TELLING STORIES
Before a child can read he develops a passion for stories, and nothing
delights him more than an interesting tale from the loving lips of
father or mother. In good kindergartens and primary schools, there are
teachers who tell stories to the little ones and do it well, but parents
will not wish to delegate it entirely to teachers, for story-telling is
the best way of getting at the hearts of children and planting those
germs which later grow into refined taste in reading as well as ripen
into real character. On the other hand, the teachers may neglect to tell
stories to their pupils or are not skilled either in selection or in
manner of telling. Parents who are interested in the welfare of their
small boys and girls will wish to know what is being done and how it is
accomplished, but may have little idea of the material it is wise to use
or where to find good subjects for their tales.
Proper selection is highly important, for taste and appetite for certain
kinds of literature may be created long before the child can read for
himself. Strong-minded, courageous little boys will love to hear of
giants and ogres, and will revel in adventures that may terrify their
more delicate sisters. George hates the fierce foes that Jack the
Giant-Killer meets, and dreams of the time when he can overpower and
slay his own ogres. Alice listens tremblingly, and when she goes to her
little bed at night lies in fear and trembling, while hideous faces leer
at her from out the shadowed recesses. George never wearies of our
oldest poem, _Beowulf_, while Alice wants only _Cinderella_, or at most
_Bluebeard_. It is nothing less than cruelty to fill the imaginations of
sensitive children with deeds of violence and tales of sadness and woe.
Yet it is no less true that some young folks are the better for their
giants, their knights and their battles. On the whole, it is wiser to
keep the giants, the ogres and the suffering people in the background,
or to dwell upon them only when there seems a demand for them; later,
lead the young imaginations into the realms of history and real life
where giants are very real and ogres yet remain to be subdued. Do not
tell sad or exciting stories in the evening. Keep the quiet, peaceful
things for bed-time stories.
Here, then, is the great opportunity for the parent. The teacher has
thirty or more children of as many different temperaments from homes as
varied in culture as the children are different in appearance, and to
them she must tell her story as to one. The parent has but his own
little flock, whom he has known every day of their lives, and whose
souls are as transparent as glass to his watchful and sympathetic eye.
How certain may he feel in his selection of material, how powerful in
his recital!
Perhaps, however, he may find the pleasant task an unaccustomed one, may
have forgotten what he knew as a boy, and may not know where to turn for
material. Here these books come to his assistance with material for
every taste and suited to every occasion. In the beginning of the first
volume are the nursery rhymes which children have enjoyed for ages,
which are read, or far better told, to infants who rejoice in the
pictures. Between the nursery rhymes and the literature that follows is
quite a gap, intentionally left by the editor. There are no pretty
little tales in words of one syllable for beginners to read, but there
are good fables and stories to be told while the children are learning
to read, and later, to be read by the young people themselves. No parent
can go astray in selection if he knows his own children.
Do not be afraid to _tell_ the story--reading it aloud will not be half
so effective. Select a fable or a short story first. Read it carefully,
and then shut the book and think about it. Be sure you have the plot in
your mind, make the hero and the other characters seem very real to
yourself, picture the scenes vividly in your mind's eye, and you are
ready to begin.
1. _Use Your Own Words._ Simple words, graphic, commonplace words, are
the best. The older children will be just as much entertained, and the
younger ones can understand better. On the other hand, do not talk
_down_ to their level; they will resent the idea and laugh at you. _Keep
on their level._ That means that you must be sure you know your audience
before you begin to talk.
2. _Talk Naturally._ Forget that you are telling a story for the effect
it will produce. Forget yourself. Tell the story as you would tell them
an incident you have just seen.
3. _Look Your Children in the Eyes._ Find the responsive eyes and get
your inspiration from them; seek out the dull and uninterested eyes and
talk to them till they brighten up and respond to your enthusiasm. Let
every child know that many times you have looked him square in the face
and make everyone feel you are talking straight at him.
