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-
-
- HOW TO TELL STORIES
- TO CHILDREN
- AND SOME STORIES TO TELL
-
- BY SARA CONE BRYANT
-
-
-
-
- To My Mother
- THE FIRST, BEST STORY-TELLER
- THIS LITTLE BOOK IS
- DEDICATED
-
-
-
- PREFACE
-
- The stories which are given in the following
- pages are for the most part those which I have
- found to be best liked by the children to whom
- I have told these and others. I have tried to
- reproduce the form in which I actually tell
- them,--although that inevitably varies with
- every repetition,--feeling that it would be of
- greater value to another story-teller than a
- more closely literary form.
-
- For the same reason, I have confined my
- statements of theory as to method, to those
- which reflect my own experience; my "rules"
- were drawn from introspection and retrospection,
- at the urging of others, long after the instinctive
- method they exemplify had become habitual.
-
- These facts are the basis of my hope that
- the book may be of use to those who have much
- to do with children.
-
- It would be impossible, in the space of any
- pardonable preface, to name the teachers,
- mothers, and librarians who have given me
- hints and helps during the past few years of
- story-telling. But I cannot let these pages go
- to press without recording my especial
- indebtedness to the few persons without whose interested
- aid the little book would scarcely have
- come to be. They are: Mrs Elizabeth Young
- Rutan, at whose generous instance I first
- enlarged my own field of entertaining story-telling
- to include hers, of educational narrative, and
- from whom I had many valuable suggestions
- at that time; Miss Ella L. Sweeney, assistant
- superintendent of schools, Providence, R.I.,
- to whom I owe exceptional opportunities for
- investigation and experiment; Mrs Root,
- children's librarian of Providence Public
- Library, and Miss Alice M. Jordan, Boston
- Public Library, children's room, to whom I
- am indebted for much gracious and efficient aid.
-
- My thanks are due also to Mr David Nutt
- for permission to make use of three stories from
- English Fairy Tales, by Mr Joseph Jacobs, and
- Raggylug, from Wild Animals I have Known,
- by Mr Ernest Thompson Seton; to Messrs
- Frederick A. Stokes Company for Five Little
- White Heads, by Walter Learned, and for Bird
- Thoughts; to Messrs Kegan Paul, Trench,
- Trubner & Co. Ltd. for The Burning of the
- Ricefields, from Gleanings in Buddha-Fields,
- by Mr Lafcadio Hearn; to Messrs H. R. Allenson
- Ltd. for three stories from The Golden
- Windows, by Miss Laura E. Richards; and to
- Mr Seumas McManus for Billy Beg and his Bull,
- from In Chimney Corners.
- S. C. B.
-
-
-
- CONTENTS
-
- INTRODUCTION
- The Story-teller's Art--Recent Revival--The Difference
- between telling a Story and reading it aloud--Some
- Reasons why the Former is more effective
-
- CHAPTER I
- THE PURPOSE OF STORY-TELLING IN SCHOOL
- Its immediate Advantages to the Teacher-Its ultimate
- Gifts to the Child
-
- CHAPTER II
- SELECTION OF STORIES TO TELL
-
- The Qualities Children like, and why--Qualities
- necessary for Oral Delivery--Examples: The Three
- Bears, The Three Little Pigs, The Old Woman and
- her Pig--Suggestions as to the Type of Story
- especially useful in the several primary Grades--
- Selected List of familiar Fairy Tales
-
- CHAPTER III
- ADAPTATION OF STORIES FOR TELLING
-
- How to make a long Story short--How to fill out a
- short Story--General Changes commonly desirable--
- Examples: The Nurnberg Stove, by Ouida; The
- King of the Golden River, by Ruskin; The Red Thread
- of Courage, The Elf and the Dormouse--Analysis
- of Method
-
- CHAPTER IV
- HOW TO TELL THE STORY
-
- Essential Nature of the Story--Kind of Appreciation
- necessary--Suggestions for gaining Mastery of Facts
- --Arrangement of Children--The Story-teller's
- Mood--A few Principles of Method, Manner and
- Voice, from the Psychological Point of View
-
- CHAPTER V
- SOME SPECIFIC SCHOOLROOM USES
-
- Exercise in Retelling--Illustrations cut by the
- Children as Seat-work--Dramatic Games--Influence
- of Games on Reading Classes
-
- STORIES SELECTED AND ADAPTED FOR TELLING
-
- ESPECIALLY FOR KINDERGARTEN AND CLASS I.
-
- Nursery Rhymes
- Five Little White Heads
- Bird Thoughts
- How we came to have Pink Roses
- Raggylug
- The Golden Cobwebs
- Why the Morning-Glory climbs
- The Story of Little Tavwots
- The Pig Brother
- The Cake
- The Pied Piper of Hamelin Town
- Why the Evergreen Trees keep their Leaves in Winter
- The Star Dollars
- The Lion and the Gnat
-
- ESPECIALLY FOR CLASSES II. AND III.
-
- The Cat and the Parrot
- The Rat Princess
- The Frog and the Ox
- The Fire-Bringer
- The Burning of the Ricefields
- The Story of Wylie
- Little Daylight
- The Sailor Man
- The Story of Jairus's Daughter
-
-
- ESPECIALLY FOR CLASSES IV. AND V.
-
- Arthur and the Sword
- Tarpeia
- The Buckwheat
- The Judgment of Midas
- Why the Sea is salt
- Billy Beg and his Ball
- The Little Hero of Haarlem
- The Last Lesson
- The Story of Christmas
-
- THE CHILD-MIND; AND HOW TO SATISFY IT
-
- A short List of Books in which the Story-teller will find
- Stories not too far from the Form in which they are needed.
-
-
-
-
- INTRODUCTION
-
- Not long ago, I chanced to open a magazine
- at a story of Italian life which dealt with a
- curious popular custom. It told of the love of
- the people for the performances of a strangely
- clad, periodically appearing old man who was
- a professional story-teller. This old man
- repeated whole cycles of myth and serials of
- popular history, holding his audience-chamber
- in whatever corner of the open court or square
- he happened upon, and always surrounded by
- an eager crowd of listeners. So great was the
- respect in which the story-teller was held, that
- any interruption was likely to be resented with
- violence.
-
- As I read of the absorbed silence and the
- changing expressions of the crowd about the
- old man, I was suddenly reminded of a company
- of people I had recently seen. They were
- gathered in one of the parlours of a women's
- college, and their serious young faces had,
- habitually, none of the childlike responsiveness
- of the Italian populace; they were suggestive,
- rather, of a daily experience which precluded
- over-much surprise or curiosity about anything.
-
- In the midst of the group stood a frail-looking
- woman with bright eyes. She was telling a
- story, a children's story, about a good and a
- bad little mouse.
-
- She had been asked to do that thing, for a
- purpose, and she did it, therefore. But it was
- easy to see from the expressions of the listeners
- how trivial a thing it seemed to them.
-
- That was at first. But presently the room
- grew quieter, and yet quieter. The faces relaxed
- into amused smiles, sobered in unconscious
- sympathy, finally broke in ripples of mirth.
- The story-teller had come to her own.
-
- The memory of the college girls listening to
- the mouse-story brought other memories with
- it. Many a swift composite view of faces passed
- before my mental vision, faces with the child's
- look on them, yet not the faces of children.
- And of the occasions to which the faces
- belonged, those were most vivid which were
- earliest in my experience. For it was those early
- experiences which first made me realise the
- modern possibilities of the old, old art of telling
- stories.
-
- It had become a part of my work, some years
- ago, to give English lectures on German literature.
- Many of the members of my class were
- unable to read in the original the works with
- which I dealt, and as these were modern works,
- it was rarely possible to obtain translations.
-
- For this reason, I gradually formed the habit
- of telling the story of the drama or novel in
- question before passing to a detailed consideration
- of it. I enjoyed this part of the lesson
- exceedingly, but it was some time before I
- realised how much the larger part of the lesson
- it had become to the class. They used--and
- they were mature women--to wait for the story
- as if it were a sugarplum and they, children;
- and to grieve openly if it were omitted.
- Substitution of reading from a translation was
- greeted with precisely the same abatement of
- eagerness that a child shows when he has asked
- you to tell a story, and you offer, instead, to
- "read one from the pretty book." And so
- general and constant were the tokens of
- enjoyment that there could ultimately be no doubt
- of the power which the mere story-telling
- exerted.
-
- The attitude of the grown-up listeners did
- but illustrate the general difference between the
- effect of telling a story and of reading one.
- Everyone who knows children well has felt
- the difference. With few exceptions, children
- listen twice as eagerly to a story told as to one
- read, and even a "recitation" or a so-called
- "reading" has not the charm for them that
- the person wields who can "tell a story." And
- there are sound reasons for their preference.
-
- The great difference, including lesser ones,
- between telling and reading is that the teller
- is free; the reader is bound. The book in hand,
- or the wording of it in mind, binds the reader.
- The story-teller is bound by nothing; he stands
- or sits, free to watch his audience, free to follow
- or lead every changing mood, free to use body,
- eyes, voice, as aids in expression. Even his
- mind is unbound, because he lets the story
- come in the words of the moment, being so full
- of what he has to say. For this reason, a story
- told is more spontaneous than one read, however
- well read. And, consequently, the connection
- with the audience is closer, more electric, than is
- possible when the book or its wording intervenes.
-
- Beyond this advantage, is the added charm
- of the personal element in story-telling. When
- you make a story your own and tell it, the listener
- gets the story, PLUS YOUR APPRECIATION
- OF IT. It comes to him filtered through your
- own enjoyment. That is what makes the funny
- story thrice funnier on the lips of a jolly
- raconteur than in the pages of a memoir. It is
- the filter of personality. Everybody has something
- of the curiosity of the primitive man
- concerning his neighbour; what another has in
- his own person felt and done has an especial
- hold on each one of us. The most cultured of
- audiences will listen to the personal reminiscences
- of an explorer with a different tingle
- of interest from that which it feels for a
- scientific lecture on the results of the exploration.
- The longing for the personal in experience is
- a very human longing. And this instinct or
- longing is especially strong in children. It
- finds expression in their delight in tales of what
- father or mother did when they were little, of
- what happened to grandmother when she went
- on a journey, and so on, but it also extends to
- stories which are not in themselves personal:
- which take their personal savour merely from
- the fact that they flow from the lips in
- spontaneous, homely phrases, with an appreciative
- gusto which suggests participation.
-
- The greater ease in holding the attention of
- children is, for teachers, a sufficient practical
- reason for telling stories rather than reading
- them. It is incomparably easier to make the
- necessary exertion of "magnetism," or whatever
- it may be called, when nothing else distracts
- the attention. One's eyes meet the
- children's gaze naturally and constantly; one's
- expression responds to and initiates theirs without
- effort; the connection is immediate. For
- the ease of the teacher, then, no less than for
- the joy of the children, may the art of story-
- telling be urged as pre-eminent over the art of
- reading.
-
- It is a very old, a very beautiful art. Merely
- to think of it carries one's imaginary vision
- to scenes of glorious and touching antiquity.
- The tellers of the stories of which Homer's
- Iliad was compounded; the transmitters of
- the legend and history which make up the
- Gesta Romanorum; the travelling raconteurs
- whose brief heroic tales are woven into our
- own national epic; the grannies of age-old
- tradition whose stories are parts of Celtic folk-lore,
- of Germanic myth, of Asiatio wonder-tales,--
- these are but younger brothers and sisters
- to the generations of story-tellers whose
- inventions are but vaguely outlined in resultant
- forms of ancient literatures, and the names of
- whose tribes are no longer even guessed.
- There was a time when story-telling was the
- chiefest of the arts of entertainment; kings
- and warriors could ask for nothing better;
- serfs and children were satisfied with nothing
- less. In all times there have been occasional
- revivals of this pastime, and in no time has the
- art died out in the simple human realms of which
- mothers are queens. But perhaps never, since
- the really old days, has story-telling so nearly
- reached a recognised level of dignity as a legitimate
- and general art of entertainment as now.
-
- Its present popularity seems in a way to be
- an outgrowth of the recognition of its educational
- value which was given impetus by the
- German pedagogues of Froebel's school. That
- recognition has, at all events, been a noticeable
- factor in educational conferences of late.
- The function of the story is no longer
- considered solely in the light of its place in the
- kindergarten; it is being sought in the first,
- the second, and indeed in every standard where
- the children are still children. Sometimes the
- demand for stories is made solely in the
- interests of literary culture, sometimes in far
- ampler and vaguer relations, ranging from
- inculcation of scientific fact to admonition of
- moral theory; but whatever the reason given,
- the conclusion is the same: tell the children
- stories.
-
- The average teacher has yielded to the
- pressure, at least in theory. Cheerfully, as she
- has already accepted so many modifications of
- old methods by "new thought," she accepts
- the idea of instilling mental and moral desiderata
- into the receptive pupil, via the charming
- tale. But, confronted with the concrete
- problem of what desideratum by which tale,
- and how, the average teacher sometimes finds
- her cheerfulness displaced by a sense of inadequacy
- to the situation.
-
- People who have always told stories to
- children, who do not know when they began
- or how they do it; whose heads are stocked
- with the accretions of years of fairyland-
- dwelling and nonsense-sharing,--these cannot
- understand the perplexity of one to whom
- the gift and the opportunity have not "come
- natural." But there are many who can understand
- it, personally and all too well. To these,
- the teachers who have not a knack for story-
- telling, who feel as shy as their own youngest
- scholar at the thought of it, who do not know
- where the good stories are, or which ones are
- easy to tell, it is my earnest hope that the
- following pages will bring something definite
- and practical in the way of suggestion and
- reference.
-
-
-
- HOW TO TELL STORIES TO CHILDREN
-
- CHAPTER I
-
- THE PURPOSE OF STORY-TELLING IN SCHOOL
-
- Let us first consider together the primary
- matter of the AIM in educational story-telling.
- On our conception of this must depend very
- largely all decisions as to choice and method;
- and nothing in the whole field of discussion
- is more vital than a just and sensible notion
- of this first point. What shall we attempt
- to accomplish by stories in the schoolroom?
- What can we reasonably expect to accomplish?
- And what, of this, is best accomplished by this
- means and no other?
-
- These are questions which become the more
- interesting and practical because the recent
- access of enthusiasm for stories in education
- has led many people to claim very wide and
- very vaguely outlined territory for their
- possession, and often to lay heaviest stress on
- their least essential functions. The most
- important instance of this is the fervour with
- which many compilers of stories for school
- have directed their efforts solely toward
- the ration of natural phenomena. Geology,
- zoology, botany, and even physics are taught
- by means of more or less happily constructed
- narratives based on the simpler facts of these
- sciences. Kindergarten teachers are familiar
- with such narratives: the little stories of
- chrysalis-breaking, flower-growth, and the like.
- Now this is a perfectly proper and practicable
- aim, but it is not a primary one. Others, to
- which at best this is but secondary, should
- have first place and receive greatest attention.
-
- What is a story, essentially? Is it a textbook
- of science, an appendix to the geography,
- an introduction to the primer of history? Of
- course it is not. A story is essentially and
- primarily a work of art, and its chief function
- must be sought in the line of the uses of art.
- Just as the drama is capable of secondary uses,
- yet fails abjectly to realise its purpose when
- those are substituted for its real significance
- as a work of art, so does the story lend itself
- to subsidiary purposes, but claims first and
- most strongly to be recognised in its real
- significance as a work of art. Since the drama
- deals with life in all its parts, it can exemplify
- sociological theory, it can illustrate economic
- principle, it can even picture politics; but the
- drama which does these things only, has no
- breath of its real life in its being, and dies
- when the wind of popular tendency veers from
- its direction. So, you can teach a child
- interesting facts about bees and butterflies by telling
- him certain stories, and you can open his eyes
- to colours and processes in nature by telling
- certain others; but unless you do something
- more than that and before that, you are as
- one who should use the Venus of Milo for a
- demonstration in anatomy.
-
- The message of the story is the message of
- beauty, as effective as that message in marble
- or paint. Its part in the economy of life is TO
- GIVE JOY. And the purpose and working of the
- joy is found in that quickening of the spirit
- which answers every perception of the truly
- beautiful in the arts of man. To give joy; in
- and through the joy to stir and feed the life
- of the spirit: is not this the legitimate function
- of the story in education?
-
- Because I believe it to be such, not because
- I ignore the value of other uses, I venture to
- push aside all aims which seem secondary to
- this for later mention under specific heads.
- Here in the beginning of our consideration I
- wish to emphasise this element alone. A story
- is a work of art. Its greatest use to the child
- is in the everlasting appeal of beauty by which
- the soul of man is constantly pricked to new
- hungers, quickened to new perceptions and so
- given desire to grow.
-
- The obvious practical bearing of this is that
- story-telling is first of all an art of entertainment;
- like the stage, its immediate purpose is
- the pleasure of the hearer,--his pleasure, not
- his instruction, first.
-
- Now the story-teller who has given the
- listening children such pleasure as I mean may
- or may not have added a fact to the content of
- their minds, she has inevitably added something
- to the vital powers of their souls. She
- has given a wholesome exercise to the emotional
- muscles of the spirit, has opened up new
- windows to the imagination, and added some
- line or colour to the ideal of life and art which
- is always taking form in the heart of a child.
- She has, in short, accomplished the one greatest
- aim of story-telling,--to enlarge and enrich the
- child's spiritual experience, and stimulate healthy
- reaction upon it.
-
- Of course this result cannot be seen and
- proved as easily and early as can the apprehension
- of a fact. The most one can hope to
- recognise is its promise, and this is found in
- the tokens of that genuine pleasure which is
- itself the means of accomplishment. It is,
- then, the signs of right pleasure which the
- story-teller must look to for her guide, and
- which it must be her immediate aim to evoke.
- As for the recognition of the signs,--no one
- who has ever seen the delight of a real child
- over a real story can fail to know the signals
- when given, or flatter himself into belief in
- them when absent.
-
- Intimately connected with the enjoyment
- given are two very practically beneficial results
- which the story-teller may hope to obtain, and
- at least one of which will be a kind of reward
- to herself. The first is a relaxation of the tense
- schoolroom atmosphere, valuable for its refreshing
- recreative power. The second result, or
- aim, is not so obvious, but is even more
- desirable; it is this: story-telling is at once one
- of the simplest and quickest ways of establishing
- a happy relation between teacher and
- children, and one of the most effective methods
- of forming the habit of fixed attention in the latter.
-
- If you have never seen an indifferent child
- aroused or a hostile one conquered to affection
- by a beguiling tale, you can hardly appreciate
- the truth of the first statement; but nothing
- is more familiar in the story-teller's experience.
- An amusing, but--to me--touching experience
- recently reaffirmed in my mind this power of
- the story to establish friendly relations.
-
- My three-year-old niece, who had not seen
- me since her babyhood, being told that Aunt
- Sara was coming to visit her, somehow confused
- the expected guest with a more familiar aunt,
- my sister. At sight of me, her rush of welcome
- relapsed into a puzzled and hurt withdrawal,
- which yielded to no explanations or proffers of
- affection. All the first day she followed me
- about at a wistful distance, watching me as if
- I might at any moment turn into the well-known
- and beloved relative I ought to have been.
- Even by undressing time I had not progressed
- far enough to be allowed intimate approach to
- small sacred nightgowns and diminutive shirts.
- The next morning, when I opened the door of
- the nursery where her maid was brushing her
- hair, the same dignity radiated from the little
- round figure perched on its high chair, the same
- almost hostile shyness gazed at me from the
- great expressive eyes. Obviously, it was time
- for something to be done.
-
- Disregarding my lack of invitation, I drew
- up a stool, and seating myself opposite the
- small unbending person, began in a conversational
- murmur: "M--m, I guess those are
- tingly-tanglies up there in that curl Lottie's
- combing; did you ever hear about the tingly-
- tanglies? They live in little girls' hair, and
- they aren't any bigger than THAT, and when
- anybody tries to comb the hair they curl both
- weeny legs round, SO, and hold on tight with
- both weeny hands, SO, and won't let go!" As
- I paused, my niece made a queer little sound
- indicative of query battling with reserve. I
- pursued the subject: "They like best to live
- right over a little girl's ear, or down in her neck,
- because it is easier to hang on, there; tingly-
- tanglies are very smart, indeed."
-
- "What's ti-ly-ta-lies?" asked a curious,
- guttural little voice.
-
- I explained the nature and genesis of tingly-
- tanglies, as revealed to me some decades before
- by my inventive mother, and proceeded to
- develop their simple adventures. When next I
- paused the small guttural voice demanded,
- "Say more," and I joyously obeyed.
-
- When the curls were all curled and the last
- little button buttoned, my baby niece climbed
- hastily down from her chair, and deliberately up
- into my lap. With a caress rare to her habit she
- spoke my name, slowly and tentatively, "An-ty
- Sai-ry?" Then, in an assured tone, "Anty Sairy,
- I love you so much I don't know what to do!"
- And, presently, tucking a confiding hand in
- mine to lead me to breakfast, she explained
- sweetly, "I didn' know you when you comed
- las' night, but now I know you all th' time!"
-
- "Oh, blessed tale," thought I, "so easy a
- passport to a confidence so desired, so complete!"
- Never had the witchery of the story to
- the ear of a child come more closely home to
- me. But the fact of the witchery was no new
- experience. The surrender of the natural child
- to the story-teller is as absolute and invariable
- as that of a devotee to the priest of his own sect.
-
- This power is especially valuable in the case
- of children whose natural shyness has been
- augmented by rough environment or by the
- strangeness of foreign habit. And with such
- children even more than with others it is also
- true that the story is a simple and effective
- means of forming the habit of concentration,
- of fixed attention; any teacher who deals with
- this class of children knows the difficulty of
- doing this fundamental and indispensable thing,
- and the value of any practical aid in doing it.
-
- More than one instance of the power of story-
- telling to develop attentiveness comes to my
- mind, but the most prominent in memory is a
- rather recent incident, in which the actors were
- boys and girls far past the child-stage of docility.
-
- I had been asked to tell stories to about
- sixty boys and girls of a club; the president
- warned me in her invitation that the children
- were exceptionally undisciplined, but my previous
- experiences with similar gatherings led me to
- interpret her words with a moderation which
- left me totally unready for the reality. When
- I faced my audience, I saw a squirming jumble
- of faces, backs of heads, and the various
- members of many small bodies,--not a person
- in the room was paying the slightest attention
- to me; the president's introduction could
- scarcely be said to succeed in interrupting the
- interchange of social amenities which was in
- progress, and which looked delusively like a
- free fight. I came as near stage fright in the
- first minutes of that occasion as it is comfortable
- to be, and if it had not been impossible to
- run away I think I should not have remained.
- But I began, with as funny a tale as I knew,
- following the safe plan of not speaking very
- loudly, and aiming my effort at the nearest
- children. As I went on, a very few faces held
- intelligently to mine; the majority answered
- only fitfully; and not a few of my hearers
- conversed with their neighbours as if I were non-
- existent. The sense of bafflement, the futile
- effort, forced the perspiration to my hands and
- face--yet something in the faces before me told
- me that it was no ill-will that fought against
- me; it was the apathy of minds without the
- power or habit of concentration, unable to follow
- a sequence of ideas any distance, and rendered
- more restless by bodies which were probably
- uncomfortable, certainly undisciplined.
-
- The first story took ten minutes. When I
- began a second, a very short one, the initial work
- had to be done all over again, for the slight
- comparative quiet I had won had been totally
- lost in the resulting manifestation of approval.
-
- At the end of the second story, the room
- was really orderly to the superficial view, but
- where I stood I could see the small boy who
- deliberately made a hideous face at me each
- time my eyes met his, the two girls who talked
- with their backs turned, the squirms of a figure
- here and there. It seemed so disheartening
- a record of failure that I hesitated much to
- yield to the uproarious request for a third story,
- but finally I did begin again, on a very long story
- which for its own sake I wanted them to hear.
-
- This time the little audience settled to attention
- almost at the opening words. After about
- five minutes I was suddenly conscious of a
- sense of ease and relief, a familiar restful feeling
- in the atmosphere; and then, at last, I
- knew that my audience was "with me," that
- they and I were interacting without obstruction.
- Absolutely quiet, entirely unconscious of
- themselves, the boys and girls were responding to
- every turn of the narrative as easily and readily
- as any group of story-bred kindergarten children.
