale of the Old Woman
and Her Pig, and which, in its original form, dates back to Hebrew
translations. How They Brought Hairlock Home is a typical cumulative
tale of Norway. The Story of Ibbity is one of the few obtainable
Madagascar folk tales, and symbolizes the search of a primitive people
for the source of natural phenomena. Our own southern negroes have
given us the stories of Mr. Elephant and Mr. Frog, Why the Bear Sleeps
All Winter, Little Bear, and Brother Wolf and the Rock. The American
Indians have given us a varied collection of animal myths including
How the Rabbit Tried to Coast, How the Squirrel Got Wings, The Talking
Grass, and many other camp fire tales that have a nature background.
The reason for using these animal stories for story telling and
supplementary reading lies in the instinctive interest which all
children have in those stories that express the interpretation of life
made by primitive races. This interest, and the indirect moral teaching
of many of the stories included in this volume, give them a point of
departure over and above that held by the modern story.
CAROLYN SHERWIN BAILEY.
NEW YORK, 1918.
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
PAGE
HOW THE EAGLE WENT HUNGRY 1
LITTLE FOOTSTEPS UPON THE WATER 6
THE STORY OF LAMBIKIN 12
BROTHER WOLF AND THE ROCK 18
LITTLE BEAR 22
HOW THE PIGS CAN SEE THE WIND 27
THE TALKING GRASS 33
HOW THE FOX PLAYED HERDSMAN 38
MR. ELEPHANT AND MR. FROG 43
HOW DRAKESTAIL WENT TO THE KING 48
THE GREEDY CAT 53
THE THREE BILLY GOATS GRUFF 58
THE HOBYAHS 63
THE KID WHO WOULD NOT GO 68
THE ROBIN’S CHRISTMAS SONG 71
THE STORY OF IBBITY 76
THE CHIPMUNK WHO CHATTERED TOO MUCH 80
HOW THE SQUIRREL GOT WINGS 86
HOW THEY BROUGHT HAIRLOCK HOME 91
THE BEAR WHO LOST HIS SUPPER 95
THE RABBIT WHO WAS AFRAID 100
HOW MAPLE SUGAR CAME 106
THE RABBIT WHO WANTED RED WINGS 111
HOW THE FIRST MAYFLOWERS CAME 116
HOW THE RABBIT TRIED TO COAST 122
WHY THE FIELD MOUSE IS LITTLE 127
HOW THE FIRST BEARS CAME 132
WHY THE BEAR HAS A STUMPY TAIL 138
WHY THE BEAR SLEEPS ALL WINTER 140
HOW THE EAGLE
WENT HUNGRY.
Once upon a time, before there were white men on the earth, the Beavers
were a family like men. They were thrifty and honest, and spent their
time building in the lakes and ponds. They had hands like our hands.
They were dressed in gray fur, warm enough for the winters, and dark
enough for all the digging which they had to do.
There was no family of all the forest so hard working as the Beavers.
The Beaver men had a secret trade of making arrows. They dug flint out
of the rocks along the bank and shaped it into arrowheads. These had
such magic that the Beavers always had dried meat hanging in their
houses.
Most wonderful of all, though, was their skill in building. With no
tools but their broad, flat hands, the Beavers built strong dams which
made pools in the streams where the fish could hatch. They built their
own homes, with many halls and rooms, of the mud at the bottom of the
water. All the Beavers worked, even the women and children. Here they
lived in honesty and peace and asked nothing of any one.
In the same days the Eagle was a proud warrior, dressed from head to
foot in colored feathers. He lived on a mountain top, and when he came
down to the forest he wished great honor. The winds blew their trumpets
for him, and the thunder beat drums. All the creatures were asked to
bow before the Eagle, and he expected fish and berries to be brought
him for a feast.
One spring when the ice had gone out of the streams and ponds and the
forest had put on new green leaves, the Eagle came down for a sudden
visit. He stopped at the edge of a small lake, and there he saw an old
Beaver woman digging in the mud. She bent low over her work. With her
large, wrinkled hands she was making the clay into bricks for building
a new wall for a Beaver house. The Eagle looked at her with scorn.
“I am hungry,” he said.
The Beaver woman raised her brown head out of the water, and looked up
at the Eagle.
“The Beaver family would be hungry, too, sir,” she said, “if we did not
work, all of us, to get a living.”
“But think of the kind of work you do,” screamed the Eagle, going up to
the branch of a tree to sit so that he need not step in the mud.
“Look at your hands,” he went on. “They are not the hands of a person
of rank, like myself, but are stained with earth. You live in houses
that are made of mud. You cut down trees with your teeth, and eat weeds
and bark. You were made only to wait on others such as myself.”
The Beaver woman went on with her work. When the Eagle had finished,
she said:
[Illustration: “What do you want to eat?” she asked.]
“We Beavers are humble, but there are no other workers in the forest
like us. We deepen and dam the streams and make them more useful.
Our work takes us into the mud. In the mud we must live, but we are
honest, thrifty people, sir. What do you want to eat?” she asked.
“Fish,” said the Eagle. “Go down and catch some for me.”
The Beaver woman wiped her hands and then dived down into the water.
The Eagle watched her go, for he was half starved. He longed for a meal
of rich, freshly caught fish. He watched the smooth water for some
time, but he could see not even a ripple. After he had waited an hour,
the water stirred and the brown head of the Beaver woman showed.
“Your feast of fish awaits you, O Eagle,” the Beaver woman said.
“But where are the fish?” the Eagle demanded.
“They wait for you on my table, down in the Beaver lodge,” she said,
and then she went under the water again.