4. _Supply Many Details._ Children love them; their lives are made up of
little things. Don't think you are ignoring the real story by your
additions. The details you give are probably the very ones the author of
the original story intended you to supply from your own imagination as
you read. Under this head comes the giving of names to characters;
descriptions of clothes, of facts, of feelings; the addition of new
incidents.
The recital of a bare plot is not an interesting story. For instance: "A
boy on his way to school found a yellowbird's nest with four little
birds in it," is the recitation of a bare plot. Is it interesting? Would
the story appeal to children? What do you think of the form following?
"John told me an interesting story this morning. As he was coming to
school today he saw a little yellowbird fly from the bushes by the big
tree at the corner of Mr. Brown's yard. He parted the leaves and looked
into the bush, but for quite a while he could see nothing. At last,
however, he spied a pretty little nest in the fork of a limb and so low
that he could look right down into it. John must have made some noise,
because when he looked in he saw four little, wide-open red mouths, and
that was about all. Of course, there were little half-naked bodies under
the gaping mouths, but he couldn't see them, for each little bird was
shaking his head about, stretching it up higher and higher and opening
his mouth wider and wider. You see, to each little bird a rustling sound
meant that the mother bird had come back with a bit of tasty breakfast
in her mouth. When the wee babies found that they had made a mistake
they closed their mouths, drew down their heads and packed themselves
away so tightly that I'm sure they can't be cold while their mother is
away."
5. _Be Intimate and Personal with Your Audience._ Express your opinion
now and then as your own; interrupt the story occasionally (not often
enough to spoil the interest) by asking for the ideas of the children.
Let them guess, sometimes, at the outcome of the story. Make them feel
that they are an important part of the exercise. Sometimes they will
help you wonderfully.
6. _Use Direct Discourse Wherever Possible._ Make your characters speak
in their own words. Say, "John said, 'I saw the nest,'" rather than,
"John said that he saw the nest."
7. _Keep the Climax Out of Sight as Long as Possible._ Curiosity is a
large factor in interest, and if the children know "how the story is
coming out" you are liable to lose their attention. However, you will
find that some stories will prove such favorites to young children that
they will call for the tales again and again. Occasionally small
children are very particular about the way in which a story is
repeated--there must be no deviations from the way in which it was first
told. You may congratulate yourself on having told the story well, if
the children ask for its repetition; and if they criticise your second
telling you may know you did very well in your first attempt.
8. _Be Enthusiastic; Be Dramatic._ Throw yourself into the tale; _see_
what you are describing; _feel_ what your characters feel, and _enjoy_
the story itself. Speak distinctly; use clear, sympathetic tones; speak
slowly or rapidly as the action demands, and use pauses effectively.
Don't be in a hurry. See that your face expresses your feelings, that
your attitudes are easy and your gestures appropriate and graceful. Act
your part.
9. _Do not Preach._ Tell the story so the moral, if there is any, may be
seen and felt without your striving to point it out.
10. _Talk the Story Over Freely with Your Children._ Try to get their
ideas, rather than to give your own. You can tell whether you have
succeeded and what your faults in narration have been.
_The Fairies of the Caldon-Low_
The difference between poetry and prose may be shown in rather a
startling manner with such a selection as _The Fairies of the
Caldon-Low_ (Volume II, page 395). Children like Mary Howitt's little
narrative, but what does it really say? Let us put it in plain prose and
see!
"Where have you been, Mary?"
"I've been to the top of Caldon-Low to see the midsummer night."
"What did you see?"
"I saw the sunshine come down and the winds blow."
"What did you hear?"
"I heard the water-drops made and the ears of corn fill."
"Tell me everything, Mary, for you must have seen the fairies."
"Then take me on your knee, mother, and listen. Last night a hundred
fairies danced on lively feet to the merry music of nine harpers, but
the merriest thing was the sound of the fairy talk."
"What did you hear them say?"