- From then on we had a good time together.
-
- The process which took place in that small
- audience was a condensed example of what
- one may expect in habitual story-telling to a
- group of children. Once having had the attention
- chained by crude force of interest, the
- children begin to expect something interesting
- from the teacher, and to wait for it. And
- having been led step by step from one grade
- of a logical sequence to another, their minds--
- at first beguiled by the fascination of the steps
- --glide into the habit of following any logical
- sequence. My club formed its habit, as far as
- I was concerned, all in one session; the ordinary
- demands of school procedure lengthen the
- process, but the result is equally sure. By the
- end of a week in which the children have
- listened happily to a story every day, the habit
- of listening and deducing has been formed, and
- the expectation of pleasantness is connected
- with the opening of the teacher's lips.
-
- These two benefits are well worth the trouble
- they cost, and for these two, at least, any teacher
- who tells a story well may confidently look--
- the quick gaining of a confidential relation with
- the children, and the gradual development of
- concentration and interested attention in them.
-
- These are direct and somewhat clearly
- discernible results, comfortably placed in a near
- future. There are other aims, reaching on into
- the far, slow modes of psychological growth,
- which must equally determine the choice of the
- story-teller's material and inform the spirit of her
- work. These other, less immediately attainable
- ends, I wish now to consider in relation to the
- different types of story by which they are severally
- best served.
-
- First, unbidden claimant of attention, comes
-
- THE FAIRY STORY
-
-
- No one can think of a child and a story,
- without thinking of the fairy tale. Is this, as
- some would have us believe, a bad habit of an
- ignorant old world? Or can the Fairy Tale
- justify her popularity with truly edifying and
- educational results? Is she a proper person to
- introduce here, and what are her titles to merit?
-
- Oh dear, yes! Dame Fairy Tale comes bearing
- a magic wand in her wrinkled old fingers,
- with one wave of which she summons up that
- very spirit of joy which it is our chief effort to
- invoke. She raps smartly on the door, and open
- sesames echo to every imagination. Her red-
- heeled shoes twinkle down an endless lane of
- adventures, and every real child's footsteps
- quicken after. She is the natural, own great-
- grandmother of every child in the world, and
- her pocketfuls of treasures are his by right of
- inheritance. Shut her out, and you truly rob
- the children of something which is theirs;
- something marking their constant kinship with the
- race-children of the past, and adapted to their
- needs as it was to those of the generation of long
- ago! If there were no other criterion at all, it
- would be enough that the children love the fairy
- tale; we give them fairy stories, first, because they
- like them. But that by no means lessens the
- importance of the fact that fairy tales are also
- good for them.
-
- How good? In various ways. First, perhaps,
- in their supreme power of presenting truth
- through the guise of images. This is the way
- the race-child took toward wisdom, and it is the
- way each child's individual instinct takes, after
- him. Elemental truths of moral law and general
- types of human experience are presented in the
- fairy tale, in the poetry of their images, and
- although the child is aware only of the image
- at the time, the truth enters with it and becomes
- a part of his individual experience, to be recognised
- in its relations at a later stage. Every
- truth and type so given broadens and deepens
- the capacity of the child's inner life, and adds
- an element to the store from which he draws
- his moral inferences.
-
- The most familiar instance of a moral truth
- conveyed under a fairy-story image is probably
- the story of the pure-hearted and loving girl
- whose lips were touched with the wonderful
- power of dropping jewels with every spoken
- word, while her stepsister, whose heart was
- infested with malice and evil desires, let ugly
- toads fall from her mouth whenever she spoke.
- I mention the old tale because there is probably
- no one of my readers who has not heard it in
- childhood, and because there are undoubtedly
- many to whose mind it has often recurred in
- later life as a sadly perfect presentment of the
- fact that "out of the abundance of the heart the
- mouth speaketh." That story has entered into
- the forming consciousness of many of us, with
- its implications of the inevitable result of visible
- evil from evil in the heart, and its revelation of
- the loathsomeness of evil itself.
-
- And no less truly than this story has served
- to many as an embodiment of moral law has
- another household tale stood for a type of
- common experience. How much the poorer
- should we be, mentally, without our early
- prophecy of the "ugly ducklings" we are to meet
- later in life!--those awkward offspring of our
- little human duckyard who are mostly well
- kicked and buffeted about, for that very length
- of limb and breadth of back which needs must
- be, to support swan's wings. The story of the
- ugly duckling is much truer than many a bald
- statement of fact. The English-speaking world
- bears witness to its verity in constant use of the
- title as an identifying phrase: "It is the old
- story of the ugly duckling," we say, or "He has
- turned out a real ugly duckling." And we know
- that our hearers understand the whole situation.
-
- The consideration of such familiar types and
- expressions as that of the ugly duckling suggests
- immediately another good reason for giving the
- child his due of fairy lore. The reason is that
- to omit it is to deprive him of one important
- element in the full appreciation of mature literature.
- If one thinks of it, one sees that nearly
- all adult literature is made by people who, in
- their beginnings, were bred on the wonder
- tale. Whether he will or no, the grown-up
- author must incorporate into his work the
- tendencies, memories, kinds of feeling which were
- his in childhood. The literature of maturity
- is, naturally, permeated by the influence of the
- literature of childhood. Sometimes it is apparent
- merely in the use of a name, as suggestive of
- certain kinds of experience; such are the
- recurrences of reference to the Cinderella story.
- Sometimes it is an allusion which has its strength
- in long association of certain qualities with
- certain characters in fairydom--like the slyness of
- Brother Fox, and the cruelty of Brother Wolf.
- Sometimes the association of ideas lies below
- the surface, drawing from the hidden wells of
- poetic illusion which are sunk in childhood.
- The man or woman whose infancy was nourished
- exclusively on tales adapted from science-made-
- easy, or from biographies of good men and great,
- must remain blind to these beauties of literature.
- He may look up the allusion, or identify the
- reference, but when that is done he is but richer
- by a fact or two; there is no remembered thrill
- in it for him, no savour in his memory, no
- suggestion to his imagination; and these are
- precisely the things which really count. Leaving
- out the fairy element is a loss to literary culture
- much as would be the omission of the Bible or
- of Shakespeare. Just as all adult literature is
- permeated by the influence of these, familiar in
- youth, so in less degree is it transfused with the
- subtle reminiscences of childhood's commerce
- with the wonder world.
-
- To turn now from the inner to the outer aspects
- of the old-time tale is to meet another cause of
- its value to children. This is the value of its
- style. Simplicity, directness, and virility
- characterise the classic fairy tales and the most
- memorable relics of folklore. And these are
- three of the very qualities which are most seriously
- lacking in much of the new writing for
- children, and which are always necessary elements
- in the culture of taste. Fairy stories
- are not all well told, but the best fairy stories
- are supremely well told. And most folk-tales
- have a movement, a sweep, and an unaffectedness
- which make them splendid foundations for
- taste in style.
-
- For this, and for poetic presentation of truths
- in easily assimilated form, and because it gives
- joyous stimulus to the imagination, and is necessary
- to full appreciation of adult literature, we
- may freely use the wonder tale.
-
- Closely related to, sometimes identical with,
- the fairy tale is the old, old source of children's
- love and laughter,
-
- THE NONSENSE TALE
-
-
- Under this head I wish to include all the
- merely funny tales of childhood, embracing the
- cumulative stories like that of the old woman
- and the pig which would not go over the stile.
- They all have a specific use and benefit, and are
- worth the repetition children demand for them.
- Their value lies, of course, in the tonic and
- relaxing properties of humour. Nowhere is that
- property more welcome or needed than in the
- schoolroom. It does us all good to laugh, if
- there is no sneer nor smirch in the laugh; fun
- sets the blood flowing more freely in the veins,
- and loosens the strained cords of feeling and
- thought; the delicious shock of surprise at every
- "funny spot" is a kind of electric treatment for
- the nerves. But it especially does us good to
- laugh when we are children. Every little body
- is released from the conscious control school
- imposes on it, and huddles into restful comfort
- or responds gaily to the joke.
-
- More than this, humour teaches children, as
- it does their grown-up brethren, some of the
- facts and proportions of life. What keener
- teacher is there than the kindly satire? What
- more penetrating and suggestive than the humour
- of exaggerated statement of familiar tendency?
- Is there one of us who has not laughed himself
- out of some absurd complexity of over-anxiety
- with a sudden recollection of "clever Alice"
- and her fate? In our household clever Alice is
- an old habituee, and her timely arrival has saved
- many a situation which was twining itself about
- more "ifs" than it could comfortably support.
- The wisdom which lies behind true humour is
- found in the nonsense tale of infancy as truly as
- in mature humour, but in its own kind and
- degree. "Just for fun" is the first reason for the
- humorous story; the wisdom in the fun is the
- second.
-
- And now we come to
-
- THE NATURE STORY
-
-
- No other type of fiction is more familiar to
- the teacher, and probably no other kind is the
- source of so much uncertainty of feeling. The
- nature story is much used, as I have noticed
- above, to illustrate or to teach the habits of
- animals and the laws of plant-growth; to stimulate
- scientific interest as well as to increase
- culture in scientific fact. This is an entirely
- legitimate object. In view of its present
- preponderance, it is certainly a pity, however, that
- so few stories are available, the accuracy of
- which, from this point of view, can be vouched
- for. The carefully prepared book of to-day is
- refuted and scoffed at to-morrow. The teacher
- who wishes to use story-telling chiefly as an
- element in nature study must at least limit herself
- to a small amount of absolutely unquestioned
- material, or else subject every new story to the
- judgment of an authority in the line dealt with.
- This is not easy for the teacher at a distance
- from the great libraries, and for those who have
- access to well-equipped libraries it is a matter
- of time and thought.
-
- It does not so greatly trouble the teacher who
- uses the nature story as a story, rather than as
- a test-book, for she will not be so keenly attracted
- toward the books prepared with a didactic purpose.
- She will find a good gift for the child in
- nature stories which ARE stories, over and above
- any stimulus to his curiosity about fact. That
- good gift is a certain possession of all good fiction.
-
- One of the best things good fiction does for
- any of us is to broaden our comprehension of
- other lots than our own. The average man or
- woman has little opportunity actually to live
- more than one kind of life. The chances of
- birth, occupation, family ties, determine for
- most of us a line of experience not very
- inclusive and but little varied; and this is a natural
- barrier to our complete understanding of others,
- whose life-line is set at a different angle. It is
- not possible wholly to sympathise with emotions
- engendered by experience which one has never
- had. Yet we all long to be broad in sympathy
- and inclusive in appreciation; we long, greatly,
- to know the experience of others. This yearning
- is probably one of the good but misconceived
- appetites so injudiciously fed by the gossip of
- the daily press. There is a hope, in the reader,
- of getting for the moment into the lives of people
- who move in wholly different sets of circumstances.
- But the relation of dry facts in newspapers,
- however tinged with journalistic colour,
- helps very little to enter such other life. The
- entrance has to be by the door of the imagination,
- and the journalist is rarely able to open it
- for us. But there is a genius who can open it.
- The author who can write fiction of the right
- sort can do it; his is the gift of seeing inner
- realities, and of showing them to those who
- cannot see them for themselves. Sharing the
- imaginative vision of the story-writer, we can
- truly follow out many other roads of life than
- our own. The girl on a lone country farm is
- made to understand how a girl in a city sweating-
- den feels and lives; the London exquisite realises
- the life of a Californian ranchman; royalty and
- tenement dwellers become acquainted, through
- the power of the imagination working on
- experience shown in the light of a human basis
- common to both. Fiction supplies an element
- of culture,--that of the sympathies, which is
- invaluable. And the beginnings of this culture,
- this widening and clearing of the avenues of
- human sympathy, are especially easily made
- with children in the nature story.
-
- When you begin, "There was once a little
- furry rabbit,"[1] the child's curiosity is awakened
- by the very fact that the rabbit is not a child,
- but something of a different species altogether.
- "Now for something new and adventuresome,"
- says his expectation, "we are starting off into a
- foreign world." He listens wide-eyed, while
- you say, "and he lived in a warm, cosy nest,
- down under the long grass with his mother"--
- how delightful, to live in a place like that; so
- different from little boys' homes!--"his name
- was Raggylug, and his mother's name was Molly
- Cottontail. And every morning, when Molly
- Cottontail went out to get their food, she said
- to Raggylug, `Now, Raggylug, remember you
- are only a baby rabbit, and don't move from the
- nest. No matter what you hear, no matter what
- you see, don't you move!'"--all this is different
- still, yet it is familiar, too; it appears that rabbits
- are rather like folks. So the tale proceeds, and
- the little furry rabbit passes through experiences
- strange to little boys, yet very like little boys'
- adventures in some respects; he is frightened
- by a snake, comforted by his mammy, and taken
- to a new house, under the long grass a long way
- off. These are all situations to which the child
- has a key. There is just enough of strangeness
- to entice, just enough of the familiar to relieve
- any strain. When the child has lived through
- the day's happenings with Raggylug, the latter
- has begun to seem veritably a little brother of
- the grass to him. And because he has entered
- imaginatively into the feelings and fate of a
- creature different from himself, he has taken his
- first step out into the wide world of the lives of
- others.
-
-
- [1] See Raggylug.
-
-
- It may be a recognition of this factor and
- its value which has led so many writers of
- nature stories into the error of over-humanising
- their four-footed or feathered heroes and
- heroines. The exaggeration is unnecessary, for
- there is enough community of lot suggested in
- the sternest scientific record to constitute a
- natural basis for sympathy on the part of the
- human animal. Without any falsity of
- presentation whatever, the nature story may be
- counted on as a help in the beginnings of culture
- of the sympathies. It is not, of course, a help
- confined to the powers of the nature story; all
- types of story share in some degree the powers
- of each. But each has some especial virtue in
- dominant degree, and the nature story is, on this
- ground, identified with the thought given.
-
- The nature story shares its influence especially
- with
-
- THE HISTORICAL STORY
-
-
- As the one widens the circle of connection
- with other kinds of life, the other deepens the
- sense of relation to past lives; it gives the sense
- of background, of the close and endless connection
- of generation with generation. A good
- historical story vitalises the conception of past
- events and brings their characters into relation
- with the present. This is especially true of
- stories of things and persons in the history of
- our own race. They foster race-consciousness,
- the feeling of kinship and community of blood.
- It is this property which makes the historical
- story so good an agent for furthering a proper
- national pride in children. Genuine patriotism,
- neither arrogant nor melodramatic, is so generally
- recognised as having its roots in early
- training that I need not dwell on this possibility,
- further than to note its connection with the
- instinct of hero-worship which is quick in the
- healthy child. Let us feed that hunger for the
- heroic which gnaws at the imagination of every
- boy and of more girls than is generally admitted.
- There have been heroes in plenty in the world's
- records,--heroes of action, of endurance, of
- decision, of faith. Biographical history is full
- of them. And the deeds of these heroes are
- every one a story. We tell these stories, both
- to bring the great past into its due relation with
- the living present, and to arouse that generous
- admiration and desire for emulation which is
- the source of so much inspiration in childhood.
- When these stories are tales of the doings and
- happenings of our own heroes, the strong men
- and women whose lives are a part of our
- own country's history, they serve the double
- demands of hero-worship and patriotism.
- Stories of wise and honest statesmanship, of
- struggle with primitive conditions, of generous
- love and sacrifice, and--in some measure--of
- physical courage, form a subtle and powerful
- influence for pride in one's people, the intimate
- sense of kinship with one's own nation, and the
- desire to serve it in one's own time.
-
- It is not particularly useful to tell batches of
- unrelated anecdote. It is much more profitable
- to take up the story of a period and connect it
- with a group of interesting persons whose lives
- affected it or were affected by it, telling the
- stories of their lives, or of the events in which
- they were concerned, as "true stories." These
- biographical stories must, usually, be adapted
- for use. But besides these there is a certain
- number of pure stories--works of art--which
- already exist for us, and which illuminate facts
- and epochs almost without need of sidelights.
- Such may stand by themselves, or be used with
- only enough explanation to give background.
- Probably the best story of this kind known to
- lovers of modern literature is Daudet's famous
- La Derniere Classe.[1]
-
-
- [1] See The Last Lesson.
-
-
- The historical story, to recapitulate, gives a
- sense of the reality and humanness of past events,
- is a valuable aid in patriotic training, and stirs
- the desire of emulating goodness and wisdom.
-
-
-
- CHAPTER II
-
- SELECTION OF STORIES TO TELL
-
-
- There is one picture which I can always review,
- in my own collection of past scenes, though
- many a more highly coloured one has been
- irrevocably curtained by the folds of forgetfulness.
- It is the picture of a little girl, standing
- by an old-fashioned marble-topped dressing
- table in a pink, sunny room. I can never see
- the little girl's face, because, somehow, I am
- always looking down at her short skirts or
- twisting my head round against the hand which
- patiently combs her stubborn curls. But I can
- see the brushes and combs on the marble table
- quite plainly, and the pinker streaks of sun on
- the pink walls. And I can hear. I can hear a
- low, wonder-working voice which goes smoothly
- on and on, as the fingers run up the little girl's
- locks or stroke the hair into place on her fore
- head. The voice says, "And little Goldilocks
- came to a little bit of a house. And she opened
- the door and went in. It was the house where
- three Bears lived; there was a great Bear, a
- little Bear, and a middle-sized Bear; and they
- had gone out for a walk. Goldilocks went in,
- and she saw"--the little girl is very still; she
- would not disturb that story by so much as a
- loud breath; but presently the comb comes to
- a tangle, pulls,--and the little girl begins to
- squirm. Instantly the voice becomes impressive,
- mysterious: "she went up to the table, and
- there were THREE PLATES OF PORRIDGE. She tasted
- the first one"--the little girl swallows the breath
- she was going to whimper with, and waits--"and
- it was too hot! She tasted the next one,
- and THAT was too hot. Then she tasted the little
- bit of a plate, and that--was--just--right!"
-
- How I remember the delightful sense of
- achievement which stole into the little girl's
- veins when the voice behind her said "just
- right." I think she always chuckled a little,
- and hugged her stomach. So the story progressed,
- and the little girl got through her toilet
- without crying, owing to the wonder-working
- voice and its marvellous adaptation of climaxes
- to emergencies. Nine times out of ten, it was the
- story of The Three Bears she demanded when,
- with the appearance of brush and comb, the voice
- asked, "Which story shall mother tell?"
-
-
- It was a memory of the little girl in the
- pink room which made it easy for me to understand
- some other children's preferences when
- I recently had occasion to inquire about them.
- By asking many individual children which story
- of all they had heard they liked best, by taking
- votes on the best story of a series, after telling
- it, and by getting some obliging teachers to put
- similar questions to their pupils, I found three
- prime favourites common to a great many children
- of about the kindergarten age. They were The
- Three Bears, Three Little Pigs, and The Little Pig
- that wouldn't go over the Stile.
-
- Some of the teachers were genuinely
- disturbed because the few stories they had
- introduced merely for amusement had taken so pre-
- eminent a place in the children's affection over
- those which had been given seriously. It was
- of no use, however, to suggest substitutes.
- The children knew definitely what they liked,
- and though they accepted the recapitulation
- of scientific and moral stories with polite
- approbation, they returned to the original answer
- at a repetition of the question.
-
- Inasmuch as the slightest of the things we
- hope to do for children by means of stories is
- quite impossible unless the children enjoy the
- stories, it may be worth our while to consider
- seriously these three which they surely do enjoy,
- to see what common qualities are in them,
- explanatory of their popularity, by which we
- may test the probable success of other stories
- we wish to tell.
-
- Here they are,--three prime favourites of
- proved standing.
-
- THE STORY OF THE THREE LITTLE PIGS[1]
-
- [1] Adapted from Joseph Jacobs's English Fairy Tales (David
- Nutt, 57-69 Long Acre, W.C. 6s.),
-
-
- Once upon a time there were three little pigs,
- who went from home to seek their fortune.
- The first that went off met a man with a bundle
- of straw, and said to him:--
-
- "Good man, give me that straw to build
- me a house."
-
- The man gave the straw, and the little pig
- built his house with it. Presently came along
- a wolf, and knocked at the door, and said:--
-
- "Little pig, little pig, let me come in."
-
- But the pig answered:--
-
- "No, no, by the hair of my chiny-chin-chin."
-
- So the wolf said:--
-
- "Then I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll blow
- your house in."
-
- So he huffed, and he puffed, and he blew his
- house in, and ate up the little pig.
-
- The second little pig met a man with a
- bundle of furze, and said:--
-
- "Good man, give me that furze to build me
- a house."
-
- The man gave the furze, and the pig built his
- house. Then once more came the wolf, and said:
-
- "Little pig, little pig, let me come in."
-
- " No, no, by the hair of my chiny-chin-chin."
-
- "Then I'll puff, and I'll huff, and I'll blow
- your house in."
-
- So he huffed, and he puffed, and he puffed
- and he huffed, and at last he blew the house in,
- and ate up the little pig.
-
- The third little pig met a man with a load of
- bricks, and said:--
-
- "Good man, give me those bricks to build
- me a house with."
-
- The man gave the bricks, and he built his
- house with them. Again the wolf came, and
- said:--
-
- "Little pig, little pig, let me come in."
-
- "No, no, by the hair of my chiny-chin-chin."
-
- "Then I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll blow
- your house in."
-
- So he huffed, and he puffed, and he huffed,
- and he puffed, and he puffed and huffed; but
- he could NOT get the house down. Finding that
- he could not, with all his huffing and puffing,
- blow the house down, he said:--
-
- "Little pig, I know where there is a nice
- field of turnips."
-
- "Where?" said the little pig.
-
- "Oh, in Mr Smith's field, and if you will be
- ready to-morrow morning we will go together,
- and get some for dinner."
-
- "Very well," said the little pig. "What
- time do you mean to go?"
-
- "Oh, at six o'clock."
-
- So the little pig got up at five, and got the
- turnips before the wolf came crying:--
-
- "Little pig, are you ready?"
-
- The little pig said: "Ready! I have been and
- come back again, and got a nice potful for dinner."
-
- The wolf felt very angry at this, but thought
- that he would be a match for the little pig
- somehow or other, so he said:--
-
- "Little pig, I know where there is a nice
- apple-tree."
-
- "Where?" said the pig.
-
- "Down at Merry-garden," replied the wolf,
- "and if you will not deceive me I will come for you,
- at five o'clock to-morrow, and get some apples."
-
- The little pig got up next morning at four
- o'clock, and went off for the apples, hoping to
- get back before the wolf came; but it took long
- to climb the tree, and just as he was coming
- down from it, he saw the wolf coming. When
- the wolf came up he said:--
-
- "Little pig, what! are you here before me?
- Are they nice apples?"
-
- "Yes, very," said the little pig. "I will throw
- you down one."
-
- And he threw it so far that, while the wolf
- was gone to pick it up, the little pig jumped
- down and ran home. The next day the wolf
- came again, and said to the little pig:--
-
- "Little pig, there is a fair in town this
- afternoon; will you go?'
-
- "Oh yes," said the pig, "I will go; what time?"
-
- "At three," said the wolf. As usual the
- little pig went off before the time, and got to
- the fair, and bought a butter-churn, which he
- was rolling home when he saw the wolf coming.
- So he got into the churn to hide, and in so
- doing turned it round, and it rolled down the
- hill with the pig in it, which frightened the wolf
- so much that he ran home without going to the
- fair. He went to the little pig's house, and told
- him how frightened he had been by a great
- round thing which came past him down the hill.
- Then the little pig said.--
-
- "Ha! ha! I frightened you, then!"
-
- Then the wolf was very angry indeed, and
- tried to get down the chimney in order to eat
- up the little pig. When the little pig saw what
- he was about, he put a pot full of water on the
- blazing fire, and, just as the wolf was coming
- down, he took off the cover, and in fell the wolf.
- Quickly the little pig clapped on the cover, and
- when the wolf was boiled ate him for supper.
-
-
-
- THE STORY OF THE THREE BEARS[1]
-
- [1] Adapted from Joseph Jacobs's English Fairy Tales (David
- Nutt, 57-59 Long Acre, W.C. 6s.)