The Eagle went hungry for a long time. Even now, when the Beaver family
walks on four feet, and the Eagle is a bird, all go hungry who are too
proud to work for their food.
LITTLE FOOTSTEPS UPON THE WATER.
Once upon a time there was a little Indian boy, and his name was
Footsteps Upon the Water because he could run so fast and so softly.
One day, little Footsteps Upon the Water was chasing a squirrel, and
he ran so far and so wide that he lost sight of home, and he could not
find his way back. On and on ran the squirrel until it came at last to
a hollow tree, and it went inside to hide. Footsteps Upon the Water
went inside, too, but he was not so small as the squirrel. Out of the
log ran the squirrel, but the little boy could not get out. He was
stuck fast inside the hollow tree.
His father looked for the little boy many moons. His mother sat at home
in the wigwam, crying, but Footsteps Upon the Water did not come back.
He lay in the log, and he pounded and shouted, and he thought no one
was ever coming to let him out.
But one morning, as he rapped, he heard, on the outside, _rap, rap,
rap_, and a shrill voice calling:
“Footsteps Upon the Water, are you there? Are you there?”
Then a wrinkled, brown face, with a fringe of arrows for a cap, peered
in at the end of the log. It was Grandmother Porcupine come to help the
little boy out.
“I traveled three days and three nights, little Footsteps Upon the
Water, because I heard you cry,” said Grandmother Porcupine.
Then she scratched and she scratched at the end of the log, but she
could not get the little boy out.
“I will bring my three grandsons,” said Grandmother Porcupine, and she
hurried away to the old hemlock tree where her grandsons lived. She
brought them back with her, and they all scratched at the end of the
hollow log until at last the little boy was able to crawl out.
Footsteps Upon the Water winked and blinked his eyes when he came
outside, for he had not seen the sun in many days. There, in a circle,
sat Grandmother Porcupine, her three grandsons, the old Bear, the Deer,
and the Wolf.
“Now, who will be a mother to this little boy?” said Grandmother
Porcupine; “I am too old to take care of him.”
“I will be his mother,” said the Wolf.
“No, indeed,” said Grandmother Porcupine, “your teeth are too sharp.”
“I will be his mother,” said the Deer.
“No, indeed,” said Grandmother Porcupine, “you are always traveling.
Your husband would carry little Footsteps Upon the Water on his back
wherever he went, and the little boy would have no home in the winter.”
“I will be his mother,” said the good old Bear; “I have a warm house
in the rocks with plenty to eat in my pantry,—berries, and nuts, and
honey.”
“You may have little Footsteps Upon the Water,” said Grandmother
Porcupine, “but be sure that your cubs do not teach him any rough
tricks.”
So Footsteps Upon the Water went home to the Bear’s house, a cave in
the rocks, with little rooms just like a real house. It was a fine
place in which to live.
All summer the little boy played with the cubs. When it was late in
the fall, and the days were short and dark, and the nights were cold,
Mother Bear tucked them all in bed and they slept until spring.
Then came another summer, and other Bear people stopped to call upon
them, saying:
“We know a fine berry patch.”
So they would all go away together to pick strawberries, or
blackberries, or gooseberries. After a while, they went for chestnuts,
and that was the most fun of all.
But Mother Bear taught Footsteps Upon the Water and the little cubs to
run always when they saw a man with a bow and arrows. One day, a man
came very close to the Bear’s house, but Mother Bear chased him with a
forked stick, and he went away.
The next day, the man came again, just as the family was starting out
for chestnuts. Mother Bear threw a bag of feathers at the man so that
he was not able to see, and he ran away.
The third day, the man came again. Mother Bear was starting out for a
neighbor’s house with a bundle upon her back. She chased the man with
her forked stick, she threw some more feathers at him, but it did no
good. The man shot an arrow at Mother Bear, and she fell to the ground.
“Oh, good Mother Bear,” cried little Footsteps Upon the Water, running
out to help her, “such a cruel man to hurt my good Mother Bear!”
But the arrow had stuck fast in Mother Bear’s bundle, and she was not
hurt at all. And the man ran up to little Footsteps Upon the Water,
crying:
“My little lost boy, my little lost boy,” for it was Footsteps Upon the
Water’s own father.
Then he told Mother Bear how sorry he was that he had tried to hurt
her, and he invited her and all the cubs to come for a visit to the
wigwam.
And little Footsteps Upon the Water went home, but he never forgot how
good old Mother Bear had been to him.
THE STORY OF LAMBIKIN.
Once upon a time there was a wee, wee Lambikin, and he thought he would
go over the hill to see his granny.
So he frolicked along on his teetery legs, as happy and frisky as ever
a Lambikin in the spring could be.
But he had not gone very far when he met a roaring lion, and the lion
said:
“Lambikin, I will eat you.”
Then Lambikin could not think what to do, for he did not wish to be
eaten just then. So he said to the lion:
“Lambikin goes to Grannikin,
Where fatter he will grow,
Then you may eat him so.”
The lion wanted a very fat lamb to eat, so he let Lambikin go on his
way, but he said:
“Be sure to come back this way, Lambikin.”
Lambikin frolicked along on his teetery legs a little farther, when he
suddenly saw a great vulture, with a huge bill, flying toward him.
“I will eat you, Lambikin,” said the vulture.
Now Lambikin was not ready to be eaten yet, so he said to the vulture:
“Lambikin goes to Grannikin,
Where fatter he will grow,
Then you may eat him so.”
And the vulture flew off, but he said to Lambikin as he went:
“Be sure to come back this way, Lambikin.”