"I'll tell you, but let me do it in my own way. Some rolled water down
the hill and said, 'this will turn the poor old miller's wheel, and a
busy man he will be by morning. There has been no rain since the first
of May, and how the jolly old miller will laugh till the tears fill his
eyes when he sees the water rise in the milldam.' And some seized the
winds and put horns to their mouths and blew sharply. 'And there!' said
they shrilly, 'the merry winds go from every horn to clear the damp
mildew from the blind old widow's corn. Though she has been blind for a
long time she'll be merry enough when the corn stands up stiff and
strong without any mildew!' Then some brought flax seed and flung it
down, saying, 'by sunrise this will be growing in the weaver's field,
and how the poor lame fellow will laugh when he sees his vacant field
filled with blue flax flowers in a single day.' Then a brownie with a
long beard spoke, 'I have spun all the tow and I want more. I have spun
a linen sheet for Mary's bed and an apron for her mother.' I couldn't
help but laugh out loud, and then I was alone. On the top of Caldon-Low,
the mists were cold and gray and I could see nothing but mossy stones
lying about me. But as I came down I heard the jolly miller laughing
and his wheel going merrily. I peeped into the widow's cornfield and,
sure enough, the golden corn was free from mildew, and at the gate of
the croft stood the weaver, whose eye told the good news about his flax
field. Now that's all I heard and all I saw, so please make my bed,
mother, for I'm as tired as I can be."
Rather a pretty story, even in plain prose, is it not? It is re-written
just about as it would be told to a little child for the first time, a
child interested in the good fairies who do good things for the poor and
the suffering. Then a little later, when the child reads for himself he
can see how much better Mary Howitt tells the story in verse.
Nevertheless, some children will prefer it in prose and often may ask to
have other poems "told in prose." There is no reason for refusing. Story
first, poem afterward, is a good rule to follow if you want to create a
taste for poetry. Sometimes just a remark, "Let us see how this sounds
in poetry," will create enough interest to enable the parent to begin
reading aloud to an attentive audience. Most children will not learn to
like poetry if left to their own devices. It must be read aloud to them
and its beauties pointed out occasionally to create a love for so
artificial a thing as metrical composition.
Parents will find in the General Index at the end of this volume not
only reference to the contents of _Journeys_ by title and author, but
also a classification of subject matter, so that it will be easy to find
different examples of poetry,--lyric, ballad, sonnet,--and of
prose,--fiction, adventure, history, etc., offering a wide range of
selection for story-telling purposes.
_Little Giffin of Tennessee_
This little narrative poem (Volume IV, page 461), is intensely dramatic.
Too abrupt in style for easy reading and filled with words the children
may not understand, it is not well adapted to the very young. But
there's a story in it of courage and deep patriotism that will be an
inspiration to every child who can hear it. What better subject can a
parent find for his son's encouragement than a tale told in his own
words or read in the following?
Little Giffin of Tennessee was only a boy, only a boy of sixteen, not
bigger nor stronger than Charlie, Thomas or George Jones whom you see
going by to school every day. Yet he wasn't running along bareheaded
carrying a bat or swinging his books by a strap. Little Giffin was a
poor wounded soldier boy who had been already in eighteen battles; more
than one, you see, for every year of his short life.
In the last terrible charge, a grape shot had struck him in the leg and
arm and torn the flesh from his broken bones. Over him his comrades
swept up to the face of the enemy's guns, and little Giffin was left to
fight his battle with cold, and rain and hunger. All night long he lay
moaning on the ground, and it was late in the forenoon of the next day
when he was found and taken to the hospital.
There they laid his mangled body among the hundreds of others who had
met with a fate as hard as his own. It was hours before the surgeons
could come to him, and then so hurried were they by other calls upon
them that only a hasty dressing of his poisoned wound was possible.
Some kindly visitors found him there, his fair young face flushed with
the deadly fever, and begged the surgeons to do something for him.
"We can do nothing," they said. "Our hands are full. His case is
hopeless. We must help where it will do some good."
"But may we take him with us? May we see what we can do for him? Perhaps
we can find a doctor who can cure him."
"Take him and welcome," the surgeon replied. "But you can find no doctor
who can save the dead. Little Giffin can never get well."