-
-
- Once upon a time there were Three Bears,
- who lived together in a house of their own, in a
- wood. One of them was a Little Small Wee
- Bear, and one was a Middle-sized Bear, and the
- other was a Great Huge Bear. They had each
- a pot for their porridge,--a little pot for the
- Little Small Wee Bear, and a middle-sized pot
- for the Middle-sized Bear, and a great pot for
- the Great Huge Bear. And they had each a
- chair to sit in,--a little chair for the Little
- Small Wee Bear, and a middle-sized chair for
- the Middle-sized Bear, and a great chair for the
- Great Huge Bear. And they had each a bed
- to sleep in,--a little bed for the Little Small
- Wee Bear, and a middle-sized bed for the
- Middle-sized Bear, and a great bed for the Great
- Huge Bear.
-
- One day, after they had made the porridge
- for their breakfast, and poured it into their
- porridge-pots, they walked out into the wood
- while the porridge was cooling, that they might
- not burn their mouths, by beginning too soon to
- eat it. And while they were walking, a little
- girl named Goldilocks came to the house. She
- had never seen the little house before, and it
- was such a strange little house that she forgot
- all the things her mother had told her about
- being polite: first she looked in at the window,
- and then she peeped in at the keyhole; and
- seeing nobody in the house, she lifted the latch.
- The door was not fastened, because the Bears
- were good Bears, who did nobody any harm,
- and never suspected that anybody would harm
- them. So Goldilocks opened the door, and
- went in; and well pleased she was when she
- saw the porridge on the table. If Goldilocks
- had remembered what her mother had told her,
- she would have waited till the Bears came
- home, and then, perhaps, they would have asked
- her to breakfast; for they were good Bears--a
- little rough, as the manner of Bears is, but for
- all that very good-natured and hospitable. But
- Goldilocks forgot, and set about helping herself.
-
- So first she tasted the porridge of the Great
- Huge Bear, and that was too hot. And then
- she tasted the porridge of the Middle-sized
- Bear, and that was too cold. And then she
- went to the porridge of the Little Small Wee
- Bear, and tasted that: and that was neither too
- hot nor too cold, but just right; and she liked
- it so well, that she ate it all up.
-
- Then Goldilocks sat down in the chair of
- the Great Huge Bear, and that was too hard
- for her. And then she sat down in the chair
- of the Middle-sized Bear, and that was too
- soft for her. And then she sat down in the
- chair of the Little Small Wee Bear, and that
- was neither too hard nor too soft, but just
- right. So she seated herself in it, and there
- she sat till the bottom of the chair came out,
- and down she came, plump upon the ground.
-
- Then Goldilocks went upstairs into the bed-
- chamber in which the Three Bears slept. And
- first she lay down upon the bed of the Great
- Huge Bear; but that was too high at the head
- for her. And next she lay down upon the bed
- of the Middle-sized Bear, and that was too high
- at the foot for her. And then she lay down upon
- the bed of the Little Small Wee Bear; and that
- was neither too high at the head nor at the
- foot, but just right. So she covered herself up
- comfortably, and lay there till she fell fast asleep.
-
- By this time the Three Bears thought their
- porridge would be cool enough; so they came
- home to breakfast. Now Goldilocks had left
- the spoon of the Great Huge Bear standing
- in his porridge.
-
- "SOMEBODY HAS BEEN AT MY
- PORRIDGE!" said the Great Huge Bear, in
- his great, rough, gruff voice. And when the
- Middle-sized Bear looked at his, he saw that
- the spoon was standing in it too.
-
- "SOMEBODY HAS BEEN AT MY PORRIDGE!"
- said the Middle-sized Bear, in his middle-sized
- voice.
-
- Then the Little Small Wee Bear looked at
- his, and there was the spoon in the porridge-
- pot, but the porridge was all gone.
-
- "SOMEBODY HAS BEEN AT MY PORRIDGE, AND
- HAS EATEN IT ALL UP!" said the Little Small
- Wee Bear, in his little, small, wee voice.
-
- Upon this, the Three Bears, seeing that someone
- had entered their house, and eaten up the
- Little Small Wee Bear's breakfast, began to
- look about them. Now Goldilocks had not
- put the hard cushion straight when she rose
- from the chair of the Great Huge Bear.
-
- "SOMEBODY HAS BEEN SITTING IN
- MY CHAIR!" said the Great Huge Bear, in
- his great, rough, gruff voice.
-
- And Goldilocks had crushed down the soft
- cushion of the Middle-sized Bear.
-
- "SOMEBODY HAS BEEN SITTING IN MY CHAIR!"
- said the Middle-sized Bear, in his middle-sized
- voice.
-
- And you know what Goldilocks had done to
- the third chair.
-
- "SOMEBODY HAS BEEN SITTING IN MY CHAIR AND
- HAS SAT THE BOTTOM OUT OF IT!" said the Little
- Small Wee Bear, in his little, small, wee voice.
-
- Then the Three Bears thought it necessary
- that they should make further search; so they
- went upstairs into their bed-chamber. Now
- Goldilocks had pulled the pillow of the Great
- Huge Bear out of its place.
-
- "SOMEBODY HAS BEEN LYING IN
- MY BED!" said the Great Huge Bear, in his
- great, rough, gruff voice.
-
- And Goldilocks had pulled the bolster of the
- Middle-sized Bear out of its place.
-
- "SOMEBODY HAS BEEN LYING IN MY BED!"
- said the Middle-sized Bear, in his middle-sized
- voice.
-
- And when the Little Small Wee Bear came
- to look at his bed, there was the bolster in
- its place; and the pillow in its place upon the
- bolster; and upon the pillow was the shining,
- yellow hair of little Goldilocks!
-
- "SOMEBODY HAS BEEN LYING IN MY BED,--
- AND HERE SHE IS!" said the Little Small Wee
- Bear, in his little, small, wee voice.
-
- Goldilocks had heard in her sleep the great,
- rough, gruff voice of the Great Huge Bear;
- but she was so fast asleep that it was no more
- to her than the roaring of wind or the rumbling
- of thunder. And she had heard the
- middle-sized voice of the Middle-sized Bear,
- but it was only as if she had heard someone
- speaking in a dream. But when she heard the
- little, small, wee voice of the Little Small Wee
- Bear, it was so sharp, and so shrill, that it
- awakened her at once. Up she started, and
- when she saw the Three Bears on one side
- of the bed, she tumbled herself out at the
- other, and ran to the window. Now the window
- was open, because the Bears, like good,
- tidy Bears as they were, always opened their
- bed-chamber window when they got up in the
- morning.
-
- Out little Goldilocks jumped, and ran away
- home to her mother, as fast as ever she
- could.
-
-
- THE OLD WOMAN AND HER PIG[1]
-
- [1] Adapted from Joseph Jacobs's English Fairy Tales (David
- Nutt, 57-59 Long Acre, W.C. 6s.).
-
-
- It happened one day that as an old woman
- was sweeping her house she found a little
- crooked sixpence. "What," said she, "shall I
- do with this little sixpence? I will go to
- market, and buy a little pig."
-
- On the way home she came to a stile; but
- the piggy wouldn't go over the stile.
-
- So she left the piggy and went on a little
- further, till she met a dog. She said to him,
- "Dog, dog, bite pig; piggy won't go over the
- stile; and I sha'n't get home to-night." But the
- dog wouldn't bite piggy.
-
- A little further on she met a stick. So she
- said: "Stick! stick! beat dog! dog won't bite
- pig; piggy won't go over the stile; and I sha'n't
- get home to-night." But the stick wouldn't
- beat the dog.
-
- A little further on she met a fire. So she
- said: "Fire! fire! burn stick! stick won't beat
- dog; dog won't bite pig; piggy won't get over
- the stile; and I sha'n't get home to-night." But
- the fire wouldn't burn the stick.
-
- A little further on she met some water. So
- she said: "Water! water! quench fire; fire
- won't burn stick; stick won't beat dog; dog
- won't bite pig; piggy won't get over the stile;
- and I sha'n't get home to-night." But the water
- wouldn't quench the fire.
-
- A little further on she met an ox. So she
- said: "Ox! ox! drink water; water won't
- quench fire; fire won't burn stick; stick won't
- beat dog; dog won't bite pig; piggy won't get
- over the stile; and I sha'n't get home to-night."
- But the ox wouldn't drink the water.
-
- A little further on she met a butcher. So
- she said: "Butcher! butcher! kill ox; ox won't
- drink water; water won't quench fire; fire
- won't burn stick; stick won't beat dog; dog
- won't bite pig; piggy won't get over the stile;
- and I sha'n't get home to-night." But the
- butcher wouldn't kill the ox.
-
- A little further on she met a rope. So she
- said: "Rope! rope! hang butcher; butcher
- won't kill ox; ox won't drink water; water
- won't quench fire; fire won't burn stick; stick
- won't beat dog; dog won't bite pig; piggy won't
- get over the stile; and I sha'n't get home to-
- night." But the rope wouldn't hang the butcher.
-
- A little further on she met a rat. So she
- said: "Rat! rat! gnaw rope; rope won't hang
- butcher; butcher won't kill ox; ox won't drink
- water; water won't quench fire; fire won't
- burn stick; stick won't beat dog; dog won't
- bite pig; piggy won't get over the stile; and I
- sha'n't get home to- night." But the rat wouldn't
- gnaw the rope.
-
- A little further on she met a cat. So she
- said: "Cat! cat! kill rat; rat won't gnaw rope;
- rope won't hang butcher; butcher won't kill
- ox; ox won't drink water; water won't quench
- fire; fire won't burn stick; stick won't beat
- dog; dog won't bite pig; piggy won't get over
- the stile; and I sha'n't get home to-night." But
- the cat said to her, "If you will go to yonder
- cow, and fetch me a saucer of milk, I will kill the
- rat." So away went the old woman to the cow.
-
- But the cow refused to give the milk unless
- the old woman first gave her a handful of hay.
- So away went the old woman to the haystack;
- and she brought the hay to the cow.
-
- When the cow had eaten the hay, she gave
- the old woman the milk; and away she went
- with it in a saucer to the cat.
-
- As soon as it had lapped up the milk, the cat
- began to kill the rat; the rat began to gnaw the
- rope; the rope began to hang the butcher; the
- butcher began to kill the ox; the ox began to
- drink the water; the water began to quench
- the fire; the fire began to burn the stick; the
- stick began to beat the dog; the dog began to
- bite the pig; the little pig in a fright jumped
- over the stile; and so the old woman did get
- home that night.
-
-
- The briefest examination of these three
- stories reveals the fact that one attribute
- beyond dispute in each. Something happens,
- all the time. Every step in each story is an
- event. There is no time spent in explanation,
- description, or telling how people felt; the
- stories tell what people did, and what they said.
- And the events are the links of a sequence of
- the closest kind; in point of time and of cause
- they follow as immediately as it is possible for
- events to follow. There are no gaps, and no
- complications of plot requiring a return on the road.
-
- A second common characteristic appears on
- briefest examination. As you run over the
- little stories you will see that each event
- presents a distinct picture to the imagination, and
- that these pictures are made out of very simple
- elements. The elements are either familiar to
- the child or analogous to familiar ones. Each
- object and happening is very like everyday,
- yet touched with a subtle difference, rich in
- mystery. For example, the details of the
- pictures in the Goldilocks story are parts of
- everyday life,--house, chairs, beds, and so on;
- but they are the house, chairs, and beds of three
- bears; that is the touch of marvel which transforms
- the scene. The old woman who owned
- the obstinate pig is the centre of a circle in
- which stand only familiar images,--stick, fire,
- water, cow, and the rest; but the wonder enters
- with the fact that these usually inanimate or
- dumb objects of nature enter so humanly into
- the contest of wills. So it is, also, with the
- doings of the three little pigs. Every image
- is explicable to the youngest hearer, while none
- suggests actual familiarity, because the actors
- are not children, but pigs. Simplicity, with
- mystery, is the keynote of all the pictures, and
- these are clear and distinct.
-
- Still a third characteristic common to the
- stories quoted is a certain amount of repetition.
- It is more definite, and of what has been called
- the "cumulative" kind, in the story of the old
- woman; but in all it is a distinctive feature.
-
- Here we have, then, three marked characteristics
- common to three stories almost invariably
- loved by children,--action, in close sequence;
- familiar images, tinged with mystery; some
- degree of repetition.
-
- It is not hard to see why these qualities
- appeal to a child. The first is the prime
- characteristic of all good stories,--"stories as
- is stories"; the child's demand for it but bears
- witness to the fact that his instinctive taste is
- often better than the taste he later develops
- under artificial culture. The second is a matter
- of common-sense. How could the imagination
- create new worlds, save out of the material of
- the old? To offer strange images is to confuse
- the mind and dull the interest; to offer familiar
- ones "with a difference" is to pique the interest
- and engage the mind.
-
- The charm of repetition, to children, is a
- more complex matter; there are undoubtedly
- a good many elements entering into it, hard to
- trace in analysis. But one or two of the more
- obvious may be seized and brought to view.
- The first is the subtle flattery of an unexpected
- sense of mastery. When the child-mind, following
- with toilful alertness a new train of thought,
- comes suddenly on a familiar epithet or expression,
- I fancy it is with much the same sense of
- satisfaction that we older people feel when in
- the midst of a long programme of new music
- the orchestra strikes into something we have
- heard before,--Handel, maybe, or one of the
- more familiar Beethoven sonatas. "I know
- that! I have heard that before!" we think,
- triumphant, and settle down to enjoyment
- without effort. So it is, probably, with the
- "middle-sized" articles of the bears' house and
- the "and I sha'n't get home to-night" of the
- old woman. Each recurrence deepens the note
- of familiarity, tickles the primitive sense of
- humour, and eases the strain of attention.
-
- When the repetition is cumulative, like the
- extreme instance of The House that Jack
- Built, I have a notion that the joy of the
- child is the pleasure of intellectual gymnastics,
- not too hard for fun, but not too easy for
- excitement. There is a deal of fun to be got
- out of purely intellectual processes, and child-
- hood is not too soon for the rudiments of such
- fun to show. The delight the healthy adult
- mind takes in working out a neat problem in
- geometry, the pleasure a musician finds in
- following the involutions of a fugue, are of
- the same type of satisfaction as the liking of
- children for cumulative stories. Complexity
- and mass, arrived at by stages perfectly
- intelligible in themselves, mounting steadily from
- a starting-point of simplicity; then the same
- complexity and mass resolving itself as it were
- miraculously back into simplicity, this is an
- intellectual joy. It does not differ materially,
- whether found in the study of counterpoint,
- at thirty, or in the story of the old woman and
- her pig, at five. It is perfectly natural and
- wholesome, and it may perhaps be a more
- powerful developing force for the budding
- intellect than we are aware.
-
- For these reasons let me urge you, when you
- are looking for stories to tell little children, to
- apply this threefold test as a kind of touchstone
- to their quality of fitness: Are they full of
- action, in close natural sequence? Are their
- images simple without being humdrum? Are
- they repetitive? The last quality is not an
- absolute requisite; but it is at least very often
- an attribute of a good child-story.
-
- Having this touchstone in mind for general
- selection, we can now pass to the matter of
- specific choices for different ages of children.
- No one can speak with absolute conviction in
- this matter, so greatly do the taste and capacity
- of children of the same age vary. Any approach
- to an exact classification of juvenile books
- according to their suitability for different ages
- will be found impossible. The same book in
- the hands of a skilful narrator may be made
- to afford delight to children both of five and
- ten. The following are merely the inferences
- drawn from my own experience. They must
- be modified by each teacher according to the
- conditions of her small audience. In general,
- I believe it to be wise to plan the choice of
- stories much as indicated in the table.
-
- At a later stage, varying with the standard
- of capacity of different classes, we find the
- temper of mind which asks continually, "Is
- that true?" To meet this demand, one draws
- on historical and scientific anecdote, and on
- reminiscence. But the demand is never so
- exclusive that fictitious narrative need be cast
- aside. All that is necessary is to state frankly
- that the story you are telling is "just a story,"
- or--if it be the case--that it is "part true and
- part story."
-
- At all stages I would urge the telling of
- Bible stories, as far as is allowed by the special
- circumstances of the school. These are stories
- from a source unsurpassed in our literature for
- purity of style and loftiness of subject. More
- especially I urge the telling of the Christ-story,
- in such parts as seem likely to be within the
- grasp of the several classes. In all Bible
- stories it is well to keep as near as possible
- to the original unimprovable text.[1] Some
- amplification can be made, but no excessive
- modernising or simplifying is excusable in face
- of the austere grace and majestic simplicity of
- the original. Such adaptation as helps to cut
- the long narrative into separate units, making
- each an intelligible story, I have ventured to
- illustrate according to my own personal taste,
- in two stories given in Chapter VI. The object
- of the usual modernising or enlarging of the
- text may be far better attained for the child
- listener by infusing into the text as it stands
- a strong realising sense of its meaning and
- vitality, letting it give its own message through
- a fit medium of expression.
-
- [1] Stories from the Old Testament, by S. Platt, retells the Old
- Testament story as nearly as possible in the actual words of
- the Authorised Version.
-
-
- The stories given are grouped as illustrations of
- the types suitable for different stages. They are,
- however, very often interchangeable; and many stories
- can be told successfully to all classes. A vitally
- good story is little limited in its appeal. It is,
- nevertheless, a help to have certain plain results
- of experience as a basis for choice; that which
- is given is intended only for such a basis, not
- in the least as a final list.
-
-
- CERTAIN TYPES OF STORY CLASSIFIED
-
- FOR KINDERGARTEN AND CLASS I.:
-
- Little Rhymed Stories
- (including the best of the nursery rhymes and the
- more poetic fragments of Mother Goose)
- Stories with Rhyme in Parts
- Nature Stories
- (in which the element of personification is strong)
- Nonsense Tales
- Wonder Tales
-
- FOR CLASSES II. AND III.:
-
- Nonsense Tales
- Wonder Tales
- Fairy and Folk Tales
- Fables
- Legends
- Nature Stories
- (especially stories of animals)
-
- FOR CLASSES IV. AND V.:
-
- Folk Tales
- Fables
- Myths and Allegories
- Developed Animal Stories
- Legends: Historic and Heroic
- Historical Stories
- Humorous Adventure Stories
- "True Stories "
-
-
- The wonder tales most familiar and accessible to the
- teacher are probably those included in the collections of
- Andersen and the Brothers Grimm. So constant is the
- demand for these that the following list may be found
- useful, as indicating which of the stories are more easily and
- effectively adapted for telling, and commonly most successful.
-
- It must be remembered that many of these standard tales
- need such adapting as has been suggested, catting them
- down, and ridding them of vulgar or sophisticated detail.
-
- From the Brothers Grimm:
-
- The Star Dollars
- The Cat and the Mouse
- The Nail
- The Hare and the Hedgehog
- Snow-White and Rose-Red
- Mother Holle
- Thumbling
- Three Brothers
- The Little Porridge Pot
- Little Snow-White
- The Wolf and the Seven Little Kids
- The Sea Mouse
-
- From Andersen:
-
- Little Tiny
- The Lark and the Daisy
- The Ugly Duckling
- The Seven Stories of the Snow Queen
- The Flax
- The Little Match Girl
- The Fir-Tree
- The Red Shoes
- Ole Lukoie
- Monday
- Saturday
- Sunday
- The Elf of the Rose
- Five Peas in a Pod
- The Portuguese Duck
- The Little Mermaid (much shortened)
- The Nightingale (shortened)
- The Girl who trod on a Loaf
- The Emperor's New Clothes
-
- Another familiar and easily attainable type of story is the
- classic myth, as retold in Kupfer's Legends of Greece and
- Rome.[1]
- Of these, again, certain tales are more successfully adapted to
- children than others. Among the best for telling are:
-
- Arachne
- Pandora
- Midas
- Apollo and Daphne
- Apollo and Hyacinthus
- Narcissus
- Latona and the Rustics
- Proserpine
-
- [1] A well-nigh indispensable book for teachers is Guerber's
- Myths of Greece and Rome, which contains in brief form a
- complete collection of the classic myths.
-
-
-
- CHAPTER III
-
- ADAPTATION OF STORIES FOR TELLING
-
- It soon becomes easy to pick out from a
- collection such stories as can be well told; but
- at no time is it easy to find a sufficient number
- of such stories. Stories simple, direct, and
- sufficiently full of incident for telling, yet having
- the beautiful or valuable motive we desire for
- children, do not lie hidden in every book. And
- even many of the stories which are most charming
- to read do not answer the double demand,
- for the appeal to the eye differs in many
- important respects from that to the ear. Unless one
- is able to change the form of a story to suit the
- needs of oral delivery, one is likely to suffer
- from poverty of material. Perhaps the commonest
- need of change is in the case of a story
- too long to tell, yet embodying some one beautiful
- incident or lesson; or one including a series
- of such incidents. The story of The Nurnberg
- Stove, by Ouida,[1] is a good example of the latter
- kind; Ruskin's King of the Golden River will
- serve as an illustration of the former.
-
- [1] See Bimbi, by Ouida. (Chatto. 2s.)
-
-
- The problem in one case is chiefly one of
- elimination; in the other it is also in a large
- degree one of rearrangement. In both cases I
- have purposely chosen extreme instances, as
- furnishing plainer illustration. The usual story
- needs less adaptation than these, but the same
- kind, in its own degree. Condensation and
- rearrangement are the commonest forms of change
- required.
-
- Pure condensation is probably the easier for
- most persons. With The Nurnberg Stove in
- mind for reference, let us see what the process
- includes. This story can be readily found
- by anyone who is interested in the following
- example of adaptation, for nearly every library
- includes in its catalogue the juvenile works of
- Mlle. de la Ramee (Ouida). The suggestions
- given assume that the story is before my
- readers.
-
- The story as it stands is two thousand four
- hundred words long, obviously too long to tell.
- What can be left out? Let us see what must
- be kept in.
-
- The dramatic climax toward which we are
- working is the outcome of August's strange
- exploit,--his discovery by the king and the
- opportunity for him to become an artist. The
- joy of this climax is twofold: August may stay
- with his beloved Hirschvogel, and he may learn
- to make beautiful things like it. To arrive at
- the twofold conclusion we must start from a
- double premise,--the love of the stove and the
- yearning to be an artist. It will, then, be
- necessary to include in the beginning of the
- story enough details of the family life to show
- plainly how precious and necessary Hirschvogel
- was to the children; and to state definitely
- how August had learned to admire and wish to
- emulate Hirschvogel's maker. We need no
- detail beyond what is necessary to make this
- clear.
-
- The beginning and the end of a story decided
- upon, its body becomes the bridge from one to
- the other; in this case it is August's strange
- journey, beginning with the catastrophe and his
- grief-dazed decision to follow the stove. The
- journey is long, and each stage of it is told in
- full. As this is impossible in oral reproduction,
- it becomes necessary to choose typical incidents,
- which will give the same general effect as the
- whole. The incidents which answer this purpose
- are: the beginning of the journey, the
- experience on the luggage train, the jolting
- while being carried on men's shoulders, the final
- fright and suspense before the king opens the
- door.
-
- The episode of the night in the bric-a-brac
- shop introduces a wholly new and confusing
- train of thought; therefore, charming as it is, it
- must be omitted. And the secondary thread of
- narrative interest, that of the prices for which
- the stove was sold, and the retribution visited
- on the cheating dealers, is also "another story,"
- and must be ignored. Each of these destroys
- the clear sequence and the simplicity of plot
- which must be kept for telling.
-
- We are reduced, then, for the whole, to this:
- a brief preliminary statement of the place
- Hirschvogel held in the household affections, and
- the ambition aroused in August; the catastrophe
- of the sale; August's decision; his experiences
- on the train, on the shoulders of men, and just
- before the discovery; his discovery, and the
- denouement.
-
- This not only reduces the story to tellable
- form, but it also leaves a suggestive interest
- which heightens later enjoyment of the original.
- I suggest the adaptation of Kate Douglas
- Wiggin, in The Story Hour, since in view of the
- existence of a satisfactory adaptation it seems
- unappreciative to offer a second. The one I
- made for my own use some years ago is not
- dissimilar to this, and I have no reason to
- suppose it more desirable.
-
- Ruskin's King of the Golden River is somewhat
- difficult to adapt. Not only is it long, but its
- style is mature, highly descriptive, and closely
- allegorical. Yet the tale is too beautiful and
- too suggestive to be lost to the story-teller.