Lambikin frolicked along a little farther on his teetery legs, when he
suddenly saw a striped tiger coming to meet him, and the tiger said to
him:
“Lambikin, I will eat you.”
Now Lambikin did not wish to be eaten by a striped tiger, so he said:
“Lambikin goes to Grannikin,
Where fatter he will grow,
Then you may eat him so.”
The tiger was sure that a fat lamb would taste better than a wee, wee
one with teetery legs, so he let Lambikin go along, but he said as he
went:
“Be sure that you come back this way, Lambikin.”
Lambikin reached his granny’s house, and he told her how glad he was
to see her, and then he said he was very hungry, and he would like
something to eat.
“I must grow fat, granny,” said Lambikin.
So his granny led the way to the corn bin, and Lambikin ate and ate and
ate until his sides stuck out, and his legs were not teetery any more,
and he was a fat little lamb. But the more corn he ate and the fatter
he grew the less did he want to be eaten. So he said to his granny:
“Grannikin, lion and vulture and tiger will eat Lambikin. What shall he
do?”
Then said his granny:
“I will make a drum of a bit of old skin. Do you get inside and roll
past the lion and the vulture and the tiger.”
So granny made a drum of a bit of skin, and Lambikin jumped inside the
drum, and off he rolled toward home.
But before he had gone very far he met the lion, who was waiting for
him, and the lion said:
“Drummikin, have you seen Lambikin?”
But Lambikin called out from inside the drum:
“Fallen into the fire, and so will you.
On, little Drummikin, tum, tum, too.”
Then the lion thought the woods must be on fire, so he ran off as fast
as he could.
But Lambikin had not gone very far when the vulture flew down for his
dinner.
“Drummikin, have you seen Lambikin?” asked the vulture.
“Fallen into the fire, and so will you.
On, little Drummikin, tum, tum, too,”
said Lambikin in a gruff voice from the inside of the drum.
Then the vulture thought that the woods must surely be on fire, so he
flew far above the treetops.
[Illustration: The tiger caught his tail and was not able to move.]
Lambikin rolled merrily along a little way farther, but soon he met the
striped tiger, who was waiting for his dinner.
“Drummikin, have you seen Lambikin?” asked the striped tiger.
“Fallen into the fire, and so will you.
On, little Drummikin, tum, tum, too,”
said Lambikin; but the striped tiger had very sharp ears.
“Lambikin is inside Drummikin,” he said, and he started after the drum
as fast as he could go. He nearly caught it, for he went so very fast,
but they came to a bramble bush. The tiger caught his tail and was not
able to move, and out of the drum jumped Lambikin.
Then off he frolicked home again as frisky and happy as ever a lamb
could be.
BROTHER WOLF AND THE ROCK.
Once upon a time Brother Wolf dressed himself up very finely, just like
an Indian. He put feathers on his head, and moccasins on his feet, and
beads around his neck. Then he bought a very gay blanket, just like a
chief’s blanket. He wrapped it all around him, and then he started on a
journey.
As he traveled, he came to a big Rock. Brother Wolf thought that he
had never seen such a nice Rock, such a smooth, round, shining Rock.
But Brother Wolf thought that the Rock looked cold. So he took off his
blanket and wrapped it around the Rock to keep the old Rock warm.
Then Brother Wolf started traveling again, but he had not gone very
far when he heard a loud noise—that was the thunder; and he saw a
bright light—that was the lightning; and he felt something wet on his
nose—that was the rain. So Brother Wolf ran back in great haste to the
Rock.
“Oh, Rock,” cried Brother Wolf, “it is storming, and I shall be wet.
Give me back my blanket to keep off the rain.”
But, no, Rock would not. Old Rock said he would just keep Brother
Wolf’s blanket a little longer.
Then Brother Wolf hid under a tree, and, by and by, along came Brother
Fox.
“Oh, Brother Fox,” said Brother Wolf, “go to Rock and bring back my
blanket.”
So Brother Fox went to old Rock and told him that Brother Wolf wanted
back his blanket to keep the rain off his nose. But, no, old Rock would
not give up the blanket.
Then Brother Fox went back and told Brother Wolf, and Brother Wolf
cried because he knew his feathers would be spoiled. They sat under a
tree, and the rain poured and poured, the lightning flashed, and the
thunder roared. Brother Wolf asked Brother Fox to please go again to
old Rock and ask for the blanket, but Brother Fox said, “No.”
After a while they heard a great noise, and a loud roaring. The stones
in the road began to come skipping by. Brother Wolf peeped out from
under the tree. There was old Rock rolling down the road. The rain had
started him, and he was coming so hard that he tore great furrows of
earth, and uprooted the trees. He came so fast that he could not stop
himself.
Brother Fox scampered into a hole to hide, but he left the tip end of
his tail sticking out. Old Rock just grazed it as he went by, and that
is why the tip of Brother Fox’s tail is pointed.
On and on went old Rock until he came to a river. Splash, in he went,
and that was the last that anybody saw of Rock, for he went straight to
the bottom.
When the rain was over, Brother Wolf and Brother Fox went down to the
river bank to look for old Rock, but they could not find him anywhere.
On the top of the water floated Brother Wolf’s gay blanket, so they
waited until it came ashore, and they dried it in the sun.
Then Brother Wolf said “Good-by” to Brother Fox, and put on his blanket
again, and traveled.
LITTLE BEAR.
Once upon a time, there was an Indian boy and he had a little sister.
Now the little sister was not like an Indian child, for she was a bear.
Early one morning the boy started out to seek his fortune, but Little
Bear wished to go too.
“No, no, Little Bear, you cannot go. You must stay at home and watch
the fire,” said her brother. Then he tied Little Bear to the door posts
that she might not run away.