But the good people lifted the broken form and carried it out from the
hospital's deadly air, into the golden sunshine and away to a clean
little cot in a humble home where a good doctor treated him and a kind
motherly nurse hung over him and soothed his feverish brain for many a
weary hour. For days it seemed that every breath would be his last and
for months his sufferings wrung the hearts of his friends.
But at last there came a day when he could sit up a little, and then for
weeks he hobbled about, an almost helpless cripple with a rude crutch
for his only support.
But his new friends had known that he would get well, for even during
the days of burning fever and the weeks of weary recovery his heart had
been filled with courage and his steel blue eye had glinted with a
dauntless spirit that would not die.
The crippled right arm and mangled fingers were slow in healing and
nearly useless when the wounds were closed and only ugly scars remained.
In spite of all, though, he learned again to write, and you can imagine
that the first letter, in its scraggly writing, began, "My Dearest
Mother," and the next, "Dear Captain."
Mother's answer came first and brought warmth and love to the heart of
the brave little cripple who dreamed now only of home--home, which he
had not dared hope to see again. But then the Captain's letter came:
"Dear Giffin:
"Your letter reached me tonight. God bless you, my boy. I thought you
were gone with the others. Of the eighty-five who made that fatal charge
only you and I are now alive. They say that Johnston is hard pressed and
needs every man----"
Little Giffin never finished reading the letter. He was up and ready to
start away to the front, to his Captain and to Johnston.
"Johnston needs every man," he said, as the first tears he had shed came
to his brave blue eyes. "He needs every man and I'll be some help. I'll
write to you, if I'm spared. Good bye. God bless you, kindest of
friends."
He was gone. Long his friends waited for word from Giffin, little Giffin
of Tennessee. But there came only the news of a terrible battle with
Johnston, where indeed every man was needed.
And little Giffin? Little Giffin never wrote.
But I'd rather have one loyal Giffin, in a nameless grave on a southern
battle field, than all the cowardly men who would fawn around me if I
were a king.
Now I'll read you a little poem which tells better than I can the story
of brave little Giffin of Tennessee.
_The Ballad of Agincourt_
By telling the story and giving some explanation of difficult terms, we
are often able to create an interest in poems that would otherwise
remain unread. The best of old English ballads are so full of martial
spirit that they may well prove an inspiration to many a boy in these
days when war has so recently rent the whole world and proved the
courage of our own young men. Back of the action that brought bloodshed
and suffering is a spirit of loyalty, a genuine patriotism that is as
much needed now as when it animated the souls of the British soldiery in
those days of long ago. It is part of our inheritance, and may not be
forgotten. It is to be hoped that we may never need it again amid the
smoke and carnage of the battlefield, or in the silent horror of the
trenches, but we have each for himself conflicts to wage with foes more
insidious than the armed forces of rival nations, and we can win them
only by the same spirit of devotion that brought victory at Agincourt.
_The Ballad of Agincourt_ (Volume V, page 95), is followed by notes that
make clear its historical setting, but a few comments may help to a
better appreciation of the inspirational value of the selection.
It is natural that in verses written about three hundred years ago there
should be found some crudities in style, some lapses in syntax, and not
a few words strange to us or having a meaning somewhat different from
their present significance. Among such lapses in syntax we find the
slight confusion of tenses in the first stanza, caused in the poet's
mind by the necessity of making a rhyme for France, though this might
have been obviated by writing "stands" for "stood" and using the present
tense throughout. The necessities of rhyme troubled Drayton not a
little: he must pronounce "Agincourt" as it is written to rhyme with
"sort," which, by the way, is not a perfect rhyme for "fort" in the
sixth stanza, and "great" does not rhyme with "seat" nor "feat"; in the
seventh, "rear," "there" and "were" do not rhyme; other instances are
easily found. Of words not now familiar, or used in an unfamiliar sense,
the following are examples: We do not frequently speak of the wind
"standing" in a certain direction; we do not often "advance" our sails
nor "prove" our chance; "vaward" and "bilboes" are old words; "ding" in
the sense used here has long been forgotten; of "archery" except as a
sport we know nothing; "Spanish yew" is no longer valuable for bows, and
few can tell how long a "clothyard" (the English ell, 45 inches long)
is, or whether it differs from any other "yard" as a measure of length.