- And it is, also, so recognised a part of the
- standard literary equipment of youth that
- teachers need to be able to introduce children
- to its charm. To make it available for telling,
- we must choose the most essential events of the
- series leading up to the climax, and present
- these so simply as to appeal to children's ears,
- and so briefly as not to tire them.
-
- The printed story is eight thousand words in
- length. The first three thousand words depict
- the beauty and fertility of the Treasure Valley,
- and the cruel habits of Hans and Schwartz, its
- owners, and give the culminating incident which
- leads to their banishment by "West Wind."
- This episode,--the West Wind's appearance in
- the shape of an aged traveller, his kind reception
- by the younger brother, little Gluck, and the
- subsequent wrath of Hans and Schwartz, with
- their resulting punishment,--occupies about two
- thousand words. The rest of the story deals
- with the three brothers after the decree of West
- Wind has turned Treasure Valley into a desert.
- In the little house where they are plying their
- trade of goldsmiths, the King of the Golden
- River appears to Gluck and tells him the magic
- secret of turning the river's waters to gold.
- Hans and Schwartz in turn attempt the miracle,
- and in turn incur the penalty attached to
- failure. Gluck tries, and wins the treasure through
- self-sacrifice. The form of the treasure is a
- renewal of the fertility of Treasure Valley, and
- the moral of the whole story is summed up in
- Ruskin's words, "So the inheritance which was
- lost by cruelty was regained by love."
-
- It is easy to see that the dramatic part of the
- story and that which most pointedly illustrates
- the underlying idea, is the triple attempt to win
- the treasure,--the two failures and the one
- success. But this is necessarily introduced by
- the episode of the King of the Golden River,
- which is, also, an incident sure to appeal to a
- child's imagination. And the regaining of the
- inheritance is meaningless without the fact of
- its previous loss, and the reason for the loss, as
- a contrast with the reason for its recovery. We
- need, then, the main facts recorded in the first
- three thousand words. But the West Wind
- episode must be avoided, not only for brevity,
- but because two supernatural appearances, so
- similar, yet of different personalities, would
- hopelessly confuse a told story.
-
- Our oral story is now to be made out of a
- condensed statement of the character of the
- Valley and of its owners, and the manner of
- its loss; the intervention of the King of the
- Golden River; the three attempts to turn the
- river to gold, and Gluck's success. Gluck is
- to be our hero, and our underlying idea is the
- power of love versus cruelty. Description is to
- be reduced to its lowest terms, and the language
- made simple and concrete.
-
- With this outline in mind, it may be useful
- to compare the following adaptation with the
- original story. The adaptation is not intended
- in any sense as a substitute for the original, but
- merely as that form of it which can be TOLD,
- while the original remains for reading.
-
-
-
- THE GOLDEN RIVER[1]
-
- [1] Adapted from Ruskin's King of the Golden River.
-
-
- There was once a beautiful little valley,
- where the sun was warm, and the rains fell
- softly; its apples were so red, its corn so
- yellow, its grapes so blue, that it was called the
- Treasure Valley. Not a river ran into it, but
- one great river flowed down the mountains on
- the other side, and because the setting sun
- always tinged its high cataract with gold after
- the rest of the world was dark, it was called the
- Golden River. The lovely valley belonged to
- three brothers. The youngest, little Gluck,
- was happy-hearted and kind, but he had a hard
- life with his brothers, for Hans and Schwartz
- were so cruel and so mean that they were known
- everywhere around as the "Black Brothers."
- They were hard to their farm hands, hard to
- their customers, hard to the poor, and hardest
- of all to Gluck.
-
- At last the Black Brothers became so bad
- that the Spirit of the West Wind took
- vengeance on them; he forbade any of the gentle
- winds, south and west, to bring rain to the
- valley. Then, since there were no rivers in it,
- it dried up, and instead of a treasure valley it
- became a desert of dry, red sand. The Black
- Brothers could get nothing out of it, and they
- wandered out into the world on the other side
- of the mountain-peaks; and little Gluck went
- with them.
-
- Hans and Schwartz went out every day,
- wasting their time in wickedness, but they
- left Gluck in the house to work. And they
- lived on the gold and silver they had saved
- in Treasure Valley, till at last it was all gone.
- The only precious thing left was Gluck's gold
- mug. This the Black Brothers decided to melt
- into spoons, to sell; and in spite of Gluck's
- tears, they put it in the melting pot, and went
- out, leaving him to watch it.
-
- Poor little Gluck sat at the window, trying
- not to cry for his dear golden mug, and as the
- sun began to go down, he saw the beautiful
- cataract of the Golden River turn red, and
- yellow, and then pure gold.
-
- "Oh, dear!" he said to himself, "how fine
- it would be if the river were really golden!
- I needn't be poor, then."
-
- "It wouldn't be fine at all!" said a thin,
- metallic little voice, in his ear.
-
- "Mercy, what's that!" said Gluck, looking
- all about. But nobody was there.
-
- Suddenly the sharp little voice came again.
-
- "Pour me out," it said, "I am too hot!"
-
- It seemed to come right from the oven, and
- as Gluck stood, staring in fright, it came again,
- "Pour me out; I'm too hot!"
-
- Gluck was very much frightened, but he
- went and looked in the melting pot. When
- he touched it, the little voice said, "Pour me
- out, I say!" And Gluck took the handle and
- began to pour the gold out.
-
- First came out a tiny pair of yellow legs; then
- a pair of yellow coat-tails; then a strange little
- yellow body, and, last, a wee yellow face, with
- long curls of gold hair. And the whole put itself
- together as it fell, and stood up on the floor,--the
- strangest little yellow dwarf, about a foot high!
-
- "Dear, me!" said Gluck.
-
- But the little yellow man said, "Gluck, do
- you know who I am? I am the King of the
- Golden River."
-
- Gluck did not know what to say, so he said
- nothing; and, indeed, the little man gave him
- no chance. He said, "Gluck, I have been
- watching you, and what I have seen of you,
- I like. Listen, and I will tell you something
- for your good. Whoever shall climb to the
- top of the mountain from which the Golden
- River falls, and shall cast into its waters three
- drops of holy water, for him and him only shall
- its waters turn to gold. But no one can
- succeed except at the first trial, and anyone who
- casts unholy water in the river will be turned
- into a black stone."
-
- And then, before Gluck could draw his breath,
- the King walked straight into the hottest flame
- of the fire, and vanished up the chimney!
-
- When Gluck's brothers came home, they beat
- him black and blue, because the mug was gone.
- But when he told them about the King of the
- Golden River they quarrelled all night, as to
- which should go to get the gold. At last,
- Hans, who was the stronger, got the better
- of Schwartz, and started off. The priest would
- not give such a bad man any holy water, so
- he stole a bottleful. Then he took a basket of
- bread and wine, and began to climb the mountain.
-
- He climbed fast, and soon came to the end
- of the first hill. But there he found a great
- glacier, a hill of ice, which he had never seen
- before. It was horrible to cross,--the ice was
- slippery, great gulfs yawned before him, and
- noises like groans and shrieks came from under
- his feet. He lost his basket of bread and wine,
- and was quite faint with fear and exhaustion
- when his feet touched firm ground again.
-
- Next he came to a hill of hot, red rock,
- without a bit of grass to ease the feet, or a
- particle of shade. After an hour's climb he
- was so thirsty that he felt that he must drink.
- He looked at the flask of water. "Three drops
- are enough," he thought; "I will just cool my
- lips." He was lifting the flask to his lips when
- he saw something beside him in the path. It
- was a small dog, and it seemed to be dying
- of thirst. Its tongue was out, its legs were
- lifeless, and a swarm of black ants were crawling
- about its lips. It looked piteously at the
- bottle which Hans held. Hans raised the bottle,
- drank, kicked at the animal, and passed on.
-
- A strange black shadow came across the
- blue sky.
-
- Another hour Hans climbed; the rocks grew
- hotter and the way steeper every moment. At
- last he could bear it no longer; he must drink.
- The bottle was half empty, but he decided to
- drink half of what was left. As he lifted it,
- something moved in the path beside him. It
- was a child, lying nearly dead of thirst on the
- rock, its eyes closed, its lips burning, its breath
- coming in gasps. Hans looked at it, drank,
- and passed on.
-
- A dark cloud came over the sun, and long
- shadows crept up the mountain-side.
-
- It grew very steep now, and the air weighed
- like lead on Hans's forehead, but the Golden
- River was very near. Hans stopped a moment
- to breathe, then started to climb the last height.
-
- As he clambered on, he saw an old, old man
- lying in the path. His eyes were sunken, and
- his face deadly pale.
-
- "Water!" he said; "water!"
-
- "I have none for you," said Hans; "you have
- had your share of life." He strode over the old
- man's body and climbed on.
-
- A flash of blue lightning dazzled him for an
- instant, and then the heavens were dark.
-
- At last Hans stood on the brink of the cataract
- of the Golden River. The sound of its roaring
- filled the air. He drew the flask from his
- side and hurled it into the torrent. As he did
- so, an icy chill shot through him; he shrieked
- and fell. And the river rose and flowed over
-
- The Black Stone
-
-
- When Hans did not come back Gluck grieved,
- but Schwartz was glad. He decided to go and
- get the gold for himself. He thought it might
- not do to steal the holy water, as Hans had done,
- so he took the money little Gluck had earned,
- and bought holy water of a bad priest. Then he
- took a basket of bread and wine, and started off.
-
- He came to the great hill of ice, and was as
- surprised as Hans had been, and found it as hard
- to cross. Many times he slipped, and he was
- much frightened at the noises, and was very glad
- to get across, although he had lost his basket of
- bread and wine. Then he came to the same hill
- of sharp, red stone, without grass or shade, that
- Hans had climbed. And like Hans he became
- very thirsty. Like Hans, too, he decided to
- drink a little of the water. As he raised it to
- his lips, he suddenly saw the same fair child that
- Hans had seen.
-
- "Water!" said the child. "Water! I am
- dying."
-
- "I have not enough for myself," said Schwartz,
- and passed on.
-
- A low bank of black cloud rose out of the
- west.
-
- When he had climbed for another hour, the
- thirst overcame him again, and again he lifted
- the flask to his lips. As he did so, he saw an
- old man who begged for water.
-
- "I have not enough for myself," said Schwartz,
- and passed on.
-
- A mist, of the colour of blood, came over the
- sun.
-
- Then Schwartz climbed for another hour, and
- once more he had to drink. This time, as he
- lifted the flask, he thought he saw his brother
- Hans before him. The figure stretched its arms
- to him, and cried out for water.
-
- "Ha, ha," laughed Schwartz, "do you suppose
- I brought the water up here for you?" And he
- strode over the figure. But when he had gone
- a few yards farther, he looked back, and the
- figure was not there.
-
- Then he stood at the brink of the Golden
- River, and its waves were black, and the roaring
- of the waters filled all the air. He cast the
- flask into the stream. And as he did so the
- lightning glared in his eyes, the earth gave way
- beneath him, and the river flowed over
-
- The two Black Stones.
-
-
- When Gluck found himself alone, he at last
- decided to try his luck with the King of the
- Golden River. The priest gave him some holy
- water as soon as he asked for it, and with this
- and a basket of bread he started off.
-
- The hill of ice was much harder for Gluck
- to climb, because he was not so strong as his
- brothers. He lost his bread, fell often, and was
- exhausted when he got on firm ground. He
- began to climb the hill in the hottest part of
- the day. When he had climbed for an hour
- he was very thirsty, and lifted the bottle to
- drink a little water. As he did so he saw a
- feeble old man coming down the path toward
- him.
-
- "I am faint with thirst," said the old man;
- "will you give me some of that water?"
-
- Gluck saw that he was pale and tired, so he
- gave him the water, saying, "Please don't drink
- it all." But the old man drank a great deal, and
- gave back the bottle two-thirds emptied. Then
- he bade Gluck good speed, and Gluck went on
- merrily.
-
- Some grass appeared on the path, and the
- grasshoppers began to sing.
-
- At the end of another hour, Gluck felt that he
- must drink again. But, as he raised the flask,
- he saw a little child lying by the roadside, and
- it cried out pitifully for water. After a struggle
- with himself Gluck decided to bear the thirst a
- little longer. He put the bottle to the child's
- lips, and it drank all but a few drops. Then it
- got up and ran down the hill.
-
- All kinds of sweet flowers began to grow on
- the rocks, and crimson and purple butterflies
- flitted about in the air.
-
- At the end of another hour, Gluck's thirst
- was almost unbearable. He saw that there
- were only five or six drops of water in the
- bottle, however, and he did not dare to drink.
- So he was putting the flask away again when he
- saw a little dog on the rocks, gasping for breath.
- He looked at it, and then at the Golden River,
- and he remembered the dwarf's words, "No
- one can succeed except at the first trial"; and
- he tried to pass the dog. But it whined
- piteously, and Gluck stopped. He could not bear
- to pass it. "Confound the King and his gold,
- too!" he said; and he poured the few drops of
- water into the dog's mouth.
-
- The dog sprang up; its tail disappeared, its
- nose grew red, and its eyes twinkled. The next
- minute the dog was gone, and the King of the
- Golden River stood there. He stooped and
- plucked a lily that grew beside Gluck's feet.
- Three drops of dew were on its white leaves.
- These the dwarf shook into the flask which Gluck
- held in his hand.
-
- "Cast these into the river," he said, "and go
- down the other side of the mountains into the
- Treasure Valley." Then he disappeared.
-
- Gluck stood on the brink of the Golden River,
- and cast the three drops of dew into the stream.
- Where they fell, a little whirlpool opened; but
- the water did not turn to gold. Indeed, the
- water seemed vanishing altogether. Gluck was
- disappointed not to see gold, but he obeyed the
- King of the Golden River, and went down the
- other side of the mountains.
-
- When he came out into the Treasure Valley,
- a river, like the Golden River, was springing
- from a new cleft in the rocks above, and flowing
- among the heaps of dry sand. And then fresh
- grass sprang beside the river, flowers opened
- along its sides, and vines began to cover the
- whole valley. The Treasure Valley was becoming
- a garden again.
-
- Gluck lived in the Valley, and his grapes were
- blue, and his apples were red, and his corn was
- yellow; and the poor were never driven from
- his door. For him, as the King had promised,
- the river was really a River of Gold.
-
-
- It will probably be clear to anyone who has
- followed these attempts, that the first step in
- adaptation is analysis, careful analysis of the
- story as it stands. One asks oneself, What is
- the story? Which events are necessary links in
- the chain? How much of the text is pure
- description?
-
- Having this essential body of the story in
- mind, one then decides which of the steps toward
- the climax are needed for safe arrival there, and
- keeps these. When two or more steps can be
- covered in a single stride, one makes the stride.
- When a necessary explanation is unduly long, or
- is woven into the story in too many strands, one
- disposes of it in an introductory statement, or
- perhaps in a side remark. If there are two or
- more threads of narrative, one chooses among
- them, and holds strictly to the one chosen,
- eliminating details which concern the others.
-
- In order to hold the simplicity of plot so
- attained, it is also desirable to have but few
- personages in the story, and to narrate the action
- from the point of view of one of them,--usually
- the hero. To shift the point of view of the
- action is confusing to the child's mind.
-
- When the analysis and condensation have
- been accomplished, the whole must be cast in
- simple language, keeping if possible the same
- kind of speech as that used in the original, but
- changing difficult or technical terms to plain,
- and complex images to simple and familiar ones.
-
- All types of adaptation share in this need of
- simple language,--stories which are too short,
- as well as those which are too long, have this
- feature in their changed form. The change in a
- short story is applied oftenest where it becomes
- desirable to amplify a single anecdote, or
- perhaps a fable, which is told in very condensed
- form. Such an instance is the following anecdote
- of heroism, which in the original is quoted in
- one of F. W. Robertson's lectures on Poetry.
-
-
- A detachment of troops was marching along a valley,
- the cliffs overhanging which were crested by the enemy. A
- sergeant, with eleven men, chanced to become separated from
- the rest by taking the wrong side of a ravine, which they
- expected soon to terminate, but which suddenly deepened
- into an impassable chasm. The officer in command signalled
- to the party an order to return. They mistook the signal for
- a command to charge; the brave fellows answered with a
- cheer, and charged. At the summit of the steep mountain
- was a triangular platform, defended by a breastwork, behind
- which were seventy of the foe. On they went, charging up
- one of those fearful paths, eleven against seventy. The
- contest could not long be doubtful with such odds. One
- after another they fell; six upon the spot, the remainder
- hurled backwards; but not until they had slain nearly twice
- their own number.
-
- There is a custom, we are told, amongst the hillsmen, that
- when a great chieftain of their own falls in battle, his wrist is
- bound with a thread either of red or green, the red denoting
- the highest rank. According to custom, they stripped the
- dead, and threw their bodies over the precipice. When their
- comrades came, they found their corpses stark and gashed;
- but round both wrists of every British hero was twined the
- red thread!
-
-
- This anecdote serves its purpose of illustration
- perfectly well, but considered as a separate
- story it is somewhat too explanatory in diction,
- and too condensed in form. Just as the long
- story is analysed for reduction of given details,
- so this must be analysed,--to find the details
- implied. We have to read into it again all that
- has been left between the lines.
-
- Moreover, the order must be slightly changed,
- if we are to end with the proper "snap," the
- final sting of surprise and admiration given by
- the point of the story; the point must be prepared
- for. The purpose of the original is equally
- well served by the explanation at the end, but
- we must never forget that the place for the
- climax, or effective point in a story told, is the
- last thing said. That is what makes a story
- "go off" well.
-
- Imagining vividly the situation suggested, and
- keeping the logical sequence of facts in mind,
- shall we not find the story telling itself to boys
- and girls in somewhat this form?
-
-
- THE RED THREAD OF COURAGE[1]
-
- [1] See also The Red Thread of Honour, by Sir Francis Doyle,
- in Lyra Heroica,
-
-
- This story which I am going to tell you is a
- true one. It happened while the English troops
- in India were fighting against some of the native
- tribes. The natives who were making trouble
- were people from the hill-country, called
- Hillsmen, and they were strong enemies. The
- English knew very little about them, except
- their courage, but they had noticed one peculiar
- custom, after certain battles,--the Hillsmen had
- a way of marking the bodies of their greatest
- chiefs who were killed in battle by binding a red
- thread about the wrist; this was the highest
- tribute they could pay a hero. The English,
- however, found the common men of them quite
- enough to handle, for they had proved themselves
- good fighters and clever at ambushes.
-
- One day, a small body of the English had
- marched a long way into the hill country, after
- the enemy, and in the afternoon they found
- themselves in a part of the country strange
- even to the guides. The men moved forward
- very slowly and cautiously, for fear of an
- ambush. The trail led into a narrow valley with
- very steep, high, rocky sides, topped with woods
- in which the enemy might easily hide.
-
- Here the soldiers were ordered to advance
- more quickly, though with caution, to get out
- of the dangerous place.
-
- After a little they came suddenly to a place
- where the passage was divided in two by a big
- three-cornered boulder which seemed to rise
- from the midst of the valley. The main line
- of men kept to the right; to save crowding the
- path, a sergeant and eleven men took the left,
- meaning to go round the rock and meet the rest
- beyond it.
-
- They had been in the path only a few minutes
- when they saw that the rock was not a single
- boulder at all, but an arm of the left wall of the
- valley, and that they were marching into a deep
- ravine with no outlet except the way they came.
- Both sides were sheer rock, almost perpendicular,
- with thick trees at the top; in front of
- them the ground rose in a steep hill, bare of
- woods. As they looked up, they saw that the
- top was barricaded by the trunks of trees, and
- guarded by a strong body of Hillsmen. As the
- English hesitated, looking at this, a shower of
- spears fell from the wood's edge, aimed by
- hidden foes. The place was a death trap.
-
- At this moment, their danger was seen by the
- officer in command of the main body, and he
- signalled to the sergeant to retreat.
-
- By some terrible mischance, the signal was
- misunderstood. The men took it for the signal
- to charge. Without a moment's pause, straight
- up the slope, they charged on the run, cheering
- as they ran.
-
- Some were killed by the spears that were
- thrown from the cliffs, before they had gone
- half way; some were stabbed as they reached
- the crest, and hurled backward from the precipice;
- two or three got to the top, and fought
- hand to hand with the Hillsmen. They were
- outnumbered, seven to one; but when the last
- of the English soldiers lay dead, twice their
- number of Hillsmen lay dead around them!
-
- When the relief party reached the spot, later
- in the day, they found the bodies of their
- comrades, full of wounds, huddled over and in the
- barricade, or crushed on the rocks below.
- They were mutilated and battered, and bore
- every sign of the terrible struggle. BUT ROUND
- BOTH WRISTS OF EVERY BRITISH SOLDIER WAS BOUND
- THE RED THREAD!
-
- The Hillsmen had paid greater honour to
- their heroic foes than to the bravest of their
- own brave dead.
-
-
- Another instance is the short poem, which,
- while being perfectly simple, is rich in suggestion
- of more than the young child will see for
- himself. The following example shows the
- working out of details in order to provide a
- satisfactorily rounded story.
-
-
- THE ELF AND THE DORMOUSE[1]
-
- [1] Adapted from The Elf and the Dormouse, by Oliver
- Herford, in A Treasury of Verse for Little Children.
- (Harrap. 1s. net.)
-
-
- Once upon a time a dormouse lived in the
- wood with his mother. She had made a snug
- little nest, but Sleepy-head, as she called her
- little mousie, loved to roam about among the
- grass and fallen leaves, and it was a hard task
- to keep him at home. One day the mother went
- off as usual to look for food, leaving Sleepy-
- head curled up comfortably in a corner of
- the nest. "He will lie there safely till I
- come back," she thought. Presently, however,
- Sleepy-head opened his eyes and thought he
- would like to take a walk out in the fresh
- air. So he crept out of the nest and through
- the long grass that nodded over the hole in
- the bank. He ran here and he ran there, stopping
- again an again to cock his little ears for
- sound of any creeping thing that might be close
- at hand. His little fur coat was soft and silky
- as velvet. Mother had licked it clean before
- starting her day's work, you may be sure. As
- Sleepy-head moved from place to place his long
- tail swayed from side to side and tickled the
- daisies so that they could not hold themselves
- still for laughing.
-
- Presently something very cold fell on Sleepy-
- head's nose. What could it be? He put up
- his little paw and dabbed at the place. Then
- the same thing happened to his tail. He
- whisked it quickly round to the front. Ah, it
- was raining! Now Sleepy-head couldn't bear
- rain, and he had got a long way from home.
- What would mother say if his nice furry coat
- got wet and draggled? He crept under a bush,
- but soon the rain found him out. Then he ran
- to a tree, but this was poor shelter. He began
- to think that he was in for a soaking when
- what should he spy, a little distance off, but
- a fine toadstool which stood bolt upright just
- like an umbrella. The next moment Sleepy-
- head was crawling underneath the friendly
- shelter. He fixed himself up as snugly as he
- could, with his little nose upon his paws and his
- little tail curled round all, and before you could
- count six, eight, ten, twenty, he was fast asleep.
-
- Now it happened that Sleepy-head was not
- the only creature that was caught by the rain
- that morning in the wood. A little elf had
- been flitting about in search of fun or mischief,
- and he, too, had got far from home when the
- raindrops began to come pattering through the
- leafy roof of the beautiful wood. It would never
- do to get his pretty wings wet, for he hated to
- walk--it was such slow work and, besides, he
- might meet some big wretched animal that could
- run faster than himself. However, he was
- beginning to think that there was no help for it,
- when, on a sudden, there before him was the
- toadstool, with Sleepy-head snug and dry underneath!
- There was room for another little fellow,
- thought the elf, and ere long he had safely
- bestowed himself under the other half of the
- toadstool, which was just like an umbrella.
-
- Sleepy-head slept on, warm and comfortable
- in his furry coat, and the elf began to feel
- annoyed with him for being so happy. He
- was always a great mischief, and he could not
- bear to sit still for long at a time. Presently
- he laughed a queer little laugh. He had got
- an idea! Putting his two small arms round
- the stem of the toadstool he tugged and he
- pulled until, of a sudden, snap! He had broken
- the stem, and a moment later was soaring in air
- safely sheltered under the toadstool, which he
- held upright by its stem as he flew.