He had not gone very far on his journey when he heard TRAMP, TRAMP,
TRAMP, in the path behind him. There was Little Bear following with the
door posts on her back.
“Oh, Little Bear, I told you to stay at home and watch the fire,” said
the boy.
He led Little Bear back, and this time he tied her to a pine tree.
He had not gone very far when he heard once more, TRAMP, TRAMP, TRAMP,
in the path behind him. There was Little Bear following with the pine
tree on her back.
“Oh, Little Bear, you must stay at home and watch the fire,” said the
boy.
He led Little Bear back, and this time he tied her to a rock.
He started on his journey again, but he had not gone a stone’s throw,
when he heard THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, in the path behind him. There was
Little Bear following him with the rock on her back.
“What shall I do with you, Little Bear?” said the boy. But just then
they came to a wide brook with no bridge to span it.
“How shall I cross?” said the little boy.
Little Bear pushed the rock into the water. She laid the pine tree
across the rock for a bridge. They both walked across the brook in
safety.
“Well, you may come with me, Little Bear,” said the boy.
They journeyed for many days until they came, at last, to some very
dark woods. In the woods they met Brother Wolf carrying a candle to
light him on his way.
“The sun is lost from the sky,” said Brother Wolf; “the old squaw
pulled it down.”
“Oho, I can find the sun,” said Little Bear, “but you must first give
me two lumps of maple sugar.”
Brother Wolf gave Little Bear two lumps of maple sugar and she hurried
along until she came to the old squaw’s wigwam. The old squaw was
stirring a kettle of rice over her fire. Little Bear crept up behind
her. Little Bear dropped the two lumps of maple sugar into the kettle.
As the old squaw stirred, she tasted her rice.
“It is too sweet,” she said; “I must go to the field for more.”
While she was gone, Little Bear found the sun, which the old squaw had
hid in her wigwam. Little Bear tossed it back to the sky again.
When the old squaw came back from the rice fields and missed her sun,
she was very angry. She looked for it many, many days, but the clouds
hid it from her. Then, one night, she pulled the moon down, and hid
that away in her wigwam.
So there was no light in the evening. Brother Wolf lighted his candle
again, and he hurried after the boy and Little Bear, who had started on
their journey again.
“The moon is gone from the sky,” said Brother Wolf, “the old squaw has
pulled it down.”
“Oho, I can find the moon,” said Little Bear; “give me two pinches of
salt, Brother Wolf.”
Brother Wolf gave Little Bear two pinches of salt, and Little Bear
crept up to the old squaw again, and threw the salt in her kettle of
rice.
“The rice is too salty,” said the old squaw, tasting as she stirred; “I
must go to the field for more.”
While she was gone, Little Bear snatched the moon from the wigwam,
where the old squaw had hid it, and tossed it up to the sky again.
Brother Wolf snuffed his candle, for he did not need it any more, but
the old squaw was very angry. The old squaw ran after Little Bear. She
caught her, and she put her in a bag, and tied the bag to a tree. Then
she went for her spoon with which to beat Little Bear.
But while she was gone, Little Bear bit a hole in the bag with her
teeth. She slipped out. Then she filled the bag with the old squaw’s
pots and pans. When the old squaw came back, and began beating the bag,
she broke all her dishes.
Then the boy and Little Bear picked up enough sun gold and moon silver
which had fallen by the road to make them rich for always. And Little
Bear traveled with her brother wherever he went after that. Was she not
a clever Little Bear?
HOW THE PIGS CAN SEE THE WIND.
Once upon a time, Mrs. Pig lived in a fine house of her own with her
five little pigs. Four of the little pigs were black, but the smallest
pig was white and he was as the apple of his mother’s eye.
Around the hill from Mrs. Pig’s house lived Brother Wolf, and Brother
Wolf had a mighty good mouth for pig meat. Every night Mr. Wolf came
through the garden gate, and he walked round and round Mrs. Pig’s
house, sniffing and snuffing, and calling in a soft voice:
“Mrs. Pig, Mrs. Pig, let me come in,
The corn is ripe, and the frosts begin.”
But Mrs. Pig always locked her door fast, and Brother Wolf had to go
home without any pig meat.
One night Brother Wolf thought of a trick. He put a very high hat on
his head. He put shoes on his feet. He tied a necktie around his neck,
and he looked just like Mr. Man.
Then he put a bag of corn over his shoulder, and he walked, TRAMP,
TRAMP, up the brick walk that led to Mrs. Pig’s house, and he rapped
loudly on Mrs. Pig’s door.
“Mrs. Pig, Mrs. Pig, let me come in,
The corn is ripe, and the frosts begin,”
he said.
“Who knocks?” asked Mrs. Pig, peeping through the window, the little
white pig under her arm.
“Mr. Man, come to put a mark on your little pigs,” said Brother Wolf.
Then Mrs. Pig opened the door, and she turned out the four little black
pigs. But the little white pig was as the apple of her eye, and she hid
him in the cupboard.
So Brother Wolf emptied all the corn out of his bag, and he put in the
four little pigs, and he carried them home with him.
By and by, Brother Wolf was hungry for more pig meat, so he dressed
himself in his clothes again. He put his bag of corn over his shoulder,
and he rapped loudly at Mrs. Pig’s door, calling:
“Mrs. Pig, Mrs. Pig, let me come in,
The corn is ripe, and the frosts begin.”
“Who knocks?” asked Mrs. Pig.
“Mr. Man, come to put a mark on your little white pig,” said Brother
Wolf.
But Mrs. Pig barred the door, and locked the window, and hid the little
white pig in the dresser, for he was as the apple of her eye.