If the things just mentioned are defects they are of little moment and
add to the quaintness of the verses without detracting from their force.
Anyone who reads for inspiration and for his own betterment puts aside
the critical spirit, places himself in the position of the writer,
harmonizes thoughts and reads for the message without much concern for
the medium. But there are force, action, rhythm, clearness and beauty
in this old ballad. Let us see what we can find without carrying
analysis to the point where it destroys the spirit. All we need is an
understanding of the meaning of the sentences and an expressive reading
aloud. The former, we can supply here, the latter the reader must
contribute. Poetry must be read aloud to be appreciated by any but those
who can listen to their thoughts and hear the words their eyes garner
from the printed page. Such readers are few.
Here is the paraphrase that makes the meaning clear.
With a wind blowing straight for France the English soldiery spread
their sails to try one more campaign against their ancient enemies.
Crossing the open sea they landed at the mouth of the Seine river,
following King Henry and his noble courtiers.
There was fighting all the way, and many a strongly garrisoned fort was
taken, to the joy of all the English. Every day had its skirmish with
the French, who stoutly defended the way to Agincourt where lay their
commander with all his great army of fifty thousand men. Here the
Frenchman sent to King Henry the sarcastic message: "You are going to
your doom. Better get your ransom ready before you advance further." To
this insult the English king made no answer, but an angry smile that
foreshadowed the fall of his vile opponents flashed from his eyes.
Turning to his men, however, the brave king spoke: "Don't be alarmed if
they do outnumber us ten to one. We have begun nobly. Battles so bravely
won as these we have fought, have always been lauded to the skies. Your
fame shall never die. And as for myself, this is my task. I shall not
ask England to mourn for me nor to praise me. If I am not victor here,
or if I am slain, never shall she be asked for one penny to redeem me.
From the great battles of Poitiers and Cressy we learn that when the
French were the most swollen with pride they fell beneath our swords.
Our skill is none the less than that of those who fought under our great
grandsire when he defeated the French and cut their national emblems to
the ground."
What a battle array it was! The vanguard was led by the dread Duke of
York; the king himself in the midst of his brave guards sped in the
center with the main body of the troops, while the valiant rearguard was
captained by Excester, courageous as any man in the great army.
And now the fight begins! Armour on armour shines; drum now to drum does
groan,--to hear is wonder; that, with the cries they make, shakes the
very earth; trumpet to trumpet speaks, thunder to thunder.
From the ambuscade of our hidden forces the noble Erpingham gives the
signal for the English archers to fire. Now like a storm the
cloth-yard-long arrows sped by the strong bows of Spanish yew strike the
French horses, stinging them like serpents through the withers. Every
bowman stands to his place, not one deserting; every true English heart
rejoices in the slaughter.
Down go the bows when the arrows are shot, out spring the great swords,
as the English fly on the French, not one laggard in the company;
straight from their shoulders spring the blows that cleave the heads of
the French peasants and drop them in the dust of trampling feet.
Meantime the noble king, brandishing his broad-sword, dashes along the
French line as though to overwhelm it with his mighty blows, while many
a wound sheds blood on his arms and many a cruel dint sinks into his
helmet.
The good duke Glo'ster, next of the royal blood, fights side by side
with his brave brother, and the youthful Clarence in this almost the
first of his battles fights as furiously as any experienced knight;
Warwick wades in blood, and Oxford adds to the cruel slaughter of the
foe. Suffolk plies his axe manfully while Beaumont, Willoughby, Ferrers
and Fanhope, names for the English to conjure with, bear themselves as
bravely.