-
- Sleepy-head had been dreaming, oh, so cosy
- a dream! It seemed to him that he had
- discovered a storehouse filled with golden grain
- and soft juicy nuts with little bunches of sweet-
- smelling hay, where tired mousies might sleep
- dull hours away. He thought that he was
- settled in the sweetest bunch of all, with
- nothing in the world to disturb his nap, when
- gradually he became aware that something had
- happened. He shook himself in his sleep and
- settled down again, but the dream had altered.
- He opened his eyes. Rain was falling, pit-a-pat,
- and he was without cover on a wet patch of
- grass. What could be the matter? Sleepy-
- head was now wide awake. Said he,
-
- "DEAR ME, WHERE IS MY TOADSTOOL?"
-
-
- From these four instances we may, perhaps,
- deduce certain general principles of adaptation
- which have at least proved valuable to those
- using them.
-
- These are suggestions which the practised
- story-teller will find trite. But to others they
- may prove a fair foundation on which to build
- a personal method to be developed by experience.
- I have given them a tabular arrangement below.
-
- The preliminary step in all cases is
-
- Analysis of the Story.
-
- The aim, then, is
-
- to REDUCE a long story or to AMPLIFY a short one.
-
- For the first, the need is
-
- ELIMINATION of secondary threads of narrative,
- extra personages,
- description,
- irrelevant events.
-
- For the second, the great need is of
-
- Realising Imagination.
-
- For both, it is desirable to keep
- Close Logical Sequence,
- Single Point of View,
- Simple Language,
- The Point at the End
-
-
-
- CHAPTER IV
-
- HOW TO TELL THE STORY
-
- Selection, and, if necessary, adaptation--these
- are the preliminaries to the act of telling. That,
- after all, is the real test of one's power. That
- is the real joy, when achieved; the real bugbear,
- when dreaded. And that is the subject of this
- chapter, "How to tell a story."
-
- How to tell a story: it is a short question
- which demands a long answer. The right
- beginning of the answer depends on a right
- conception of the thing the question is about; and
- that naturally reverts to an earlier discussion of
- the real nature of a story. In that discussion it
- was stated that a story is a work of art,--a message,
- as all works of art are.
-
- To tell a story, then, is to pass on the message,
- to share the work of art. The message may be
- merely one of humour,--of nonsense, even;
- works of art range all the way from the "Victory"
- to a "Dresden Shepherdess," from an
- "Assumption" to a "Broken Pitcher," and
- farther. Each has its own place. But whatever
- its quality, the story-teller is the passer-on, the
- interpreter, the transmitter. He comes bringing
- a gift. Always he gives; always he bears a
- message.
-
- This granted, the first demand of the story-
- teller is not far to seek. No one can repeat a
- message he has not heard, or interpret what he
- does not understand. You cannot give, unless
- you first possess. The first demand of the story-
- teller is that he possess. He must FEEL the
- story. Whatever the particular quality and
- appeal of the work of art, from the lightest to
- the grandest emotion or thought, he must have
- responded to it, grasped it, felt it intimately,
- before he can give it out again. Listen, humbly,
- for the message.
-
- I realise that this has an incongruous sound,
- when applied to such stories as that of the little
- pig at the stile or of the greedy cat who ate up
- man and beast. But, believe me, it does
- apply even to those. For the transmittable
- thing in a story is the identifying essence, the
- characterising savour, the peculiar quality and
- point of view of the humour, pathos, or interest.
- Every tale which claims a place in good fiction
- has this identifying savour and quality, each
- different from every other. The laugh which
- echoes one of Seumas McManus's rigmaroles is
- not the chuckle which follows one of Joel
- Chandler Harris's anecdotes; the gentle sadness
- of an Andersen allegory is not the heart
- searching tragedy of a tale from the Greek; nor
- is any one story of an author just like any other
- of the same making. Each has its personal
- likeness, its facial expression, as it were.
-
- And the mind must be sensitised to these
- differences. No one can tell stories well who
- has not a keen and just feeling of such emotional
- values.
-
- A positive and a negative injunction depend on
- this premise,--the positive, cultivate your feeling,
- striving toward increasingly just appreciation;
- the negative, never tell a story you do not feel.
-
- Fortunately, the number and range of stories
- one can appreciate grow with cultivation; but
- it is the part of wisdom not to step outside the
- range at any stage of its growth.
-
- I feel the more inclined to emphasise this
- caution because I once had a rather embarrassing
- and pointed proof of its desirability,--which I
- relate for the enlightening of the reader.
-
- There is a certain nonsense tale which a
- friend used to tell with such effect that her
- hearers became helpless with laughter, but which
- for some reason never seemed funny to me. I
- could not laugh at it. But my friend constantly
- urged me to use it, quoting her own success.
- At last, with much curiosity and some trepidation,
- I included it in a programme before people
- with whom I was so closely in sympathy that
- no chill was likely to emanate from their side.
- I told the story as well as I knew how, putting
- into it more genuine effort than most stories
- can claim. The audience smiled politely,
- laughed gently once or twice, relapsed into the
- mildest of amusement. The most one could
- say was that the story was not a hopeless failure,
- I tried it again, after study, and yet again; but
- the audiences were all alike. And in my heart
- I should have been startled if they had behaved
- otherwise, for all the time I was telling it I was
- conscious in my soul that it was a stupid story!
- At last I owned my defeat to myself, and put
- the thing out of mind.
-
- Some time afterward, I happened to take out
- the notes of the story, and idly looked them
- over; and suddenly, I do not know how, I got
- the point of view! The salt of the humour was
- all at once on my lips; I felt the tickle of the
- pure folly of it; it WAS funny.
-
- The next afternoon I told the story to a
- hundred or so children and as many mothers,--
- and the battle was won. Chuckles punctuated
- my periods; helpless laughter ran like an under-
- current below my narrative; it was a struggle
- for me to keep sober, myself. The nonsense
- tale had found its own atmosphere.
-
- Now of course I had known all along that
- the humour of the story emanated from its very
- exaggeration, its absurdly illogical smoothness.
- But I had not FELT it. I did not really "see the
- joke." And that was why I could not tell the
- story. I undoubtedly impressed my own sense
- of its fatuity on every audience to which I gave
- it. The case is very clear.
-
- Equally clear have been some happy instances
- where I have found audiences responding to a
- story I myself greatly liked, but which common
- appreciation usually ignored. This is an
- experience even more persuasive than the other,
- certainly more to be desired.
-
- Every story-teller has lines of limitation;
- certain types of story will always remain his or
- her best effort. There is no reason why any
- type of story should be told really ill, and of
- course the number of kinds one tells well
- increases with the growth of the appreciative
- capacity. But none the less, it is wise to
- recognise the limits at each stage, and not try to
- tell any story to which the honest inner
- consciousness says, "I do not like you."
-
- Let us then set down as a prerequisite for
- good story-telling, A GENUINE APPRECIATION OF THE
- STORY.
-
- Now, we may suppose this genuine appreciation
- to be your portion. You have chosen a
- story, have felt its charm, and identified the
- quality of its appeal.
-
- You are now to tell it in such wise that your
- hearers will get the same kind of impression
- you yourself received from it. How?
-
- I believe the inner secret of success is the
- measure of force with which the teller wills the
- conveyance of his impression to the hearer.
-
- Anyone who has watched, or has himself
- been, the teller of a story which held an audience,
- knows that there is something approaching
- hypnotic suggestion in the close connection of
- effort and effect, and in the elimination of self-
- consciousness from speaker and listeners alike.
-
- I would not for a moment lend the atmosphere
- of charlatanry, or of the ultra-psychic, to the
- wholesome and vivid art of story-telling. But
- I would, if possible, help the teacher to realise
- how largely success in that art is a subjective
- and psychological matter, dependent on her
- control of her own mood and her sense of direct,
- intimate communion with the minds attending
- her. The "feel" of an audience,--that
- indescribable sense of the composite human soul
- waiting on the initiative of your own, the
- emotional currents interplaying along a medium
- so delicate that it takes the baffling torture of
- an obstruction to reveal its existence,--cannot
- be taught. But it can and does develop with
- use. And a realisation of the immense latent
- power of strong desire and resolution vitalises
- and disembarrasses the beginner.
-
- That is, undoubtedly, rather an intangible
- beginning; it sets the root of the matter somewhat
- in the realm of "spirits and influences."
- There are, however, outward and visible means
- of arriving at results. Every art has its
- technique. The art of story-telling, intensely
- personal and subjective as it is, yet comes under
- the law sufficiently not to be a matter of sheer
- "knack." It has its technique. The following
- suggestions are an attempt to state what seem
- the foundation principles of that technique.
- The general statements are deduced from many
- consecutive experiences; partly, too, they are
- the results of introspective analysis, confirmed
- by observation. They do not make up an
- exclusive body of rules, wholly adequate to
- produce good work, of themselves; they do
- include, so far as my observation and experience
- allow, the fundamental requisites of good work,
- --being the qualities uniformly present in
- successful work of many story-tellers.
-
- First of all, most fundamental of all, is a rule
- without which any other would be but folly:
- KNOW YOUR STORY.
-
- One would think so obvious a preliminary
- might be taken for granted. But alas, even
- slight acquaintance with the average story-teller
- proves the dire necessity of the admonition.
- The halting tongue, the slip in name or incident,
- the turning back to forge an omitted link in the
- chain, the repetition, the general weakness of
- statement consequent on imperfect grasp: these
- are common features of the stories one hears
- told. And they are features which will deface
- the best story ever told.
-
- One must know the story absolutely; it
- must have been so assimilated that it partakes
- of the nature of personal experience; its essence
- must be so clearly in mind that the teller does
- not have to think of it at all in the act of telling,
- but rather lets it flow from his lips with the
- unconscious freedom of a vivid reminiscence.
-
- Such knowledge does not mean memorising.
- Memorising utterly destroys the freedom of
- reminiscence, takes away the spontaneity, and
- substitutes a mastery of form for a mastery of
- essence. It means, rather, a perfect grasp of
- the gist of the story, with sufficient familiarity
- with its form to determine the manner of its
- telling. The easiest way to obtain this mastery
- is, I think, to analyse the story into its simplest
- elements of plot. Strip it bare of style, description,
- interpolation, and find out simply WHAT
- HAPPENED. Personally, I find that I get first
- an especially vivid conception of the climax;
- this then has to be rounded out by a clear
- perception of the successive steps which lead
- up to the climax. One has, so, the framework
- of the story. The next process is the filling in.
-
- There must be many ways of going about
- this filling in. Doubtless many of my readers,
- in the days when it was their pet ambition
- to make a good recitation in school, evolved
- personally effective ways of doing it; for it is,
- after all, the same thing as preparing a bit of
- history or a recitation in literature. But for
- the consideration of those who find it hard to
- gain mastery of fact without mastery of its
- stated form, I give my own way. I have always
- used the childlike plan of talking it out. Sometimes
- inaudibly, sometimes in loud and penetrating
- tones which arouse the sympathetic curiosity
- of my family, I tell it over and over, to an
- imaginary hearer. That hearer is as present
- to me, always has been, as Stevenson's "friend
- of the children" who takes the part of the
- enemy in their solitary games of war. His
- criticism (though he is a most composite double-
- sexed creature who should not have a designating
- personal pronoun) is all-revealing. For
- talking it out instantly brings to light the
- weak spots in one's recollection. "What was
- it the little crocodile said?" "Just how did
- the little pig get into his house?" "What
- was that link in the chain of circumstances
- which brought the wily fox to confusion?"
- The slightest cloud of uncertainty becomes
- obvious in a moment. And as obvious becomes
- one's paucity of expression, one's week-kneed
- imagination, one's imperfect assimilation of
- the spirit of the story. It is not a flattering
- process.
-
- But when these faults have been corrected
- by several attempts, the method gives a
- confidence, a sense of sureness, which makes the
- real telling to a real audience ready and
- spontaneously smooth. Scarcely an epithet or a
- sentence comes out as it was in the preliminary
- telling; but epithets and sentences in sufficiency
- do come; the beauty of this method is that it
- brings freedom instead of bondage.
-
- A valuable exception to the rule against
- memorising must be noted here. Especially
- beautiful and indicative phrases of the original
- should be retained, and even whole passages,
- where they are identified with the beauty of
- the tale. And in stories like The Three
- Bears or Red Riding Hood the exact phraseology
- of the conversation as given in familiar
- versions should be preserved; it is in a way
- sacred, a classic, and not to be altered. But
- beyond this the language should be the teller's
- own, and probably never twice the same. Sureness,
- ease, freedom, and the effect of personal
- reminiscence come only from complete mastery.
- I repeat, with emphasis: Know your story.
-
- The next suggestion is a purely practical one
- concerning the preparation of physical conditions.
- See that the children are seated in close and
- direct range of your eye; the familiar half-circle
- is the best arrangement for small groups of
- children, but the teacher should be at a point
- OPPOSITE the centre of the arc, NOT in its centre:
- it is important also not to have the ends too far
- at the side, and to have no child directly behind
- another, or in such a position that he has not
- an easy view of the teacher's full face. Little
- children have to be physically close in order to
- be mentally close. It is, of course, desirable
- to obtain a hushed quiet before beginning; but
- it is not so important as to preserve your own
- mood of holiday, and theirs. If the fates and
- the atmosphere of the day are against you, it
- is wiser to trust to the drawing power of the
- tale itself, and abate the irritation of didactic
- methods. And never break into that magic
- tale, once begun, with an admonition to Ethel
- or Tommy to stop squirming, or a rebuke to
- "that little girl over there who is not listening."
- Make her listen! It is probably your fault if
- she is not. If you are telling a good story, and
- telling it well, she can't help listening,--unless
- she is an abnormal child; and if she is abnormal
- you ought not to spoil the mood of the others
- to attend to her.
-
- I say "never" interrupt your story; perhaps
- it is only fair to amend that, after the fashion of
- dear little Marjorie Fleming, and say "never--if
- you can help it." For, of course, there are exceptional
- occasions, and exceptional children; some
- latitude must be left for the decisions of good
- common sense acting on the issue of the moment.
-
- The children ready, your own mood must be
- ready. It is desirable that the spirit of the
- story should be imposed upon the room from the
- beginning, and this result hangs on the clearness
- and intensity of the teller's initiatory mood. An
- act of memory and of will is the requisite. The
- story-teller must call up--it comes with the
- swiftness of thought--the essential emotion of
- the story as he felt it first. A single volition
- puts him in touch with the characters and the
- movement of the tale. This is scarcely more
- than a brief and condensed reminiscence; it is
- the stepping back into a mood once experienced.
-
- Let us say, for example, that the story to be
- told is the immortal fable of The Ugly Duckling.
- Before you open your lips the whole
- pathetic series of the little swan's mishaps should
- flash across your mind,--not accurately and in
- detail, but blended to a composite of undeserved
- ignominy, of baffled innocent wonderment, and
- of delicious underlying satire on average views.
- With this is mingled the feeling of Andersen's
- delicate whimsicality of style. The dear little
- Ugly Duckling waddles, bodily, into your consciousness,
- and you pity his sorrows and anticipate
- his triumph, before you begin.
-
- This preliminary recognition of mood is what
- brings the delicious quizzical twitch to the mouth
- of a good raconteur who begins an anecdote the
- hearers know will be side-splitting. It is what
- makes grandmother sigh gently and look far over
- your heads, when her soft voice commences the
- story of "the little girl who lived long, long
- ago." It is a natural and instinctive thing with
- the born story-teller; a necessary thing for anyone
- who will become a story-teller.
-
- From the very start, the mood of the tale
- should be definite and authoritative, beginning
- with the mood of the teller and emanating therefrom
- in proportion as the physique of the teller
- is a responsive medium.
-
- Now we are off. Knowing your story, having
- your hearers well arranged, and being as
- thoroughly as you are able in the right mood,
- you begin to tell it. Tell it, then, simply,
- directly, dramatically, with zest.
-
- SIMPLY applies both to manner and matter.
- As to manner, I mean without affectation,
- without any form of pretence, in short, without
- posing. It is a pity to "talk down" to the
- children, to assume a honeyed voice, to think
- of the edifying or educational value of the work
- one is doing. Naturalness, being oneself, is the
- desideratum. I wonder why we so often use a
- preposterous voice,--a super-sweetened whine,
- in talking to children? Is it that the effort to
- realise an ideal of gentleness and affectionateness
- overreaches itself in this form of the grotesque?
- Some good intention must be the root of it
- But the thing is none the less pernicious. A
- "cant" voice is as abominable as a cant phraseology.
- Both are of the very substance of evil.
-
- "But it is easier to SAY, `Be natural' than to
- BE it," said one teacher to me desperately.
-
- Beyond dispute. To those of us who are
- cursed with an over-abundant measure of self-
- consciousness, nothing is harder than simple
- naturalness. The remedy is to lose oneself in
- one's art. Think of the story so absorbingly
- and vividly that you have no room to think of
- yourself. Live it. Sink yourself in that mood
- you have summoned up, and let it carry you.
-
- If you do this, simplicity of matter will come
- easily. Your choice of words and images will
- naturally become simple.
-
- It is, I think, a familiar precept to educators,
- that children should not have their literature
- too much simplified for them. We are told that
- they like something beyond them, and that it
- is good for them to have a sense of mystery and
- power beyond the sense they grasp. That may
- be true; but if so it does not apply to story-
- telling as it does to reading. We have
- constantly to remember that the movement of a
- story told is very swift. A concept not grasped
- in passing is irrevocably lost; there is no
- possibility of turning back, or lingering over the
- page. Also, since the art of story-telling is
- primarily an art of entertainment, its very object
- is sacrificed if the ideas and images do not slip
- into the child's consciousness smoothly enough
- to avoid the sense of strain. For this reason
- short, familiar, vivid words are best.
-
- Simplicity of manner and of matter are both
- essential to the right appeal to children.
-
- DIRECTNESS in telling is a most important
- quality. The story, listened to, is like the
- drama, beheld. Its movement must be unimpeded,
- increasingly swift, winding up "with a
- snap." Long-windedness, or talking round the
- story, utterly destroys this movement. The
- incidents should be told, one after another,
- without explanation or description beyond what
- is absolutely necessary; and THEY SHOULD BE TOLD
- IN LOGICAL SEQUENCE. Nothing is more distressing
- than the cart-before-the-horse method,--nothing
- more quickly destroys interest than the failure
- to get a clue in the right place.
-
- Sometimes, to be sure, a side remark adds
- piquancy and a personal savour. But the
- general rule is, great discretion in this respect.
-
- Every epithet or adjective beyond what is
- needed to give the image, is a five-barred gate
- in the path of the eager mind travelling to a
- climax.
-
- Explanations and moralising are usually sheer
- clatter. Some few stories necessarily include
- a little explanation, and stories of the fable
- order may quaintly end with an obvious moral.
- But here again, the rule is--great discretion.
-
- It is well to remember that you have one
- great advantage over the writer of stories. The
- writer must present a clear image and make a
- vivid impression,--all with words. The teller
- has face, and voice, and body to do it with.
- The teller needs, consequently, but one swiftly
- incisive verb to the writer's two; but one
- expressive adjective to his three. Often, indeed,
- a pause and an expressive gesture do the whole
- thing.
-
- It may be said here that it is a good trick of
- description to repeat an epithet or phrase once
- used, when referring again to the same thing.
- The recurrent adjectives of Homer were the
- device of one who entertained a childlike
- audience. His trick is unconscious and
- instinctive with people who have a natural gift
- for children's stories. Of course this matter
- also demands common sense in the degree of its
- use; in moderation it is a most successful device.
-
- Brevity, close logical sequence, exclusion of
- foreign matter, unhesitant speech,--to use these
- is to tell a story directly.
-
- After simplicity and directness, comes that
- quality which to advise, is to become a rock of
- offence to many. It is the suggestion, "Tell
- the story DRAMATICALLY." Yet when we quite
- understand each other as to the meaning of
- "dramatically," I think you will agree with me
- that a good story-teller includes this in his
- qualities of manner. It means, not in the
- manner of the elocutionist, not excitably, not
- any of the things which are incompatible with
- simplicity and sincerity; but with a whole-
- hearted throwing of oneself into the game,
- which identifies one in a manner with the
- character or situation of the moment. It means
- responsively, vividly, without interposing a blank
- wall of solid self between the drama of the tale
- and the mind's eye of the audience.
-
- It is such fun, pure and simple, so to throw
- oneself into it, and to see the answering
- expressions mimic one's own, that it seems
- superfluous to urge it. Yet many persons do
- find it difficult. The instant, slight but
- suggestive change of voice, the use of onomatopoetic
- words, the response of eyes and hands,
- which are all immediate and spontaneous with
- some temperaments, are to others a matter of
- shamefacedness and labour. To those, to all
- who are not by nature bodily expressive, I
- would reiterate the injunction already given,
- not to pretend. Do nothing you cannot do
- naturally and happily. But lay your stress on
- the inner and spiritual effort to appreciate, to
- feel, to imagine out the tale; and let the
- expressiveness of your body grow gradually with
- the increasing freedom from crippling self-
- consciousness. The physique will become more
- mobile as the emotion does.
-
- The expression must, however, always REMAIN
- SUGGESTIVE RATHER THAN ILLUSTRATIVE. This
- is the side of the case which those who are
- over-dramatic must not forget. The story-
- teller is not playing the parts of his stories;
- he is merely arousing the imagination of his
- hearers to picture the scenes for themselves.
- One element of the dual consciousness of the
- tale-teller remains always the observer, the
- reporter, the quiet outsider.
-
- I like to think of the story-teller as a good
- fellow standing at a great window overlooking
- a busy street or a picturesque square, and
- reporting with gusto to the comrade in the rear
- of the room what of mirth or sadness he sees;
- he hints at the policeman's strut, the organ-
- grinder's shrug, the schoolgirl's gaiety, with a
- gesture or two which is born of an irresistible
- impulse to imitate; but he never leaves his
- fascinating post to carry the imitation further
- than a hint.
-
- The verity of this figure lies in the fact that
- the dramatic quality of story-telling depends
- closely upon the CLEARNESS AND POWER WITH WHICH
- THE STORY-TELLER VISUALISES THE EVENTS AND CHARACTERS
- HE DESCRIBES. You must hold the image before
- the mind's eye, using your imagination to
- embody to yourself every act, incident and
- appearance. You must, indeed, stand at the window
- of your consciousness and watch what happens.
-
- This is a point so vital that I am tempted
- to put it in ornate type. You must SEE what
- you SAY!
-
- It is not too much, even, to say, "You must
- see more than you say." True vividness is lent
- by a background of picture realised by the
- listener beyond what you tell him. Children
- see, as a rule, no image you do not see; they
- see most clearly what you see most largely.
- Draw, then, from a full well, not from a supply
- so low that the pumps wheeze at every pull.
-
- Dramatic power of the reasonably quiet and
- suggestive type demanded for telling a story
- will come pretty surely in the train of effort
- along these lines; it follows the clear concept
- and sincerity in imparting it, and is a natural
- consequence of the visualising imagination.
-
- It is inextricably bound up, also, with the
- causes and results of the quality which finds
- place in my final injunction, to tell your story
- WITH ZEST. It might almost be assumed that
- the final suggestion renders the preceding one
- superfluous, so direct is the effect of a lively
- interest on the dramatic quality of a narration;
- but it would not of itself be adequate; the
- necessity of visualising imagination is paramount.
- Zest is, however, a close second to
- this clearness of mental vision. It is entirely
- necessary to be interested in your own story,
- to enjoy it as you tell it. If you are bored and
- tired, the children will soon be bored and tired,
- too. If you are not interested your manner
- cannot get that vitalised spontaneity which
- makes dramatic power possible. Nothing else
- will give that relish on the lips, that gusto,
- which communicates its joy to the audience
- and makes it receptive to every impression.
- I used to say to teachers, "Tell your story
- with all your might," but I found that this
- by a natural misconception was often interpreted
- to mean "laboriously." And of course
- nothing is more injurious to the enjoyment of
- an audience than obvious effort on the part
- of the entertainer. True zest can be--often
- is--extremely quiet, but it gives a savour
- nothing else can impart.
-
- "But how, at the end of a hard morning's
- work, can I be interested in a story I have told
- twenty times before?" asks the kindergarten or
- primary teacher, not without reason.