Then Brother Wolf was very angry, and he took off his hat and his shoes
and his necktie. He hurried up and down the roads until he met Mr.
Wind, who wore a red cloak, and was sweeping the fields.
Brother Wolf told Mr. Wind how he had a mighty good mouth for pig meat.
Mr. Wind said he would help Brother Wolf, for he always liked a romp.
So Mr. Wind and Brother Wolf went to Mrs. Pig’s house and they rapped
loudly on the door, and Brother Wolf called out:
“Mrs. Pig, Mrs. Pig, let me come in,
The corn is ripe, and the frosts begin.”
But never a word did Mrs. Pig say.
[Illustration: “Who knocks?” asked Mrs. Pig.]
“Blow, Mr. Wind,” said Brother Wolf.
Then Mr. Wind began to puff himself out bigger and bigger. He huffed
and he puffed and he blew a mighty gale. He blew round the garden,
and he pulled up the corn and threw it down on the ground. He slammed
the gate and he rattled the window. He shook the door, and he cried,
“WHE-EE, WHE-EE,” in the keyhole, did Mr. Wind.
Brother Wolf was so frightened that his hair stood up straight on his
back. Out of the garden he ran, and around the hill. He never stopped,
nor looked behind him, and no one ever saw him in Mrs. Pig’s garden
again.
“WHE-EE, WHE-EE, let me in,” called Mr. Wind.
Mrs. Pig opened her door a crack, and peeped out with the little white
pig under her arm, for he was the apple of her eye.
HUFF, PUFF, the door blew open wide. When Mrs. Pig saw Mr. Wind in his
red cloak running around the garden, she hurried off to the woods with
her little white pig, and she never came home for a day and a night.
And that is how the pigs first came to see the wind. If you do not
believe it, just watch them run when Mr. Wind comes huffing and puffing
through the garden.
THE TALKING GRASS.
Once upon a time when there were only Indians and animals in our land,
there was a green hill covered with long talking grass. The four winds
of heaven brought the grasses news of what was going on in the world,
and of the coming of hunters. Then the grasses whispered this news to
their friends, the little red Fox, the Hare, the Deer, and the Wolf. If
the animals were too far away to hear the soft voices of the grasses,
they gave the messages to the Butterflies. The hill was the refuge of
these animals, and the talking grasses were their friends.
One day a great band of hunters came from their camp in the valley, up
the hill. They were armed with bows and arrows. They planned to kill
enough game to give them food for a long time. But the grasses knew
that the hunters were on their way. They warned the animals, who hid at
once. When the hunters reached the hill, they saw nothing but green
grass waving in the wind. Many bright butterflies flew above it.
The hunters listened and heard the grasses talking to one another. They
saw, too, the trails of the animals as they had passed through it. They
guessed at once what had happened.
“The grasses have told the animals to flee and hide from us,” they
said. “We must kill them. To-night we will rest and sleep among them,
for we are tired with our long journey. But to-morrow we will tear
every blade of grass up by its roots.”
At these cruel words the grasses became still. They loved their life on
the hill, with their roots in the earth and their green blades reaching
up to the sunshine. Now they knew that they were going to die in the
morning. They could neither sing nor talk any more. But the Butterflies
knew the grasses’ peril. They flew away, one by one, so that the
hunters would suspect nothing, until they came to the Fox’s den. They
told him of the great danger of the talking grasses. They begged him
to do anything that he could to save them.
The Fox set off at once. He did not stop until he came to a dark cave
on the side of a mountain. Here the Fire Manito lived. Few dared speak
to him, for he was a very mighty Manito. He was able to destroy man or
beast at his will. But when he saw the eager, trembling little Fox,
waiting outside, the Fire Manito asked him his errand. The Fox told him
that the grasses were to be killed in the morning, unless something was
done to save them.
The Manito went to the back of his cave and brought out a heap of black
stones. There was no light in them. He told the Fox about them.
“They came from the depths of the earth,” he said. “The Great Spirit
mixed a million sunbeams in each. Then he hid them in the earth until
they should be needed to give heat and light to man. Now we will use
the black stones to save the grasses.”
The Manito heated the stones in his wood fire and they glowed like
red rubies. He sent the Fox ahead to tell the grasses to be brave. He,
himself, followed with his arms full of the glowing stones which did
not burn him because he was the Fire Manito.
The hunters had arisen early and waited at the foot of the hill, ready
to rush up and tear up the grasses. But the Manito laid the brightly
burning stones in a circle about the hill. The hunters were not able
to get through. It was a ring of fire and it frightened them. They had
never seen burning coals before. They went back to their camp and the
grasses were safe, for the coals burned to ashes without touching them.
The grasses soon found their voices again, and they have been talking
to their friends, the animals, ever since. In the summer they tell
the Field Mouse and the Hare where to hide safely. In the spring they
tell the Deer that they are fresh and green for his food. When it is
winter, a few of the grasses stand up, stiff and tall, above the snow
as the lone gray Wolf runs by. They guide him to food. In the fall the
whispering of the dry grasses helps the Fox to double his trail so that
no one may catch him.
Who of you have heard the voices of the grasses?
HOW THE FOX PLAYED HERDSMAN.
Once upon a time there was a little old woman who had a farm of her
very own with sheep, and cows, and swine. But the little old woman was
so busy making butter and minding the dairy that she had no time to
look after the herds.
One fine morning she started out to hire a herdsman. Now she had not
gone very far when she met a bear.
“Whither away, Goody?” asked Bruin of the little old woman.
“Oh, I am off to engage a herdsman for my farm,” said Goody in reply.