_Hervé Riel_
Let us take, as a final example, Browning's poem _Hervé Riel_ (Volume
VIII, page 168). We will set about the preparation of it together. First
we will read the note and then the poem. * * * It is a stirring thing, a
noble monument to a noble man. It is worth the telling. We will read
through it again and mark the passages that contain the incidents that
make the story, so that we may not have to hesitate for ideas after we
begin to talk. * * * Really, the plot is more simple than we thought. It
is merely this: "The French fleet, defeated by the English, arrives off
the harbor of Saint Halo. They call for pilots, but none will try to
conduct the big ships through the dangerous channel, and the captains
decide to wreck and burn their ships, so the English may not capture
them. Just at this time a simple Breton sailor offers to pilot the
vessels through, under penalty of death. The commander puts him in
charge of the fleet and he takes them safely into the harbor. The
English arrive just too late to do any damage, and the French commander,
grateful to his deliverer, offers him any reward he may wish. The Breton
laughs and asks for one day's leave to go and visit his wife who lives
near by."
Let us consider the persons. Evidently Hervé Riel is the only one we
need mention by name. We could give him a simpler name, but if the story
is true, everyone ought to remember him. We must try to make him seem
alive. We must make his deed seem great and must make a point of his
patriotic devotion and of his beautiful love for his wife.
Now we are ready to talk, as soon as we have thought a little and
assured ourselves that we are in the right spirit. So, facing our
audience of small children, we begin:
I've just been reading _Hervé Riel_, a story that I like so much I must
tell it to you. A long time ago, before there was a (name your town),
really before there was a United States, there was a long war across the
ocean between the great nations, England and France. There had been a
bloody battle between their navies, and the French had been beaten.
Still twenty-two of their ships escaped, sailed to their own country and
arrived outside the harbor of Saint Malo. But they were not safe, by any
means. The English were close behind and could soon overtake and capture
or destroy all the French vessels, and put to death many of their
crews. Inside the harbor the French knew they would be safe, for no
English vessel could get through the long, crooked channels without a
pilot, and no Frenchman would lead the English.
Without even waiting to anchor, the captains made signals for pilots and
many skilled ones came off to the ships. When the pilots heard that the
French were crippled and must get into the harbor they laughed at the
captains.
"Go through there now?" they said. "Why, you can't do it. Don't you see
it's low tide and the rocks are showing everywhere? The channel is
crooked and very dangerous at high water and now you could not get your
smallest ship through safely, let alone such a large ship as the
_Formidable_ here, with her ninety-two big guns. It can't be done."
Nothing could change the minds of the pilots. They knew their business
thoroughly. So the captains met to decide what they should do. The
commander addressed them, saying:
"The English are at our heels. What shall we do? Do you want them to tow
us all, one behind the other, back to their country to become their
prizes? Not I. Better run all the ships aground, set fire to them, and
escape ourselves if we can."
The brave captains all looked at their commander. Every man shut his
teeth together, set his brows, and with flashing eyes said, "Speak the
word; we will obey."
But the commander never gave his order! Right into the excited group
stepped a man; not a captain, not even a second mate; just a plain,
simple sailor who lived near Saint Malo. He had not even joined the
fleet of his own will, but had been seized and carried on board long
before the battle, because the navy was short of sailors. You might
think he would want revenge for being taken away from his home and his
fishing. Did he? At first he was too much excited to speak, but in a
moment he stormed out:
"What's the matter with you pilots? Are you mad, or fools, or cowards,
or have the English bought you body and soul? Don't talk to me of rock
and shallow places and crooked channels! Haven't I sailed these waters
for years, and don't I know every shallow place, every dangerous turn,
every inch of the way? You cowards! There's a way through, I tell you."
Then Hervé Riel turned to the commander and shouted, "Put me in charge
of this ship, the biggest, this _Formidable_, and I'll steer her
through. Make the others follow me closely. They'll all come safely in.
Try me; I'll do it. I haven't much to offer for the chance, but if this
ship so much as touches her keel on a hidden rock, you may cut off my
head. Let me try, sir."
The commander replied, "We have not a second to spare. You're admiral
here! Take the helm and lead us through!"