-
- There are two things to be said. The first is
- a reminder of the wisdom of choosing stories in
- which you originally have interest; and of having
- a store large enough to permit variety. The
- second applies to those inevitable times of weariness
- which attack the most interested and well-
- stocked story-teller. You are, perhaps, tired
- out physically. You have told a certain story
- till it seems as if a repetition of it must produce
- bodily effects dire to contemplate, yet that
- happens to be the very story you must tell.
- What can you do? I answer, "Make believe."
- The device seems incongruous with the repeated
- warnings against pretence; but it is necessary,
- and it is wise. Pretend as hard as ever you can
- to be interested. And the result will be--before
- you know it--that you will BE interested. That
- is the chief cause of the recommendation; it
- brings about the result it simulates. Make
- believe, as well as you know how, and the
- probability is that you will not even know when the
- transition from pretended to real interest comes.
-
- And fortunately, the children never know the
- difference. They have not that psychological
- infallibility which is often attributed to them.
- They might, indeed, detect a pretence which
- continued through a whole tale; but that is so
- seldom necessary that it needs little consideration.
-
- So then: enjoy your story; be interested in
- it,--if you possibly can; and if you cannot,
- pretend to be, till the very pretence brings
- about the virtue you have assumed.
-
- There is much else which might be said and
- urged regarding the method of story-telling, even
- without encroaching on the domain of personal
- variations. A whole chapter might, for example,
- be devoted to voice and enunciation, and then
- leave the subject fertile. But voice and enunciation
- are after all merely single manifestations of
- degree and quality of culture, of taste, and of
- natural gift. No set rules can bring charm of
- voice and speech to a person whose feeling and
- habitual point of view are fundamentally wrong;
- the person whose habitual feeling and mental
- attitude are fundamentally right needs few or no
- rules. As the whole matter of story-telling is
- in the first instance an expression of the complex
- personal product, so will this feature of it
- vary in perfection according to the beauty and
- culture of the human mechanism manifesting it.
-
- A few generally applicable suggestions may,
- however, be useful,--always assuming the story-
- teller to have the fundamental qualifications of
- fine and wholesome habit. These are not rules
- for the art of speaking; they are merely some
- practical considerations regarding speaking to
- an audience.
-
- First, I would reiterate my earlier advice, be
- simple. Affectation is the worst enemy of voice
- and enunciation alike. Slovenly enunciation is
- certainly very dreadful, but the unregenerate
- may be pardoned if they prefer it to the
- affected mouthing which some over-nice people
- without due sense of values expend on every
- syllable which is so unlucky as to fall between
- their teeth.
-
- Next I would urge avoidance of a fault very
- common with those who speak much in large
- rooms,--the mistaken effort at loudness. This
- results in tightening and straining the throat,
- finally producing nasal head-tones or a voice
- of metallic harshness. And it is entirely
- unnecessary. There is no need to speak loudly.
- The ordinary schoolroom needs no vocal effort.
- A hall seating three or four hundred persons
- demands no effort whatever beyond a certain
- clearness and definiteness of speech. A hall
- seating from five to eight hundred needs more
- skill in aiming the voice, but still demands no
- shouting.
-
- It is indeed largely the psychological quality
- of a tone that makes it reach in through the ear
- to the comprehension. The quiet, clear, restful,
- persuasive tone of a speaker who knows his
- power goes straight home; but loud speech
- confuses. Never speak loudly. In a small room,
- speak as gently and easily as in conversation;
- in a large room, think of the people farthest
- away, and speak clearly, with a slight separation
- between words, and with definite phrasing,--
- aiming your MIND toward the distant listeners.
-
- If one is conscious of nasality or throatiness
- of voice, it certainly pays to study the subject
- seriously with an intelligent teacher. But a
- good, natural speaking-voice, free from extraordinary
- vices, will fill all the requirements of
- story-telling to small audiences, without other
- attention than comes indirectly from following
- the general principles of the art.
-
- To sum it all up, then, let us say of the method
- likely to bring success in telling stories, that it
- includes sympathy, grasp, spontaneity: one
- must appreciate the story, and know it; and
- then, using the realising imagination as a
- constant vivifying force, and dominated by the
- mood of the story, one must tell it with all one's
- might,--simply, vitally, joyously.
-
-
-
- CHAPTER V
-
- SOME SPECIFIC SCHOOLROOM USES OF STORY-TELLING
-
- In Chapter II., I have tried to give my conception
- of the general aim of story-telling in school.
- From that conception, it is not difficult to deduce
- certain specific uses. The one most plainly
- intimated is that of a brief recreation period, a
- feature which has proved valuable in many
- classes. Less definitely implied, but not to be
- ignored, was the use of the story during, or
- accessory to, the lesson in science or history.
-
- But more distinctive and valuable than these,
- I think, is a specific use which I have recently
- had the pleasure of seeing exemplified in great
- completeness in the schools of Providence,
- Rhode Island.
-
- Some four years ago, the assistant superintendent
- of schools of that city, Miss Ella L.
- Sweeney, introduced a rather unusual and
- extended application of the story in her primary
- classes. While the experiment was in its early
- stages, it was my good fortune to be allowed to
- make suggestions for its development, and as
- the devices in question were those I had been
- accustomed to use as a pastime for children, I
- was able to take some slight hand in the formative
- work of its adoption as an educational
- method. Carried out most ably by the teachers
- to whom it was entrusted, the plan has evolved
- into a more inclusive and systematic one than
- was at first hoped for; it is one from which I
- have been grateful to learn.
-
- Tersely stated, the object of the general plan
- is the freeing and developing of the power of
- expression in the pupils.
-
- I think there can be no need of dwelling on
- the desirability of this result. The apathy and
- "woodenness" of children under average modes
- of pedagogy is apparent to anyone who is
- interested enough to observe. In elementary
- work, the most noticeable lack of natural
- expression is probably in the reading classes; the
- same drawback appears at a later stage in
- English composition. But all along the line
- every thoughtful teacher knows how difficult it
- is to obtain spontaneous, creative reaction on
- material given.
-
- Story-telling has a real mission to perform in
- setting free the natural creative expression of
- children, and in vitalising the general atmosphere
- of the school. The method in use for
- this purpose in Providence (and probably elsewhere,
- as ideas usually germinate in more than
- one place at once) is a threefold GIVING BACK of
- the story by the children. Two of the forms of
- reproduction are familiar to many teachers; the
- first is the obvious one of telling the story back
- again.
-
- It is such fun to listen to a good story that
- children remember it without effort, and later,
- when asked if they can tell the story of The
- Red-Headed Woodpecker or The little Red Hen,
- they are as eager to try it as if it were a personal
- experience which they were burning to
- impart.
-
- Each pupil, in the Providence classes, is given
- a chance to try each story, at some time. Then
- that one which each has told especially well is
- allotted to him for his own particular story, on
- which he has an especial claim thereafter.
-
- It is surprising to note how comparatively
- individual and distinctive the expression of
- voice and manner becomes, after a short time.
- The child instinctively emphasises the points
- which appeal to him, and the element of fun in
- it all helps to bring forgetfulness of self. The
- main inflections and the general tenor of the
- language, however, remain imitative, as is
- natural with children. But this is a gain rather
- than otherwise, for it is useful in forming good
- habit. In no other part of her work, probably,
- has a teacher so good a chance to foster in her
- pupils pleasant habits of enunciation and voice.
- And this is especially worth while ill the big
- city schools, where so many children come from
- homes where the English of the tenement is
- spoken.
-
- I have since wished that every city primary
- teacher could have visited with me the first-
- grade room in Providence where the pupils were
- German, Russian, or Polish Jews, and where
- some of them had heard no English previous
- to that year,--it being then May. The joy that
- shone on their faces was nothing less than
- radiance when the low-voiced teacher said,
- "Would you like to tell these ladies some of
- your stories?"
-
- They told us their stories, and there was
- truly not one told poorly or inexpressively; all
- the children had learned something of the joy
- of creative effort. But one little fellow stands
- out in my memory beyond all the rest, yet as
- a type of all the rest.
-
- Rudolph was very small, and square, and
- merry of eye; life was one eagerness and
- expectancy to him. He knew no English beyond
- that of one school year. But he stood
- staunchly in his place and told me the story
- of the Little Half Chick with an abandon and
- bodily emphasis which left no doubt of his
- sympathetic understanding of every word. The
- depth of moral reproach in his tone was quite
- beyond description when he said, "Little Half
- Chick, little Half Chick, when I was in trubbul
- you wouldn't help me!" He heartily relished
- that repetition, and became more dramatic each
- time.
-
- Through it all, in the tones of the tender little
- voice, the sidewise pose of the neat dark head,
- and the occasional use of a chubby pointing
- finger, one could trace a vague reflection of
- the teacher's manner. It was not strong
- enough to dominate at all over the child's
- personality, but it was strong enough to suggest
- possibilities.
-
- In different rooms, I was told The Half Chick,
- The Little Red Hen, The Three Bears, The Red-
- Headed Woodpecker, The Fox and the Grapes,
- and many other simple stories, and in every
- instance there was a noticeable degree of
- spontaneity and command of expression.
-
- When the reading classes were held, the
- influence of this work was very visible. It had
- crept into the teachers' method, as well as the
- children's attitude. The story interest was still
- paramount. In the discussion, in the teachers'
- remarks, and in the actual reading, there was
- a joyousness and an interest in the subject-
- matter which totally precluded that preoccupation
- with sounds and syllables so deadly to any
- real progress in reading. There was less of the
- mechanical in the reading than in any I had
- heard in my visits to schools; but it was
- exceptionally accurate.
-
- The second form of giving back which has
- proved a keen pleasure and a stimulus to growth
- is a kind of "seat-work." The children are
- allowed to make original illustrations of the
- stories by cutting silhouette pictures.
-
- It will be readily seen that no child can do
- this without visualising each image very
- perfectly. In the simplest and most unconscious
- way possible, the small artists are developing
- the power of conceiving and holding the concrete
- image of an idea given, the power which
- is at the bottom of all arts of expression.
-
- Through the kindness of Miss Sweeney, I
- am able to insert several of these illustrations.
- They are entirely original, and were made without
- any thought of such a use as this.
-
- The pictures and the retelling are both
- popular with children, but neither is as dear
- to them as the third form of reproduction of
- which I wish to speak. This third kind is
- taken entirely on the ground of play, and no
- visibly didactic element enters into it. It
- consists simply of PLAYING THE STORY.
-
- When a good story with a simple sequence
- has been told, and while the children are still
- athrill with the delight of it, they are told they
- may play it.
-
- "Who would like to be Red Riding Hood?"
- says the teacher; up go the little girls' hands,
- and Mary or Hannah or Gertrude is chosen.
-
- "Who will be the wolf?" Johnny or Marcus
- becomes the wolf. The kind woodchopper and
- the mother are also happily distributed, for in
- these little dramatic companies it is an all-star
- cast, and no one realises any indignity in a
- subordinate role.
-
- "Now, where shall we have little Red Riding
- Hood's house? `Over in that corner,' Katie?
- Very well, Riding Hood shall live over there.
- And where shall the grandmother's cottage be?"
-
- The children decide that it must be a long
- distance through the wood,--half-way round
- the schoolroom, in fact. The wolf selects the
- spot where he will meet Red Riding Hood, and
- the woodchopper chooses a position from which
- he can rush in at the critical moment, to save
- Red Riding Hood's life.
-
- Then, with gusto good to see, they play the
- game. The teacher makes no suggestions;
- each actor creates his part. Some children
- prove extremely expressive and facile, while
- others are limited by nature. But each is left
- to his spontaneous action.
-
- In the course of several days several sets of
- children have been allowed to try; then if any
- of them are notably good in the several roles,
- they are given an especial privilege in that
- story, as was done with the retelling. When
- a child expresses a part badly, the teacher
- sometimes asks if anyone thinks of another
- way to do it; from different examples offered,
- the children then choose the one they prefer;
- this is adopted. At no point is the teacher
- apparently teaching. She lets the audience
- teach itself and its actors.
-
- The children played a good many stories
- for me during my visit in Providence. Of
- them all, Red Riding Hood, The Fox and the
- Grapes, and The Lion and the Mouse were most
- vividly done.
-
- It will be long before the chief of the Little
- Red Riding Hoods fades from my memory.
- She had a dark, foreign little face, with a
- good deal of darker hair tied back from it,
- and brown, expressive hands. Her eyes were
- so full of dancing lights that when they met
- mine unexpectedly it was as if a chance
- reflection had dazzled me. When she was told
- that she might play, she came up for her riding
- hood like an embodied delight, almost dancing
- as she moved. (Her teacher used a few simple
- elements of stage-setting for her stories, such
- as bowls for the Bears, a cape for Riding
- Hood, and so on.)
-
- The game began at once. Riding Hood
- started from the rear corner of the room,
- basket on arm; her mother gave her strict
- injunctions as to lingering on the way, and she
- returned a respectful "Yes, mother." Then
- she trotted round the aisle, greeting the wood-
- chopper on the way, to the deep wood which
- lay close by the teacher's desk. There master
- wolf was waiting, and there the two held
- converse,--master wolf very crafty indeed, Red
- Riding Hood extremely polite. The wolf then
- darted on ahead and crouched down in the
- corner which represented grandmother's bed.
- Riding Hood tripped sedately to the imaginary
- door, and knocked. The familiar dialogue
- followed, and with the words "the better to eat
- you with, my dear!" the wolf clutched Red
- Riding Hood, to eat her up. But we were
- not forced to undergo the threatened scene of
- horrid carnage, as the woodchopper opportunely
- arrived, and stated calmly, "I will not
- let you kill Little Red Riding Hood."
-
- All was now happily culminated, and with
- the chopper's grave injunction as to future
- conduct in her ears, the rescued heroine tip-
- toed out of the woods, to her seat.
-
- I wanted to applaud, but I realised in the
- nick of time that we were all playing, and
- held my peace.
-
- The Fox and the Grapes was more dramatically
- done, but was given by a single child.
- He was the chosen "fox" of another primary
- room, and had the fair colouring and sturdy
- frame which matched his Swedish name. He
- was naturally dramatic. It was easy to see
- that he instinctively visualised everything, and
- this he did so strongly that he suggested to
- the onlooker every detail of the scene.
-
- He chose for his grape-trellis the rear wall
- of the room.
-
- Standing there, he looked longingly up at
- the invisible bunch of grapes. "My gracious,"
- he said, "what fine grapes! I will have
- some."
-
- Then he jumped for them.
-
- "Didn't get them," he muttered, "I'll try
- again," and he jumped higher.
-
- "Didn't get them this time," he said
- disgustedly, and hopped up once more. Then he
- stood still, looked up, shrugged his shoulders,
- and remarked in an absurdly worldly-wise tone,
- "Those grapes are sour!" After which he
- walked away.
-
- Of course the whole thing was infantile, and
- without a touch of grace; but it is no
- exaggeration to say that the child did what many
- grown-up actors fail to do,--he preserved the
- illusion.
-
- It was in still another room that I saw the
- lion and mouse fable played.
-
- The lion lay flat on the floor for his nap,
- but started up when he found his paw laid on
- the little mouse, who crouched as small as she
- could beside him. (The mouse was by nature
- rather larger than the lion, but she called
- what art she might to her assistance) The
- mouse persuaded the lion to lift his paw, and
- ran away.
-
- Presently a most horrific groaning emanated
- from the lion. The mouse ran up, looked him
- over, and soliloquised in precise language,--
- evidently remembered, "What is the matter
- with the lion? Oh, I see; he is caught in a
- trap." And then she gnawed with her teeth
- at the imaginary rope which bound him.
-
- "What makes you so kind to me, little Mouse?"
- said the rescued lion.
-
- "You let me go, when I asked you," said the
- mouse demurely.
-
- "Thank you, little Mouse," answered the
- lion; and therewith, finis.
-
- It is not impossible that all this play
- atmosphere may seem incongruous and unnecessary
- to teachers used to more conventional methods,
- but I feel sure that an actual experience of it
- would modify that point of view conclusively.
- The children of the schools where story-telling
- and "dramatising" were practised were startlingly
- better in reading, in attentiveness, and
- in general power of expression, than the pupils
- of like social conditions in the same grades of
- other cities which I visited soon after, and in
- which the more conventional methods were
- exclusively used. The teachers, also, were
- stronger in power of expression.
-
- But the most noticeable, though the least
- tangible, difference was in the moral atmosphere
- of the schoolroom. There had been a great
- gain in vitality in all the rooms where stories
- were a part of the work. It had acted and
- reacted on pupils and teachers alike. The telling
- of a story well so depends on being thoroughly
- vitalised that, naturally, habitual telling had
- resulted in habitual vitalisation.
-
- This result was not, of course, wholly due to
- the practice of story-telling, but it was in some
- measure due to that. And it was a result worth
- the effort.
-
- I beg to urge these specific uses of stories, as
- both recreative and developing, and as especially
- tending toward enlarged power of expression:
- retelling the story; illustrating the story in seat-
- work; dramatisation.
-
-
-
- STORIES SELECTED AND ADAPTED FOR TELLING
-
- ESPECIALLY FOR KINDERGARTEN AND CLASS I.
-
- Wee Willie Winkie runs through the town,
- Upstairs and downstairs in his nightgown,
- Rapping at the window, crying through the lock,
- "Are the children in their beds, for now it's eight o'clock?"
-
- There was a crooked man, and he went a crooked mile,
- He found a crooked sixpence against a crooked stile;
- He bought a crooked cat, which caught a crooked mouse,
- And they all lived together in a little crooked house.
-
- Cushy cow bonny, let down thy milk,
- And I will give thee a gown of silk;
- A gown of silk and a silver tee,
- If thou wilt let down thy milk to me.
-
- "Little girl, little girl, where have you been?"
- "Gathering roses to give to the queen."
- "Little girl, little girl, what gave she you?"
- "She gave me a diamond as big as my shoe."
-
- Little Bo-peep has lost her sheep,
- And can't tell where to find them;
- Leave them alone, and they'll come home,
- And bring their tails behind them.
- Little Bo peep fell fast asleep,
- And dreamt she heard them bleating;
- But when she awoke, she found it a joke,
- For still they all were fleeting.
-
- Then up she took her little crook,
- Determin'd for to find them;
- She found them indeed, but it made her heart bleed,
- For they'd left their tails behind them.
-
-
- FIVE LITTLE WHITE HEADS[1]
-
- BY WALTER LEARNED
-
- [1] From Mother-Song and Child-Song, Charlotte Brewster
- Jordan.
-
-
- Five little white heads peeped out of the mould,
- When the dew was damp and the night was cold;
- And they crowded their way through the soil with pride;
- "Hurrah! We are going to be mushrooms!" they cried
-
- But the sun came up, and the sun shone down,
- And the little white heads were withered and brown;
- Long were their faces, their pride had a fall--
- They were nothing but toadstools, after all.
-
-
- BIRD THOUGHTS[2]
-
- [2] Ibid.
-
- I lived first in a little house,
- And lived there very well;
- I thought the world was small and round,
- And made of pale blue shell.
- I lived next in a little nest,
-
- Nor needed any other;
- I thought the world was made of straw,
- And brooded by my mother.
-
- One day I fluttered from the nest
- To see what I could find.
- I said, "The world is made of leaves;
- I have been very blind."
-
- At length I flew beyond the tree,
- Quite fit for grown-up labours.
- I don't know how the world IS made,
- And neither do my neighbours!
-
-
- HOW WE CAME TO HAVE PINK ROSES[1]
-
- [1] Told me by Miss Elizabeth McCracken.
-
-
- Once, ever and ever so long ago, we didn't have
- any pink roses. All the roses in the world were
- white. There weren't any red ones at all, any
- yellow ones, or any pink ones,--only white roses.
-
- And one morning, very early, a little white
- rosebud woke up, and saw the sun looking at
- her. He stared so hard that the little white
- rosebud did not know what to do; so she looked
- up at him and said, "Why are you looking at me
- so hard?"
-
- "Because you are so pretty!" said the big
- round sun. And the little white rosebud
- blushed! She blushed pink. And all her
- children after her were little pink roses!
-
-
- RAGGYLUG[2]
-
- [2] Adapted from Mr Ernest Thompson Seton's Wild Animals
- I have known. (David Nutt, 57-59 Long Acre, W.C. 6s. net.)
-
-
-
- Once there was a little furry rabbit, who lived
- with his mother deep down in a nest under the
- long grass. His name was Raggylug, and his
- mother's name was Molly Cottontail. Every
- morning, when Molly Cottontail went out to hunt
- for food, she said to Raggylug, "Now, Raggylug,
- lie still, and make no noise. No matter what you
- hear, no matter what you see, don't you move.
- Remember you are only a baby rabbit, and lie
- low." And Raggylug always said he would.
-
- One day, after his mother had gone, he was
- lying very still in the nest, looking up through
- the feathery grass. By just cocking his eye,
- so, he could see what was going on up in the
- world. Once a big bluejay perched on a twig
- above him, and scolded someone very loudly;
- he kept saying, "Thief! thief!" But Raggylug
- never moved his nose, nor his paws; he lay still.
- Once a lady-bird took a walk down a blade of
- grass, over his head; she was so top-heavy that
- pretty soon she tumbled off and fell to the bottom,
- and had to begin all over again. But Raggylug
- never moved his nose nor his paws; he lay still.
-
- The sun was warm, and it was very still.
-
- Suddenly Raggylug heard a little sound, far
- off. It sounded like "Swish, swish," very soft
- and far away. He listened. It was a queer
- little sound, low down in the grass, "rustle--
- rustle--rustle"; Raggylug was interested. But
- he never moved his nose or his paws; he lay
- still. Then the sound came nearer, "rustle--
- rustle--rustle"; then grew fainter, then came
- nearer; in and out, nearer and nearer, like
- something coming; only, when Raggylug heard
- anything coming he always heard its feet, stepping
- ever so softly. What could it be that came
- so smoothly,--rustle--rustle without any feet?
-
- He forgot his mother's warning, and sat up
- on his hind paws; the sound stopped then.
- "Pooh," thought Raggylug, "I'm not a baby
- rabbit, I am three weeks old; I'll find out what
- this is." He stuck his head over the top of the
- nest, and looked--straight into the wicked eyes
- of a great big snake. "Mammy, Mammy!"
- screamed Raggylug. "Oh, Mammy, Mam----"
- But he couldn't scream any more, for the big
- snake had his ear in his mouth and was
- winding about the soft little body, squeezing
- Raggylug's life out. He tried to call "Mammy!"
- again, but he could not breathe.
-
- Ah, but Mammy had heard the first cry.
- Straight over the fields she flew, leaping the
- stones and hummocks, fast as the wind, to save
- her baby. She wasn't a timid little cottontail
- rabbit then; she was a mother whose child was
- in danger. And when she came to Raggylug
- and the big snake, she took one look, and then
- hop! hop! she went over the snake's back; and
- as she jumped she struck at the snake with her
- strong hind claws so that they tore his skin.
- He hissed with rage, but he did not let go.
-
- Hop! hop! she went again, and this time she
- hurt him so that he twisted and turned; but he
- held on to Raggylug.
-
- Once more the mother rabbit hopped, and
- once more she struck and tore the snake's back
- with her sharp claws. Zzz! How she hurt!
- The snake dropped Raggy to strike at her, and
- Raggy rolled on to his feet and ran.
-
- "Run, Raggylug, run!" said his mother,
- keeping the snake busy with her jumps; and
- you may believe Raggylug ran! Just as soon
- as he was out of the way his mother came too,
- and showed him where to go. When she ran,
- there was a little white patch that showed
- under her tail; that was for Raggy to follow,
- --he followed it now.
-
- Far, far away she led him, through the long
- grass, to a place where the big snake could not
- find him, and there she made a new nest. And
- this time, when she told Raggylug to lie low
- you'd better believe he minded!
-
-
-
- THE GOLDEN COBWEBS[1]
-
- A STORY TO TELL BY THE CHRISTMAS TREE
-
- [1] This story was told me in the mother-tongue of a German
- friend, at the kindly instance of a common friend of both;
- the narrator had heard it at home from the lips of a father
- of story-loving children for whom ho often invented such
- little tales. The present adaptation has passed by hearsay
- through so many minds that it is perhaps little like the
- original, but I venture to hope it has a touch of the original
- fancy, at least.