“Why not hire me, Goody?” asked Bruin.
“Can you call the flocks at evening?” asked the little old woman.
“You should just hear me,” said Bruin, and he called in a very loud and
gruff voice, “OW, OW.”
“No, no, I won’t have you,” said the little old woman as soon as she
heard his gruff voice, and off she went on her way.
She had not gone a day’s journey farther when she met a wolf.
“Whither away, Goody?” asked the wolf of the little old woman.
“Oh, I am off to engage a herdsman for my farm,” said Goody.
“Why not hire me, Goody?” asked the wolf.
“Can you call the flocks at evening?” asked the little old woman.
“You should just hear me,” said the wolf, and he called in a shrill
voice, “UH, UH.”
“No, no,” said the little old woman as soon as she heard that, and off
she went on her way.
But before the end of another day’s journey, whom should the little
old woman meet but Brother Fox, sitting beside a blackberry bush, and
sunning himself.
“Whither away, Goody?” asked Brother Fox.
“Oh, I am off to engage a herdsman for my farm,” said Goody in reply.
“Why not hire me, Goody?” said Brother Fox.
“Can you call the flocks at evening?” asked the little old woman.
“Ah, you should hear me,” said Brother Fox. He opened his mouth very
wide, and sang in a sweet voice:
“Tum-ti-ti, tum-ti-ti-tra-la-la.”
“You will do very well,” said the little old woman, quite carried away
with the fox’s sweet singing. “You shall come home with me, and be my
herdsman.”
Things went very well for a little while at the farm. Early each
morning Brother Fox led the sheep and the cows and the swine to
pasture, and at night he led them home again, and locked the barn, and
bolted the pigpen.
But, somehow, after a week, the flocks and the herds seemed smaller
each night when the little old woman went out to make the rounds of the
farm.
“Where is the small black pig?” she asked of Brother Fox.
“Loitering in the meadow,” said Brother Fox, wiping his mouth with his
paw.
“Where is the old ram?” asked the little old woman.
“He stops behind at the brook,” said Brother Fox, turning his head away
that Goody might not see him laughing.
So Goody went back to the dairy, and she wondered and wondered what
made the flocks grow smaller.
At last she had churned enough butter to make a fine cake and she went
out to the poultry roost for eggs with which to enrich it.
Alas, such a hubbub, and cackling, and fussing did she find.
The cock stood on the pump, crying loudly, “Cock-a-doodle-do.”
The hens ran about cackling, and out of their midst walked Brother Fox
with a chicken over his back, and his hat full of eggs.
And as he went along he sang to all the poultry yard:
“Tum-ti-ti, Tum-ti-ti,
Tum, tum, ti,
Old Goody’s herdsman,
Sly Reynard, am I.”
“Well, it’s certainly a very poor herdsman you are,” cried the little
old woman. “Where is the small black pig? Where is the old ram?”
She ran after Brother Fox, who dropped his eggs and broke every one,
and tipped over the churn as he passed the dairy. The little old woman
picked up the dasher, and would have beaten Brother Fox, but he was too
quick for her, and reached the woods, with a drop of cream on the tip
end of his tail.
So the little old woman learned what had become of her herds, and
Brother Fox was never able to get that cream from off his tail, The tip
end has been white ever since he played at being a herdsman.
MR. ELEPHANT AND MR. FROG.
Once upon a time, when Mr. Elephant and Mr. Frog lived together in the
same wood with Mr. Fox and Mr. Tiger and Mr. Hare and Mr. Lion, the
animals were all very good friends.
Mr. Elephant was very, very big, and Mr. Frog was very, very little,
but every day they went walking together, Mr. Elephant going in front,
tramp, tramp, tramp; and Mr. Frog going on behind, hop, hop, hop.
One night when they came home, Mr. Hare, who was a saucy little fellow,
ran to meet them, and he said:
“Oho, Mr. Frog says Mr. Elephant is his horse.”
Then Mr. Fox and Mr. Tiger and Mr. Lion all followed after Mr. Hare,
crying:
“Oho, oho, Mr. Elephant is Mr. Frog’s horse.”
Mr. Elephant turned around, and he said in a very gruff voice to Mr.
Frog:
“Did you tell them, grandson, that I was your horse?”
And Mr. Frog said in a high, squeaky voice:
“No, no, grandfather.”
But all the time Mr. Frog was thinking of a trick to play on Mr.
Elephant.
The next day, Mr. Elephant and Mr. Frog started off for a long walk.
Mr. Frog had heard of a place where the swamps were deep and muddy. Mr.
Elephant knew a place where the bananas grew ripe and thick. And they
spent a pleasant day. On the way home Mr. Frog hopped up close to Mr.
Elephant, and he said in his high, squeaky voice:
“Grandfather, I have no strength to walk. Let me get up on your back.”
“Climb up, my grandson,” said Mr. Elephant.
[Illustration: And just then they came toward home.]
He put his trunk down for a ladder, and Mr. Frog climbed up. They had
not gone very far when Mr. Frog hopped up close to Mr. Elephant’s ear,
and he said:
“I am going to fall, grandfather. Give me some small cords from the
roadside that I may bind your mouth, and hold myself upon your back.”
“I will, grandson,” said Mr. Elephant.
So Mr. Elephant stripped some small cords from a birch tree by the
roadside, and handed them to Mr. Frog. Then Mr. Frog bound Mr.
Elephant’s mouth, and they went on a little farther. It was not long,
though, before Mr. Frog spoke again to Mr. Elephant.
“Grandfather,” he said, “find me a small, green twig that I may fan the
mosquitoes from your ears.”