Hervé Riel was as prompt as the commander, and seizing the tiller, he
soon had the great ship sailing along under perfect control. She went
into the narrow channel, with the great rocks high on both sides. The
waves beat up angrily and the breakers threw their spray high over the
decks. With eyes fixed on the channel and both hands on the helm, he
guided the staunch vessel on the winding course. Time and again it
seemed as though she must be wrecked, but just at the moment of greatest
danger Hervé Riel shifted the helm, and the stately ship moved safely
on. With hearts beating high, the officers watched the wonderful deed,
and the frightened sailors clung speechless to the rail. Finally,
between two great rocks that seemed to block the channel completely, the
ship sailed majestically into the harbor, and Hervé Riel had kept his
promise. Not once had the great _Formidable_ touched her keel to a rock;
not a scratch, except the battle scars, marred her fair sides.
After her, one by one, came the other ships of the squadron, till all
were anchored safely in the harbor. Just as the last ship came to
anchor, the English fleet, coming up in helpless anger, began to throw
shells across the passage. The French, however, were out of range and
could laugh at the fruitless attempts of their enemy. With one voice the
captains and sailors of the rescued fleet shouted, "Hervé Riel! Hervé
Riel! Now, let the king of France reward the man who has saved his
fleet!"
And what of the brave sailor? He stood calm and quiet without a gleam of
pride in his frank blue eyes. Just the same man as he was before his
gallant deed, he answered the commander's call and stood before him.
"My friend," began the commander, "I can scarcely speak, but you know
praise comes from the heart and not from the lips. You have saved the
fleet from certain destruction and have preserved the lives of many of
your countrymen. No reward is too great for you. Ask what you will and
it shall be granted."
Hervé Riel's blue eyes danced with merriment as he said, "Now that my
work is over I would like, if I may have it, one whole day to visit my
wife, whom I call 'Beautiful Aurora,' and who lives just a little way
from Saint Malo. That is all I want. May I go?"
You can imagine whether or not his request was granted.
Now, do you know, that brave act was forgotten; Hervé Riel was forgotten
for many centuries. No monument was erected to his memory; there seemed
nothing to keep the patriotic man alive in the hearts of his countrymen.
But one day, not so many years ago, Robert Browning, the great English
poet, heard the story, and he was so moved by the heroic deed and the
quiet humor of the man, that he wrote a fine, manly poem and called it
_Hervé Riel_, so that it should remain as a monument to the patriotism
and character of the simple French sailor.
If the children are older and studying history, we would give more of an
idea of the place, and of the occasion and show what the effect of
saving the ship really was. The poem is an excellent one, but most
children do not care for it till they have heard the story and have
studied the text. Then they are delighted with it and will read it again
and again. It has been many years since the writer of this first read
_Hervé Riel_, but he has never wearied of it and cannot read it now
without a thrill of admiration for the hero and for Browning's monument.
When you tell the story, do not try to tell it as this has been told.
Use _your_ words, select for emphasis the parts that appeal to _you_ and
give the children just the ideas that _you_ have conceived.
Other classics that will make just as good subjects for story telling
are in every volume of _Journeys_. The following list contains only a
few of them. By adapting them to the age of the young listeners, almost
any of them may be made suitable for almost any age:
Volume I, page 79. _Little Red Riding Hood._
Volume I, page 101. _Silver Locks and the Three Bears._
Volume I, page 134. _The Dog in the Manger._
Volume I, page 431. _Baucis and Philemon._
Volume I, page 456. _The Story of Joseph._
Volume II, page 111. _The Punishment of Loki._
Volume II, page 448. _The Story of Esther._
Volume II, page 387. _What the Old Man Does Is Always Right._
Volume III, page 436. _Robin Hood._
Volume IV, page 192. _The Pine-Tree Shillings._
Volume IV, page 274. _David._
Volume IV, page 383. _The Wooden Horse._
Volume V, page 130. _Balin and Balan._
Volume V, page 237. _The Passing of Arthur._
Volume VI, page 143. _Ruth._