-
-
- I am going to tell you a story about something
- wonderful that happened to a Christmas
- Tree like this, ever and ever so long ago, when
- it was once upon a time.
-
- It was before Christmas, and the tree was
- trimmed with bright spangled threads and
- many-coloured candles and (name the trimmings
- of the tree before you), and it stood
- safely out of sight in a room where the doors
- were locked, so that the children should not
- see it before the proper time. But ever so
- many other little house-people had seen it.
- The big black pussy saw it with her great
- green eyes; the little grey kitty saw it with
- her little blue eyes; the kind house-dog saw
- it with his steady brown eyes; the yellow
- canary saw it with his wise, bright eyes. Even
- the wee, wee mice that were so afraid of the
- cat had peeped one peep when no one was by.
-
- But there was someone who hadn't seen the
- Christmas tree. It was the little grey spider!
-
- You see, the spiders lived in the corners,--
- the warm corners of the sunny attic and the
- dark corners of the nice cellar. And they were
- expecting to see the Christmas Tree as much
- as anybody. But just before Christmas a great
- cleaning-up began in the house. The house-
- mother came sweeping and dusting and wiping
- and scrubbing, to make everything grand and
- clean for the Christ-child's birthday. Her broom
- went into all the corners, poke, poke,--and of
- course the spiders had to run. Dear, dear, HOW
- the spiders had to run! Not one could stay
- in the house while the Christmas cleanness
- lasted. So, you see, they couldn't see the
- Christmas Tree.
-
- Spiders like to know all about everything,
- and see all there is to see, and these were very
- sad. So at last they went to the Christ-child
- and told him about it.
-
- "All the others see the Christmas Tree, dear
- Christ-child," they said; "but we, who are so
- domestic and so fond of beautiful things, we are
- CLEANED UP! We cannot see it, at all."
-
- The Christ-child was sorry for the little
- spiders when he heard this, and he said they
- should see the Christmas Tree.
-
- The day before Christmas, when nobody was
- noticing, he let them all go in, to look as long
- as ever they liked.
-
- They came creepy, creepy, down the attic
- stairs, creepy, creepy, up the cellar stairs,
- creepy, creepy, along the halls,--and into the
- beautiful room. The fat mother spiders and
- the old papa spiders were there, and all the
- little teeny, tiny, curly spiders, the baby ones.
- And then they looked! Round and round the
- tree they crawled, and looked and looked and
- looked. Oh, what a good time they had! They
- thought it was perfectly beautiful. And when
- they had looked at everything they could see
- from the floor, they started up the tree to see
- more. All over the tree they ran, creepy,
- crawly, looking at every single thing. Up and
- down, in and out, over every branch and twig,
- the little spiders ran, and saw every one of the
- pretty things right up close.
-
- They stayed till they had seen all there was
- to see, you may be sure, and then they went
- away at last, QUITE happy.
-
- Then, in the still, dark night before Christmas
- Day, the dear Christ-child came, to bless the
- tree for the children. But when he looked at
- it--WHAT do you suppose?--it was covered with
- cobwebs! Everywhere the little spiders had
- been they had left a spider-web; and you know
- they had been everywhere. So the tree was
- covered from its trunk to its tip with spider-
- webs, all hanging from the branches and looped
- round the twigs; it was a strange sight.
-
- What could the Christ-child do? He knew
- that house-mothers do not like cobwebs; it
- would never, never do to have a Christmas
- Tree covered with those. No, indeed.
-
- So the dear Christ-child touched the spider's
- webs, and turned them all to gold! Wasn't
- that a lovely trimming? They shone and shone,
- all over the beautiful tree. And that is the way
- the Christmas Tree came to have golden cob-
- webs on it.
-
-
- WHY THE MORNING-GLORY CLIMBS[1]
-
- [1] This story was given me by Miss Elisabeth McCracken,
- who wrote it some years ago in a larger form, and who told
- it to me in the way she had told it to many children of her
- acquaintance.
-
-
- Once the Morning-Glory was flat on the
- ground. She grew that way, and she had
- never climbed at all. Up in the top of a tree
- near her lived Mrs Jennie Wren and her little
- baby Wren. The little Wren was lame; he
- had a broken wing and couldn't fly. He stayed
- in the nest all day. But the mother Wren told
- him all about what she saw in the world, when
- she came flying home at night. She used to
- tell him about the beautiful Morning-Glory she
- saw on the ground. She told him about the
- Morning-Glory every day, until the little Wren
- was filled with a desire to see her for himself.
-
- "How I wish I could see the Morning-
- Glory!" he said.
-
- The Morning-Glory heard this, and she
- longed to let the little Wren see her face.
- She pulled herself along the ground, a little at
- a time, until she was at the foot of the tree
- where the little Wren lived. But she could
- not get any farther, because she did not know
- how to climb. At last she wanted to go up so
- much, that she caught hold of the bark of the
- tree, and pulled herself up a little. And little
- by little, before she knew it, she was climbing.
-
- And she climbed right up the tree to the
- little Wren's nest, and put her sweet face over
- the edge of the nest, where the little Wren
- could see.
-
- That was how the Morning-Glory came to climb.
-
-
- THE STORY OF LITTLE TAVWOTS[1]
-
- [1] Adapted from The Basket Woman, by Mary Austin.
-
-
- This is the story an Indian woman told a
- little white boy who lived with his father and
- mother near the Indians' country; and Tavwots
- is the name of the little rabbit.
-
- But once, long ago, Tavwots was not little,
- --he was the largest of all four-footed things,
- and a mighty hunter. He used to hunt every
- day; as soon as it was day, and light enough
- to see, he used to get up, and go to his hunting.
- But every day he saw the track of a great foot
- on the trail, before him. This troubled him, for
- his pride was as big as his body.
-
- "Who is this," he cried, "that goes before
- me to the hunting, and makes so great a stride?
- Does he think to put me to shame?"
-
- "T'-sst!" said his mother, "there is none
- greater than thou."
-
- "Still, there are the footprints in the trail,"
- said Tavwots.
-
- And the next morning he got up earlier; but
- still the great footprints and the mighty stride
- were before him. The next morning he got up
- still earlier; but there were the mighty foot-
- tracks and the long, long stride.
-
- "Now I will set me a trap for this impudent
- fellow," said Tavwots, for he was very cunning.
- So he made a snare of his bowstring and set it
- in the trail overnight.
-
- And when in the morning he went to look,
- behold, he had caught the sun in his snare!
- All that part of the earth was beginning to
- smoke with the heat of it.
-
- "Is it you who made the tracks in my trail?"
- cried Tavwots.
-
- "It is I," said the sun; "come and set me
- free, before the whole earth is afire."
-
- Then Tavwots saw what he had to do,
- and he drew his sharp hunting-knife and ran
- to cut the bowstring. But the heat was so
- great that he ran back before he had done
- it; and when he ran back he was melted
- down to half his size! Then the earth began
- to burn, and the smoke curled up against the
- sky.
-
- "Come again, Tavwots," cried the sun.
-
- And Tavwots ran again to cut the bowstring.
- But the heat was so great that he ran back
- before he had done it, and he was melted down
- to a quarter of his size!
-
- "Come again, Tavwots, and quickly," cried
- the sun, "or all the world will be burnt up."
-
- And Tavwots ran again; this time he cut the
- bowstring and set the sun free. But when he
- got back he was melted down to the size he is
- now! Only one thing is left of all his greatness:
- you may still see by the print of his feet as he
- leaps in the trail, how great his stride was when
- he caught the sun in his snare.
-
-
-
- THE PIG BROTHER[1]
-
- [1] From The Golden Windows, by Laura E. Richards. (H. R.
- Allenson Ltd. 2s. 6d, net.)
-
-
- There was once a child who was untidy. He
- left his books on the floor, and his muddy shoes
- on the table; he put his fingers in the jam pots,
- and spilled ink on his best pinafore; there was
- really no end to his untidiness.
-
- One day the Tidy Angel came into his
- nursery.
-
- "This will never do!" said the Angel. "This
- is really shocking. You must go out and stay
- with your brother while I set things to rights
- here."
-
- "I have no brother!" said the child.
-
- "Yes, you have," said the Angel. "You may
- not know him, but he will know you. Go out
- in the garden and watch for him, and he will
- soon come."
-
- "I don't know what you mean!" said the
- child; but he went out into the garden and
- waited.
-
- Presently a squirrel came along, whisking his
- tail.
-
- "Are you my brother?" asked the child.
-
- The squirrel looked him over carefully.
-
- "Well, I should hope not!" he said. "My
- fur is neat and smooth, my nest is handsomely
- made, and in perfect order, and my young ones
- are properly brought up. Why do you insult
- me by asking such a question?"
-
- He whisked off, and the child waited.
-
- Presently a wren came hopping by.
-
- "Are you my brother?" asked the child.
-
- "No, indeed!" said the wren. "What
- impertinence! You will find no tidier person than
- I in the whole garden. Not a feather is out of
- place, and my eggs are the wonder of all for
- smoothness and beauty. Brother, indeed!"
- He hopped off, ruffling his feathers, and the
- child waited.
-
- By-and-by a large Tommy Cat came along.
-
- "Are you my brother?" asked the child.
-
- "Go and look at yourself in the glass," said
- the Tommy Cat haughtily, "and you will have
- your answer. I have been washing myself in
- the sun all the morning, while it is clear that no
- water has come near you for a long time. There
- are no such creatures as you in my family, I am
- humbly thankful to say."
-
- He walked on, waving his tail, and the child
- waited.
-
- Presently a pig came trotting along.
-
- The child did not wish to ask the pig if he were
- his brother, but the pig did not wait to be asked.
-
- "Hallo, brother!" he grunted.
-
- "I am not your brother!" said the child.
-
- "Oh yes, you are!" said the pig. "I confess
- I am not proud of you, but there is no mistaking
- the members of our family. Come along, and
- have a good roll in the barnyard! There is
- some lovely black mud there."
-
- "I don't like to roll in mud!" said the child.
-
- "Tell that to the hens!" said the Pig Brother.
- "Look at your hands and your shoes, and your
- pinafore! Come along, I say! You may have
- some of the pig-wash for supper, if there is more
- than I want."
-
- "I don't want pig-wash!" said the child; and
- he began to cry.
-
- Just then the Tidy Angel came out.
-
- "I have set everything to rights," she said,
- "and so it must stay. Now, will you go with
- the Pig Brother, or will you come back with me,
- and be a tidy child?"
-
- "With you, with you!" cried the child; and
- he clung to the Angel's dress.
-
- The Pig Brother grunted.
-
- "Small loss!" he said. "There will be all
- the more wash for me!" And he trotted off.
-
-
-
- THE CAKE[1]
-
- [1] From The Golden Windows, by Laura E Richards. (H. R.
- Allenson Ltd. 2s 6d. net.)
-
-
- A child quarrelled with his brother one day
- about a cake.
-
- "It is my cake!" said the child.
-
- "No, it is mine!" said his brother.
-
- "You shall not have it!" said the child.
- "Give it to me this minute!" And he fell upon
- his brother and beat him.
-
- Just then came by an Angel who knew the
- child.
-
- "Who is this that you are beating?" asked
- the Angel.
-
- "It is my brother," said the child.
-
- "No, but truly," said the Angel, "who is
- it?"
-
- "It is my brother, I tell you!" said the child.
-
- "Oh no," said the Angel, "that cannot be;
- and it seems a pity for you to tell an untruth,
- because that makes spots on your soul. If it
- were your brother, you would not beat him."
-
- "But he has my cake!" said the child.
-
- "Oh," said the Angel, "now I see my
- mistake. You mean that the cake is your brother;
- and that seems a pity, too, for it does not look
- like a very good cake,--and, besides, it is all
- crumbled to pieces."
-
-
-
- THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN TOWN[1]
-
- [1] From traditions, with rhymes from Browning's The Pied
- Piper of Hamelin.
-
-
- Once I made a pleasure trip to a country
- called Germany; and I went to a funny little
- town, where all the streets ran uphill. At the
- top there was a big mountain, steep like the
- roof of a house, and at the bottom there was a
- big river, broad and slow. And the funniest
- thing about the little town was that all the shops
- had the same thing in them; bakers' shops,
- grocers' shops, everywhere we went we saw the
- same thing,--big chocolate rats, rats and mice,
- made out of chocolate. We were so surprised
- that after a while, "Why do you have rats in
- your shops?" we asked.
-
- "Don't you know this is Hamelin town?"
- they said. "What of that?" said we. "Why,
- Hamelin town is where the Pied Piper came,"
- they told us; "surely you know about the Pied
- Piper?" "WHAT about the Pied Piper?" we
- said. And this is what they told us about
- him.
-
- It seems that once, long, long ago, that little
- town was dreadfully troubled with rats. The
- houses were full of them, the shops were full of
- them, the churches were full of them, they were
- EVERYWHERE. The people were all but eaten out
- of house and home. Those rats,
-
- They fought the dogs and killed the cats,
- And bit the babies in the cradles,
- And ate the cheeses out of the vats,
- And licked the soup from the cooks' own ladles,
- Split open the kegs of salted sprats,
- Made nests inside men's Sunday hats,
- And even spoiled the women's chats
- By drowning their speaking
- With shrieking and squeaking
- In fifty different sharps and flats!
-
-
- At last it got so bad that the people simply
- couldn't stand it any longer. So they all came
- together and went to the town hall, and they
- said to the Mayor (you know what a mayor is?),
- "See here, what do we pay you your salary for?
- What are you good for, if you can't do a little
- thing like getting rid of these rats? You must
- go to work and clear the town of them; find
- the remedy that's lacking, or--we'll send you
- packing!"
-
- Well, the poor Mayor was in a terrible way.
- What to do he didn't know. He sat with his
- head in his hands, and thought and thought and
- thought.
-
- Suddenly there came a little rat-tat at the
- door. Oh! how the Mayor jumped! His poor
- old heart went pit-a-pat at anything like the
- sound of a rat. But it was only the scraping of
- shoes on the mat. So the Mayor sat up, and
- said, "Come in!"
-
- And in came the strangest figure! It was a
- man, very tall and very thin, with a sharp chin
- and a mouth where the smiles went out and in,
- and two blue eyes, each like a pin; and he was
- dressed half in red and half in yellow--he really
- was the strangest fellow!--and round his neck
- he had a long red and yellow ribbon, and on it
- was hung a thing something like a flute, and
- his fingers went straying up and down it as if
- he wanted to be playing.
-
- He came up to the Mayor and said, "I hear
- you are troubled with rats in this town."
-
- "I should say we were," groaned the Mayor.
-
- "Would you like to get rid of them? I can
- do it for you."
-
- "You can?" cried the Mayor. "How? Who
- are you?"
-
- "Men call me the Pied Piper," said the man,
- "and I know a way to draw after me everything
- that walks, or flies, or swims. What
- will you give me if I rid your town of rats?"
-
- "Anything, anything," said the Mayor. "I
- don't believe you can do it, but if you can, I'll
- give you a thousand guineas."
-
- "All right," said the Piper, "it is a bargain."
-
- And then he went to the door and stepped
- out into the street and stood, and put the long
- flute-like thing to his lips, and began to play a
- little tune. A strange, high, little tune. And
- before
-
- three shrill notes the pipe uttered,
- You heard as if an army muttered;
- And the muttering grew to a grumbling;
- And the grumbling grew to a mighty rumbling;
- And out of the houses the rats came tumbling I
- Great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats,
- Brown rats, black rats, gray rats, tawny rats,
- Grave old plodders, gay young friskers,
- Fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins,
- Cocking tails and pricking whiskers,
- Families by tens and dozens,
- Brothers, sisters, husbands, wives--
- Followed the Piper for their lives!
-
-
- From street to street he piped, advancing,
- from street to street they followed, dancing.
- Up one street and down another, till they came
- to the edge of the big river, and there the piper
- turned sharply about and stepped aside, and all
- those rats tumbled hurry skurry, head over heels,
- down the bank into the river AND--WERE--
- DROWNED. Every single one. No, there was
- one big old fat rat; he was so fat he didn't
- sink, and he swam across, and ran away to tell
- the tale.
-
- Then the Piper came back to the town hall.
- And all the people were waving their hats and
- shouting for joy. The Mayor said they would
- have a big celebration, and build a tremendous
- bonfire in the middle of the town. He asked
- the Piper to stay and see the bonfire,--very
- politely.
-
- "Yes," said the Piper, "that will be very
- nice; but first, if you please, I should like my
- thousand guineas."
-
- "H'm,--er--ahem!" said the Mayor. "You
- mean that little joke of mine; of course that
- was a joke." (You see it is always harder to
- pay for a thing when you no longer need it.)
-
- "I do not joke," said the Piper very quietly;
- "my thousand guineas, if you please."
-
- "Oh, come, now," said the Mayor, "you
- know very well it wasn't worth sixpence to
- play a little tune like that; call it one guinea,
- and let it go at that."
-
- "A bargain is a bargain," said the Piper;
- "for the last time,--will you give me my
- thousand guineas?"
-
- "I'll give you a pipe of tobacco, something
- good to eat, and call you lucky at that!" said
- the Mayor, tossing his head.
-
- Then the Piper's mouth grew strange and
- thin, and sharp blue and green lights began
- dancing in his eyes, and he said to the Mayor
- very softly, "I know another tune than that I
- played; I play it to those who play me false."
-
- "Play what you please! You can't frighten
- me! Do your worst!" said the Mayor, making
- himself big.
-
- Then the Piper stood high up on the steps
- of the town hall, and put the pipe to his lips,
- and began to play a little tune. It was quite
- a different little tune, this time, very soft and
- sweet, and very, very strange. And before he
- had played three notes, you heard
-
- a rustling, that seemed like a bustling
- Of merry crowds justling at pitching and hustling;
- Small feet were pattering, wooden shoes clattering,
- Little hands clapping and little tongues chattering,
- And like fowls in a farmyard when barley is scattering,
- Out came the children running.
- All the little boys and girls,
- With rosy cheeks and flaxen curls,
- And sparkling eyes and teeth like pearls,
- Tripping and skipping, ran merrily after
- The wonderful music with shouting and laughter.
-
-
- "Stop, stop!" cried the people. "He is taking
- our children! Stop him, Mr Mayor!"
-
- "I will give you your money, I will!" cried
- the Mayor, and tried to run after the Piper.
-
- But the very same music that made the
- children dance made the grown-up people stand
- stock-still; it was as if their feet had been tied
- to the ground; they could not move a muscle.
- There they stood and saw the Piper move slowly
- down the street, playing his little tune, with the
- children at his heels. On and on he went; on
- and on the children danced; till he came to the
- bank of the river.
-
- "Oh, oh! He will drown our children in the
- river!" cried the people. But the Piper turned
- and went along by the bank, and all the children
- followed after. Up, and up, and up the
- hill they went, straight toward the mountain
- which is like the roof of a house. And just
- as they got to it, the mountain OPENED,--like two
- great doors, and the Piper went in through the
- opening, playing the little tune, and the children
- danced after him--and--just as they got through
- --the great doors slid together again and shut
- them all in! Every single one. No, there was
- one little lame child, who couldn't keep up with
- the rest and didn't get there in time. But none
- of his little companions ever came back any
- more, not one.
-
- But years and years afterward, when the
- fat old rat who swam across the river was a
- grandfather, his children used to ask him,
- "What made you follow the music, Grandfather?"
- and he used to tell them, "My dears,
- when I heard that tune I thought I heard the
- moving aside of pickle-tub boards, and the leaving
- ajar of preserve cupboards, and I smelled the
- most delicious old cheese in the world, and I saw
- sugar barrels ahead of me; and then, just as a
- great yellow cheese seemed to be saying, `Come,
- bore me'--I felt the river rolling o'er me!"
-
- And in the same way the people asked
- the little lame child, "What made you follow
- the music?" "I do not know what the others
- heard," he said, "but I, when the Piper began
- to play, I heard a voice that told of a wonderful
- country hard by, where the bees had no
- stings and the horses had wings, and the trees
- bore wonderful fruits, where no one was tired
- or lame, and children played all day; and just
- as the beautiful country was but one step away
- --the mountain closed on my playmates, and
- I was left alone."
-
- That was all the people ever knew. The
- children never came back. All that was left
- of the Piper and the rats was just the big street
- that led to the river; so they called it the
- Street of the Pied Piper.
-
- And that is the end of the story.
-
-
-
- WHY THE EVERGREEN TREES KEEP THEIR LEAVES IN WINTER[1]
-
- [1] Adapted from Florence Holbrook's A Book of Nature
- Myths. (Harrap & Co. 9d.)
-
-
- One day, a long, long time ago, it was very
- cold; winter was coming. And all the birds flew
- away to the warm south, to wait for the
- spring. But one little bird had a broken
- wing and could not fly. He did not know
- what to do. He looked all round, to see if
- there was any place where he could keep warm.
- And he saw the trees of the great forest.
-
- "Perhaps the trees will keep me warm
- through the winter," he said.
-
- So he went to the edge of the forest, hopping
- and fluttering with his broken wing. The first
- tree he came to was a slim silver birch.
-
- "Beautiful birch-tree," he said, "will you let
- me live in your warm branches until the springtime
- comes?"
-
- "Dear me!" said the birch-tree, "what a thing
- to ask! I have to take care of my own leaves
- through the winter; that is enough for me. Go
- away."
-
- The little bird hopped and fluttered with his
- broken wing until he came to the next tree. It
- was a great, big oak-tree.
-
- "O big oak-tree," said the little bird, "will
- you let me live in your warm branches until the
- springtime comes?"
-
- "Dear me," said the oak-tree, "what a thing
- to ask! If you stay in my branches all winter
- you will be eating my acorns. Go away."
-
- So the little bird hopped and fluttered with
- his broken wing till he came to the willow-tree
- by the edge of the brook.
-
- "O beautiful willow-tree," said the little bird,
- "will you let me live in your warm branches
- until the springtime comes?"
-
- "No, indeed," said the willow-tree; "I never
- speak to strangers. Go away."
-
- The poor little bird did not know where to
- go; but he hopped and fluttered along with his
- broken wing. Presently the spruce-tree saw
- him, and said, "Where are you going, little bird?"
-
- "I do not know," said the bird; "the trees
- will not let me live with them, and my wing
- is broken so that I cannot fly."
-
- "You may live on one of my branches," said
- the spruce; "here is the warmest one of all."
-
- "But may I stay all winter?"
-
- "Yes," said the spruce; "I shall like to have
- you."
-
- The pine-tree stood beside the spruce, and
- when he saw the little bird hopping and fluttering
- with his broken wing, he said, "My branches
- are not very warm, but I can keep the wind off
- because I am big and strong."
-
- So the little bird fluttered up into the warm
- branch of the spruce, and the pine-tree kept the
- wind off his house; then the juniper-tree saw
- what was going on, and said that she would
- give the little bird his dinner all the winter,
- from her branches. Juniper berries are very
- good for little birds.
-
- The little bird was very comfortable in his
- warm nest sheltered from the wind, with juniper
- berries to eat.
-
- The trees at the edge of the forest remarked
- upon it to each other:
-
- "I wouldn't take care of a strange bird," said
- the birch.
-
- "I wouldn't risk my acorns," said the oak.
-
- "I would not speak to strangers," said the
- willow. And the three trees stood up very tall
- and proud.
-
- That night the North Wind came to the
- woods to play. He puffed at the leaves with
- his icy breath, and every leaf he touched fell
- to the ground. He wanted to touch every leaf
- in the forest, for he loved to see the trees
- bare.
-
- "May I touch every leaf?" he said to his
- father, the Frost King.
-
- "No," said the Frost King, "the trees which
- were kind to the bird with the broken wing may
- keep their leaves."
-
- So North Wind had to leave them alone, and
- the spruce, the pine, and the juniper-tree kept
- their leaves through all the winter. And they
- have done so ever since.
-
-
-
- THE STAR DOLLARS[1]
-
- [1] Adapted from Grimms' Fairy Tales.
-
-
- There was once a little girl who was very,
- very poor. Her father and mother had died,
- and at last she had no little room to stay in,
- and no little bed to sleep in, and nothing more
- to eat except one piece of bread. So she said
- a prayer, put on her little jacket and her hood,
- and took her piece of bread in her hand, and
- went out into the world.