“I will, grandson,” said Mr. Elephant, so he broke a small, green twig
from the birch tree, and reached it up to Mr. Frog; and just then they
came toward home.
“See Mr. Elephant,” cried Mr. Hare.
“See Mr. Elephant,” cried Mr. Tiger.
“See Mr. Elephant,” cried Mr. Lion and all the others, “Mr. Elephant is
Mr. Frog’s horse.”
Mr. Elephant turned himself about, and he saw Mr. Frog on his back,
holding the reins and the whip.
“Why, so I am, grandson,” said Mr. Elephant.
Then Mr. Frog jumped down to the ground, and he laughed and he laughed
until he nearly split his coat, because he had played a trick on Mr.
Elephant.
HOW DRAKESTAIL WENT TO THE KING.
Once upon a time there was a wee little duck, with a very long tail, so
he was called Drakestail. Now, Drakestail had some money of his very,
very own, and the king asked if he might take it. So Drakestail loaned
all his money to the king.
But the king kept Drakestail’s money for a year and a day, and still he
did not send it back. Drakestail said he would go to the king and bring
back the money himself.
So off he started, one very fine morning, for the king’s house. The sun
was shining on the ponds, and Drakestail waddled along in the middle of
the road, feeling very fine. As he traveled, he met a fox, and the fox
said, “Where do you go this fine morning, Friend Drakestail?”
“To the king,” said Drakestail, “for he owes me money.”
“I will travel along with you,” said the fox.
“Ah,” said Drakestail, “your four legs would soon tire. Come along with
me this way,” and he opened his wee little bill very wide, and down his
wee little throat went the fox.
Then Drakestail traveled on a little farther. As he went he came to a
ladder lying beside the road.
“Where do you go this fine morning, Friend Drakestail?” asked the
ladder.
“To the king,” said Drakestail, “for he owes me money.”
“I will travel along with you,” said the ladder.
“Your wooden legs would soon tire,” said Drakestail. “Come along with
me this way,” and he opened his little bill very wide, and down his wee
little throat went the ladder.
Then Drakestail traveled on a bit farther until he came to his friend,
the river, lying and glistening in the sunshine.
“Where do you go this fine morning, Friend Drakestail?” asked the
river.
“To the king, for he owes me money,” said Drakestail.
“I will travel with you,” said the river.
“You would soon tire if you ran so far, my friend,” said Drakestail.
“Come along with me this way.” He opened his wee bill very wide, and
down his wee little throat went the little river.
Then Drakestail traveled and traveled until he came to the king’s
house. Now Drakestail thought that the king would meet him at the gate,
so he called out very loudly:
“_Honk! Honk!_ Drakestail waits at the gate.”
But the king did not come out to meet him. Who should appear at the
gate but the king’s cook, and the cook took Drakestail by his two
little legs and flung him into the poultry yard. The other fowls, who
were ill-bred birds, ran up to Drakestail and bit him, and jeered at
his large tail. It would have gone very badly with Drakestail, but he
called to his friend, the fox:
“Reynard, Reynard, come out to the earth,
Or Drakestail’s life is of little worth.”
So the fox came out, and he ate up all the ill-bred fowls in the king’s
poultry yard. But still Drakestail was badly off. He heard the king’s
cook putting the broth pot over the fire.
“Ladder, ladder, come out to the wall,
Drakestail does not wish to be broth at all,”
he cried. So the ladder came out and leaned against the wall, and
Drakestail climbed over in safety. But the king’s cook saw Drakestail
and set out after him. He caught poor Drakestail and clapped him into
the broth pot, and hung him over the fire.
“River, my sweetheart, put out this hot fire,
The flames that would cook me rise higher and higher,”
cried Drakestail. So the river put out the fire with a great noise and
sputtering, which the king heard. And the king came running to the
kitchen.
“Good morning to you, King,” said Drakestail, hopping out of the broth
pot, and making a very low bow, “are you through with my money, which
you have kept for a year and a day?”
“That I am, Drakestail,” said the king. “You shall have it at once.”
So the king gave Drakestail the money that he owed him, and Drakestail
waddled home again to tell of all his travels.
THE GREEDY CAT.
Once upon a time there lived a cat and a mouse, and they thought they
would ask each other to dinner, turn and turn about. First it was the
cat’s turn to ask the mouse, and he set his table and invited her, but
he did not have much to eat; only a dry crust of bread and some water.
But the mouse, who was very polite, ate it and thanked the cat.
When it was the mouse’s turn to give a dinner, she spread a fine feast,
platters of fish, and saucers of milk, and joints of meat. Then she
baked a large cake with sugar on the top for the cat, and for herself
she made a very tiny cake with no frosting.
The cat came to the mouse’s dinner, and he ate the fish and the meat,
and lapped the milk, and ate the cake. Then he looked around in a
greedy way, and he said:
“What a very light dinner. Have you nothing more in the house to eat,
mouse?”
“Here is my cake,” said the mouse, who was not at all greedy.
So the cat ate the mouse’s cake, and then he looked about again in a
greedy way, and he said:
“Have you anything more to eat, mouse?”
“Nothing, kind sir,” said the mouse, “unless you eat me.”
She thought the cat would never be so greedy as that, but he opened his
mouth wide, and down his throat went the mouse.
Then the greedy cat walked out of the mouse’s house and down the road,
swinging his tail, for he felt very fine.
On his way he met an old woman. Now the old woman had been peeping in
at the window, and she had seen what that greedy cat had done.
“You greedy cat,” she said, “to eat your friend, the mouse.”
“Greedy, indeed,” said the cat, “I have a mind to eat you.”
Then he opened his mouth very wide, and down his throat went the old
woman.
Then on down the road went the cat, swinging his tail, and feeling
finer than ever. As he went he met an old man taking his load of
apples to market. The old man was beating his donkey to make it go
faster.
“Scat, scat, pussy,” said the man, “my donkey will tread on you.”
“Tread on me, indeed,” said the cat, shaking his fat sides, “I have
eaten my friend the mouse, I have eaten an old woman. What is to hinder
my eating you?”
So the greedy cat opened his mouth very wide, and down his throat went
the man and his donkey.
Then he walked along in the middle of the road again. After a while he
spied a great cloud of dust, and he heard a great tramping of feet.
It was the king riding in his chariot, and behind him marched all his
soldiers and his elephants.
“Scat, scat, pussy,” said the king, “my elephants might step on you.”
“Step on me, indeed,” said the cat, “I have eaten my friend the mouse,
I have eaten an old woman, I have eaten an old man and a donkey. What
is to hinder my eating a king and a few elephants?”
So the cat opened his mouth wide, and down his throat went the king and
the soldiers and all the elephants.
Then the cat started on again, but more slowly. He was really not
hungry any more. As he traveled he met two land crabs, scuttling along
in the dust.
“Scat, scat, pussy,” squeaked the crabs.
“I have eaten my friend the mouse,” said the cat, “I have eaten an old
woman, and a man and a donkey, and a king and all his soldiers and all
his elephants. What is to hinder my eating you, too?”
Then the cat opened his mouth wide, and down his throat went the two
crabs.
But the crabs began to look about them there in the dark. There
were the soldiers trying to form in fours, but there was not room.
The elephants were stepping on each other’s toes. The old woman was
scolding, and in a corner sat the poor little mouse, her paws and ears
all drooping.
“We must go to work,” said the crabs.
Then they began snipping and snipping with their sharp little claws.
Soon there was a hole large enough, and they crept out.
Then out came the king and his soldiers and all his elephants. Out came
the old woman scolding her cat. Out came the man and his donkey. Last
of all, out came the little mouse with one little cake under her arm,
for one cake was all that she had wanted.
But the greedy cat had to spend all the rest of the day sewing up the
hole in his coat.
THE THREE BILLY GOATS GRUFF.
Once upon a time there were three Billy Goats, and one was a very large
Goat, and one was a middle-sized Goat, and one was a tiny Goat, but the
three had the very same name, which was Gruff.
One morning the three Billy Goats started away from home, for they had
decided to go far, far to a hillside where there was a quantity of
green grass, and they might eat of it and make themselves fat.
Now, on the way to the hillside there ran a brook, and over the brook
was a bridge, and under the bridge lived a Troll with eyes as large
as saucers, and a nose as long as a poker. And this Troll was fond of
eating Billy Goats.
First of all came the youngest Billy Goat Gruff to cross over the
bridge. Trip trap, trip trap, his little feet pattered upon the boards.
“Who is that tripping over my bridge?” called up the Troll in a surly
voice.
“Oh, it’s only I, the tiniest Billy Goat Gruff, going over to the
hillside to make myself fat,” the Goat called back in a wee small voice.
“I am going to gobble you up, Billy Goat Gruff,” said the Troll.
“Oh, no, pray do not take me,” said the tiniest Billy Goat Gruff; “I
am too little, that I am. Wait until the second Billy Goat Gruff comes
along. He is ever so much bigger than I.”
“Well, be off with you,” said the Troll.
Then came the middle-sized Billy Goat Gruff, to cross the bridge. Trip
trap, trip trap, his middle-sized feet pattered upon the boards.
“Who is that tripping over my bridge?” called up the Troll.
“Oh, it’s only I, the middle-sized Billy Goat Gruff, going over to the
hillside to make myself fat,” the Goat called back in a middle-sized
voice.
“I am coming to gobble you up, Billy Goat Gruff,” said the Troll.
“Oh, no, pray do not take me,” said the middle-sized Billy Goat Gruff;
“I am a little larger than the tiniest Billy Goat, but I am not large
enough to make a mouthful for you. Of that I am quite sure.”
“Well, be off with you,” said the Troll.
Then, last of all, came the great Billy Goat Gruff, to cross over the
bridge.
Trip trap, trip trap, his great feet tramped across the boards.
“Who is that tramping over my bridge?” called up the Troll.
“It is I, the great Billy Goat Gruff, going over to the hillside to
make myself fat,” the Goat called back in a great voice.
“I am coming to gobble you up, Billy Goat Gruff,” said the Troll.
“Come along,” said the great Billy Goat Gruff.
So the Troll, whose eyes were as large as saucers and his nose as long
as a poker, came hurrying up to the top of the bridge,—but, ah, this is
what happened to him.
[Illustration: The Goat tossed the Troll so high with his horns.]
There on the bridge stood the great Billy Goat Gruff with his feet
firmly planted on the boards and his head lowered, and as soon as the
Troll came near—rush, scamper—the Goat tossed the Troll so high with
his horns that no one has ever seen a Troll under a bridge from that
day to this.
Then the great Billy Goat Gruff went on to the hillside, and the three
Billy Goats ate, and ate, and made themselves so fat that they could
scarcely walk home again.
THE HOBYAHS.
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 any one 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 it came morning, the little old man took off little dog
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 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 it came morning, 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.”
Then 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 it came morning, the little old man took off Turpie’s head, and
then Turpie could not bark any more.
That night the Hobyahs came again, skip-ping along on the tips of their
toes, and they called out:
“Tear down the hemp stalks. Eat the little old man, and carry off the
little old woman.”