-
- When she had walked a little way, she met
- an old man, bent and thin. He looked at the
- piece of bread in her hand, and said, "Will you
- give me your bread, little girl? I am very
- hungry." The little girl said, "Yes," and gave
- him her piece of bread.
-
- When she had walked a little farther she
- came upon a child, sitting by the path, crying.
- "I am so cold!" said the child. "Won't you
- give me your little hood, to keep my head
- warm?" The little girl took off her hood and
- tied it on the child's head. Then she went on
- her way.
-
- After a time, as she went, she met another
- child. This one shivered with the cold, and she
- said to the little girl, "Won't you give me your
- jacket, little girl?" And the little girl gave her
- her jacket. Then she went on again.
-
- By-and-by she saw another child, crouching
- almost naked by the wayside. "O little girl,"
- said the child, "won't you give me your dress?
- I have nothing to keep me warm." So the little
- girl took off her dress and gave it to the other
- child. And now she had nothing left but her
- little shirt. It grew dark, and the wind was
- cold, and the little girl crept into the woods, to
- sleep for the night. But in the woods a child
- stood, weeping and naked. "I am cold," she
- said, "give me your little shirt!" And the
- little girl thought, "It is dark, and the woods
- will shelter me; I will give her my little shirt";
- so she did, and now she had nothing left in all
- the world.
-
- She stood looking up at the sky, to say her
- night-time prayer. As she looked up, the whole
- skyful of stars fell in a shower round her feet.
- There they were, on the ground, shining bright,
- and round. The little girl saw that they were
- silver dollars. And in the midst of them was
- the finest little shirt, all woven out of silk! The
- little girl put on the little silk shirt, and gathered
- the star dollars; and she was rich, all the days
- of her life.
-
-
-
- THE LION AND THE GNAT[1]
-
- [1] This story has been told by the Rev. Albert E. Sims to
- children in many parts of England. On one occasion it was
- told to an audience of over three thousand children in the
- Great Assembly Hall, Mile End, London.
-
-
- Far away in Central Africa, that vast land
- where dense forests and wild beasts abound,
- the shades of night were once more descending,
- warning all creatures that it was time to seek
- repose.
-
- All day long the sun had been like a great
- burning eye, but now, after painting the western
- sky with crimson and scarlet and gold, he had
- disappeared into his fleecy bed; the various
- creatures of the forest had sought their holes
- and resting-places; the last sound had rumbled
- its rumble, the last bee had mumbled his mumble,
- and the last bear had grumbled his grumble;
- even the grasshoppers that had been chirruping,
- chirruping, through all the long hours without
- a pause, at length had ceased their shrill music,
- tucked up their long legs, and given themselves
- to slumber.
-
- There on a nodding grass-blade, a tiny Gnat
- had made a swinging couch, and he too had folded
- his wings, closed his tiny eyes, and was fast asleep.
- Darker, darker, darker became the night until
- the darkness could almost be felt, and over all
- was a solemn stillness as though some powerful
- finger had been raised, and some potent voice
- had whispered, "HU--SH!"
-
- Just when all was perfectly still, there came
- suddenly from the far away depths of the
- forest, like the roll of thunder, a mighty
- ROAR--R--R--R!
-
- In a moment all the beasts and birds were
- wide awake, and the poor little Gnat was nearly
- frightened out of his little senses, and his little
- heart went pit-a-pat. He rubbed his little eyes
- with his feelers, and then peered all around
- trying to penetrate the deep gloom as he
- whispered in terror--"WHAT--WAS--THAT?"
-
- What do YOU think it was? . . . Yes, a
- LION! A great, big lion who, while most other
- denizens of the forest slept, was out hunting for
- prey. He came rushing and crashing through
- the thick undergrowth of the forest, swirling
- his long tail and opening wide his great jaws,
- and as he rushed he RO-AR-R-R-ED!
-
- Presently he reached the spot where the little
- Gnat hung panting at the tip of the waving
- grass-blade. Now the little Gnat was not afraid
- of lions, so when he saw it was only a lion, he
- cried out--
-
- "Hi, stop, stop! What are you making that
- horrible noise about?"
-
- The Lion stopped short, then backed slowly
- and regarded the Gnat with scorn.
-
- "Why, you tiny, little, mean, insignificant
- creature you, how DARE you speak to ME?" he
- raged.
-
- "How dare I speak to you?" repeated the
- Gnat quietly. "By the virtue of RIGHT, which
- is always greater than MIGHT. Why don't you
- keep to your own part of the forest? What
- right have you to be here, disturbing folks at
- this time of night?"
-
- By a mighty effort the Lion restrained his
- anger--he knew that to obtain mastery over
- others one must be master over oneself.
-
- "What RIGHT?" he repeated in dignified tones.
- "BECAUSE I'M KING OF THE FOREST. That's why.
- I can do no wrong, for all the other creatures of
- the forest are afraid of me. I DO what I please,
- I SAY what I please, I EAT whom I please, I GO
- where I please--simply because I'm King of the
- Forest."
-
- "But who told you you were King?" demanded
- the Gnat. "Just answer me that!"
-
- "Who told ME?" roared the Lion. "Why,
- everyone acknowledges it--don't I tell you that
- everyone is afraid of me?"
-
- "Indeed!" cried the Gnat disdainfully.
- "Pray don't say ALL, for I'm not afraid of you.
- And further, I deny your right to be King."
-
- This was too much for the Lion. He now
- worked himself into a perfect fury.
-
- "You--you--YOU deny my right as King?"
-
- "I DO, and, what is more, you shall never be
- King until you have fought and conquered me."
-
- The Lion laughed a great lion laugh, and a
- lion laugh cannot be laughed at like a cat laugh,
- as everyone ought to know.
-
- "Fight--did you say fight?" he asked.
- "Who ever heard of a lion fighting a gnat?
- Here, out of my way, you atom of nothing!
- I'll blow you to the other end of the world."
-
- But though the Lion puffed his cheeks until
- they were like great bellows, and then blew
- with all his might, he could not disturb the
- little Gnat's hold on the swaying grass-blade.
-
- "You'll blow all your whiskers away if you
- are not careful," he said, with a laugh--"but
- you won't move me. And if you dare leave this
- spot without fighting me, I'll tell all the beasts
- of the forest that you are afraid of me, and
- they'll make ME King."
-
- "Ho, ho!" roared the Lion. "Very well,
- since you will fight, let it be so."
-
- "You agree to the conditions, then? The
- one who conquers shall be King?"
-
- "Oh, certainly," laughed the Lion, for he
- expected an easy victory. "Are you ready?"
-
- "Quite ready."
-
- "Then--GO!" roared the Lion.
-
- And with that he sprang forward with open
- jaws, thinking he could easily swallow a million
- gnats. But just as the great jaws were about
- to close upon the blade of grass whereto the
- Gnat clung, what should happen but that the
- Gnat suddenly spread his wings and nimbly
- flew--where do you think?--right into one of
- the Lion's nostrils! And there he began to
- sting, sting, sting. The Lion wondered, and
- thundered, and blundered--but the Gnat went
- on stinging; he foamed, and he moaned, and he
- groaned--still the Gnat went on stinging; he
- rubbed his head on the ground in agony,
- he swirled his tail in furious passion, he roared,
- he spluttered, he sniffed, he snuffed--and still
- the Gnat went on stinging.
-
- "O my poor nose, my nose, my nose!" the
- Lion began to moan. "Come down, come
- DOWN, come DOWN! My nose, my NOSE, my
- NOSE!! You're King of the Forest, you're
- King, you're King--only come down. My nose,
- my NOSE, my NOSE!"
-
- So at last the Gnat flew out from the Lion's
- nostril and went back to his waving grass-
- blade, while the Lion slunk away into the
- depths of the forest with his tail between his
- legs--BEATEN, and by a tiny Gnat!
-
- "What a fine fellow am I, to be sure!"
- exclaimed the Gnat, aa he proudly plumed his
- wings. "I've beaten a lion--a LION! Dear
- me, I ought to have been King long ago, I'm so
- clever, so big, so strong--OH!"
-
- The Gnat's frightened cry was caused by
- finding himself entangled in some silky sort of
- threads. While gloating over his victory, the
- wind had risen, and his grass-blade had swayed
- violently to and fro unnoticed by him. A
- stronger gust than usual had bent the blade
- downward close to the ground, and then something
- caught it and held it fast and with it the
- victorious Gnat. Oh, the desperate struggles
- he made to get free! Alas! he became more
- entangled than ever. You can guess what it
- was--a spider's web, hung out from the over-
- hanging branch of a tree. Then--flipperty-
- flopperty, flipperty--flopperty, flop, flip, flop--
- down his stairs came cunning Father Spider
- and quickly gobbled up the little Gnat for his
- supper, and that was the end of him.
-
- A strong Lion--and what overcame him? A
- GNAT.
-
- A clever Gnat--and what overcame him? A
- SPIDER'S WEB! He who had beaten the strong
- lion had been overcome by the subtle snare of
- a spider's thread.
-
-
-
- ESPECIALLY FOR CLASSES II. AND III.
-
- THE CAT AND THE PARROT
-
-
- Once there was a cat, and a parrot. And they
- had agreed to ask each other to dinner, turn
- and turn about: first the cat should ask the
- parrot, then the parrot should invite the cat,
- and so on. It was the cat's turn first.
-
- Now the cat was very mean. He provided
- nothing at all for dinner except a pint of milk,
- a little slice of fish, and a biscuit. The parrot
- was too polite to complain, but he did not have
- a very good time.
-
- When it was his turn to invite the cat, he
- cooked a fine dinner. He had a roast of meat,
- a pot of tea, a basket of fruit, and, best of all,
- he baked a whole clothes-basketful of little
- cakes!--little, brown, crispy, spicy cakes! Oh,
- I should say as many as five hundred. And he
- put four hundred and ninety-eight of the cakes
- before the cat, keeping only two for himself.
-
- Well, the cat ate the roast, and drank the
- tea, and sucked the fruit, and then he began
- on the pile of cakes. He ate all the four
- hundred and ninety-eight cakes, and then he
- looked round and said:--
-
- "I'm hungry; haven't you anything to eat?"
-
- "Why," said the parrot, "here are my two
- cakes, if you want them?"
-
- The cat ate up the two cakes, and then he
- licked his chops and said, "I am beginning
- to get an appetite; have you anything to
- eat?"
-
- "Well, really," said the parrot, who was now
- rather angry, "I don't see anything more, unless
- you wish to eat me!" He thought the cat
- would be ashamed when he heard that--but
- the cat just looked at him and licked his
- chops again,--and slip! slop! gobble! down
- his throat went the parrot!
-
- Then the cat started down the street. An
- old woman was standing by, and she had seen
- the whole thing, and she was shocked that the
- cat should eat his friend. "Why, cat!" she
- said, "how dreadful of you to eat your friend
- the parrot!"
-
- "Parrot, indeed!" said the cat. "What's a
- parrot to me?--I've a great mind to eat you,
- too." And--before you could say "Jack
- Robinson"--slip! slop! gobble! down went
- the old woman!
-
- Then the cat started down the road again,
- walking like this, because he felt so fine.
- Pretty soon he met a man driving a donkey.
- The man was beating the donkey, to hurry him
- up, and when he saw the cat he said, "Get out
- of my way, cat; I'm in a hurry and my donkey
- might tread on you."
-
- "Donkey, indeed!" said the cat, "much I
- care for a donkey! I have eaten five hundred
- cakes, I've eaten my friend the parrot, I've
- eaten an old woman,--what's to hinder my
- eating a miserable man and a donkey?"
-
- And slip! slop! gobble! down went the old
- man and the donkey.
-
- Then the cat walked on down the road,
- jauntily, like this. After a little, he met a
- procession, coming that way. The king was
- at the head, walking proudly with his newly
- married bride, and behind him were his soldiers,
- marching, and behind them were ever and ever
- so many elephants, walking two by two. The
- king felt very kind to everybody, because he
- had just been married, and he said to the cat,
- "Get out of my way, pussy, get out of my way,
- --my elephants might hurt you."
-
- "Hurt me!" said the cat, shaking his fat
- sides. "Ho, ho! I've eaten five hundred cakes,
- I've eaten my friend the parrot, I've eaten an
- old woman, I've eaten a man and a donkey;
- what's to hinder my eating a beggarly king?"
-
- And slip! slop! gobble! down went the
- king; down went the queen; down went the
- soldiers,--and down went all the elephants!
-
- Then the cat went on, more slowly; he had
- really had enough to eat, now. But a little
- farther on he met two land-crabs, scuttling
- along in the dust. "Get out of our way,
- pussy," they squeaked.
-
- "Ho, ho ho!" cried the cat in a terrible
- voice. "I've eaten five hundred cakes, I've
- eaten my friend the parrot, I've eaten an old
- woman, a man with a donkey, a king, a queen,
- his men-at-arms, and all his elephants; and
- now I'll eat you too."
-
- And slip! slop! gobble! down went the two
- land-crabs.
-
- When the land-crabs got down inside, they
- began to look around. It was very dark, but
- they could see the poor king sitting in a corner
- with his bride on his arm; she had fainted.
- Near them were the men-at-arms, treading on
- one another's toes, and the elephants, still
- trying to form in twos,--but they couldn't,
- because there was not room. In the opposite
- corner sat the old woman, and near her stood
- the man and his donkey. But in the other
- corner was a great pile of cakes, and by them
- perched the parrot, his feathers all drooping.
-
- Let's get to work!" said the land-crabs.
- And, snip, snap, they began to make a little
- hole in the side, with their sharp claws. Snip,
- snap, snip, snap,--till it was big enough to get
- through. Then out they scuttled.
-
- Then out walked the king, carrying his bride;
- out marched the men-at-arms; out tramped the
- elephants, two by two; out came the old man,
- beating his donkey; out walked the old woman,
- scolding the cat; and last of all, out hopped the
- parrot, holding a cake in each claw. (you
- remember, two cakes were all he wanted?)
-
- But the poor cat had to spend the whole day
- sewing up the hole in his coat!
-
-
-
- THE RAT PRINCESS[1]
-
- [1] Adapted from Frank Rinder's Old World Japan. In
- telling this story the voice should be changed for the Sun
- Cloud, Wind, and Wall, as is always done in the old story of
- The Three Bears.
-
-
- Once upon a time, there was a Rat Princess,
- who lived with her father, the Rat King, and
- her mother, the Rat Queen, in a ricefield in
- far away Japan. The Rat Princess was so
- pretty that her father and mother were quite
- foolishly proud of her, and thought no one good
- enough to play with her. When she grew up,
- they would not let any of the rat princes come
- to visit her, and they decided at last that no
- one should marry her till they had found the
- most powerful person in the whole world; no
- one else was good enough. And the Father Rat
- started out to find the most powerful person
- in the whole world. The wisest and oldest rat
- in the ricefield said that the Sun must be the
- most powerful person, because he made the rice
- grow and ripen; so the Rat King went to find
- the Sun. He climbed up the highest mountain,
- ran up the path of a rainbow, and travelled
- and travelled across the sky till he came to
- the Sun's house.
-
- "What do you want, little brother?" the Sun
- said, when he saw him.
-
- "I come," said the Rat King, very importantly,
- "to offer you the hand of my daughter, the
- princess, because you are the most powerful
- person in the world; no one else is good
- enough."
-
- "Ha, ha!" laughed the jolly round Sun, and
- winked with his eye. "You are very kind,
- little brother, but if that is the case the princess
- is not for me; the Cloud is more powerful than
- I am; when he passes over me I cannot shine."
-
- "Oh, indeed," said the Rat King, "then
- you are not my man at all"; and he left the
- Sun without more words. The Sun laughed
- and winked to himself. And the Rat King
- travelled and travelled across the sky till he
- came to the Cloud's house.
-
- "What do you want, little brother?" sighed
- the Cloud when he saw him.
-
- "I come to offer you the hand of my
- daughter, the princess," said the Rat King,
- "because you are the most powerful person in
- the world; the Sun said so, and no one else
- is good enough."
-
- The Cloud sighed again. "I am not the
- most powerful person," he said; "the Wind
- is stronger than I,--when he blows, I have to
- go wherever he sends me."
-
- "Then you are not the person for my
- daughter," said the Rat King proudly; and
- he started at once to find the Wind. He
- travelled and travelled across the sky, till he
- came at last to the Wind's house, at the very
- edge of the world.
-
- When the Wind saw him coming he laughed
- a big, gusty laugh, "Ho, ho!" and asked him
- what he wanted; and when the Rat King told
- him that he had come to offer him the Rat
- Princess's hand because he was the most powerful
- person in the world, the Wind shouted a
- great gusty shout, and said, "No, no, I am
- not the strongest; the Wall that man has
- made is stronger than I; I cannot make him
- move, with all my blowing; go to the Wall,
- little brother!"
-
- And the Rat King climbed down the sky-
- path again, and travelled and travelled across
- the earth till he came to the Wall. It was
- quite near his own ricefield.
-
- "What do you want, little brother?"
- grumbled the Wall when he saw him.
-
- "I come to offer you the hand of the
- princess, my daughter, because you are the most
- powerful person in the world, and no one else
- is good enough."
-
- "Ugh, ugh," grumbled the Wall, "I am not
- the strongest; the big grey Rat who lives in
- the cellar is stronger than I. When he gnaws
- and gnaws at me I crumble and crumble, and
- at last I fall; go to the Rat, little brother."
-
- And so, after going all over the world to
- find the strongest person, the Rat King had
- to marry his daughter to a rat, after all; but
- the princess was very glad of it, for she wanted
- to marry the grey Rat, all the time.
-
-
-
- THE FROG AND THE OX
-
-
- Once a little Frog sat by a big Frog, by the
- side of a pool. "Oh, father," said he, "I
- have just seen the biggest animal in the world;
- it was as big as a mountain, and it had horns
- on its head, and it had hoofs divided in two."
-
- "Pooh, child," said the old Frog, "that was
- only Farmer White's Ox. He is not so very
- big. I could easily make myself as big as he."
- And he blew, and he blew, and he blew, and
- swelled himself out.
-
- "Was he as big as that?" he asked the
- little Frog.
-
- "Oh, much bigger," said the little Frog.
-
- The old Frog blew, and blew, and blew again,
- and swelled himself out, more than ever.
-
- "Was he bigger than that?" he said.
-
- "Much, much bigger," said the little Frog.
-
- "I can make myself as big," said the old
- Frog. And once more he blew, and blew, and
- blew, and swelled himself out,--and he burst!
-
- Self-conceit leads to self-destruction.
-
-
-
- THE FIRE-BRINGER[1]
-
- [1] Adapted from The Basket Woman, by Mary Austin.
-
-
- This is the Indian story of how fire was
- brought to the tribes. It was long, long ago,
- when men and beasts talked together with
- understanding, and the grey Coyote was friend
- and counsellor of man.
-
- There was a Boy of the tribe who was swift
- of foot and keen of eye, and he and the Coyote
- ranged the wood together. They saw the men
- catching fish in the creeks with their hands,
- and the women digging roots with sharp stones.
- This was in summer. But when winter came
- on, they saw the people running naked in the
- snow, or huddled in caves of the rocks, and
- most miserable. The Boy noticed this, and was
- very unhappy for the misery of his people.
-
- "I do not feel it," said the Coyote.
-
- "You have a coat of good fur," said the
- Boy, "and my people have not."
-
- "Come to the hunt," said the Coyote.
-
- "I will hunt no more, till I have found a
- way to help my people against the cold," said
- the Boy. "Help me, O Counsellor!"
-
- Then the Coyote ran away, and came back
- after a long time; he said he had found a
- way, but it was a hard way.
-
- "No way is too hard," said the Boy. So the
- Coyote told him that they must go to the Burning
- Mountain and bring fire to the people.
-
- "What is fire?" said the Boy. And the
- Coyote told him that fire was red like a flower,
- yet not a flower; swift to run in the grass and
- to destroy, like a beast, yet no beast; fierce
- and hurtful, yet a good servant to keep one
- warm, if kept among stones and fed with small
- sticks.
-
- "We will get this fire," said the Boy.
-
- First the Boy had to persuade the people to
- give him one hundred swift runners. Then he
- and they and the Coyote started at a good pace
- for the far away Burning Mountain. At the
- end of the first day's trail they left the weakest
- of the runners, to wait; at the end of the second,
- the next stronger; at the end of the third, the
- next; and so for each of the hundred days of
- the journey; and the Boy was the strongest
- runner, and went to the last trail with the
- Counsellor. High mountains they crossed, and
- great plains, and giant woods, and at last they
- came to the Big Water, quaking along the sand
- at the foot of the Burning Mountain.
-
- It stood up in a high peaked cone, and smoke
- rolled out from it endlessly along the sky. At
- night, the Fire Spirits danced, and the glare
- reddened the Big Water far out.
-
- There the Counsellor said to the Boy, "Stay
- thou here till I bring thee a brand from the
- burning; be ready and right for running, for I
- shall be far spent when I come again, and the
- Fire Spirits will pursue me."
-
- Then he went up to the mountain; and the
- Fire Spirits only laughed when they saw him,
- for he looked so slinking, inconsiderable, and
- mean, that none of them thought harm from
- him. And in the night, when they were at
- their dance about the mountain, the Coyote
- stole the fire, and ran with it down the slope of
- the burning mountain. When the Fire Spirits
- saw what he had done they streamed out after
- him, red and angry, with a humming sound like
- a swarm of bees. But the Coyote was still
- ahead; the sparks of the brand streamed out
- along his flanks, as he carried it in his mouth;
- and he stretched his body to the trail.
-
- The Boy saw him coming, like a failing star
- against the mountain; he heard the singing
- sound of the Fire Spirits close behind, and the
- labouring breath of the Counsellor. And when
- the good beast panted down beside him, the
- Boy caught the brand from his jaws and was off,
- like an arrow from a bent bow. Out he shot on
- the homeward path, and the Fire Spirits snapped
- and sang behind him. But fast as they pursued
- he fled faster, till he saw the next runner standing
- in his place, his body bent for the running.
- To him he passed it, and it was off and away,
- with the Fire Spirits raging in chase.
-
- So it passed from hand to hand, and the Fire
- Spirits tore after it through the scrub, till they
- came to the mountains of the snows; these they
- could not pass. Then the dark, sleek runners
- with the backward streaming brand bore it forward,
- shining starlike in the night, glowing red
- in sultry noons, violet pale in twilight glooms,
- until they came in safety to their own land.
-
- And there they kept it among stones and fed
- it with small sticks, as the Counsellor advised;
- and it kept the people warm.
-
- Ever after the Boy was called the Fire-Bringer;
- and ever after the Coyote bore the sign of the
- bringing, for the fur along his flanks was singed
- and yellow from the flames that streamed backward
- from the brand.
-
-
-
- THE BURNING OF THE RICEFIELDS[1]
-
- [1] Adapted from Gleanings in Buddha-Fields, by Lafeadio
- Hearn. (Kegan Paul, Trench, Trubner and Co, Ltd. 5s. net.)
-
-
- Once there was a good old man who lived up
- on a mountain, far away in Japan. All round
- his little house the mountain was flat, and the
- ground was rich; and there were the ricefields
- of all the people who lived in the village at the
- mountain's foot. Mornings and evenings, the
- old man and his little grandson, who lived with
- him, used to look far down on the people at
- work in the village, and watch the blue sea
- which lay all round the land, so close that there
- was no room for fields below, only for houses.
- The little boy loved the ricefields, dearly, for he
- knew that all the good food for all the people
- came from them; and he often helped his grandfather
- to watch over them.
-
- One day, the grandfather was standing alone,
- before his house, looking far down at the people,
- and out at the sea, when, suddenly, he saw
- something very strange far off where the sea
- and sky meet. Something like a great cloud
- was rising there, as if the sea were lifting itself
- high into the sky. The old man put his hands
- to his eyes and looked again, hard as his old
- sight could. Then he turned and ran to the
- house. "Yone, Yone!" he cried, "bring a
- brand from the hearth!"
-
- The little grandson could not imagine what
- his grandfather wanted with fire, but he always
- obeyed, so he ran quickly and brought the brand.
- The old man already had one, and was running
- for the ricefields. Yone ran after. But what was
- his horror to see his grandfather thrust his burning
- brand into the ripe dry rice, where it stood.
-
- "Oh, Grandfather, Grandfather!" screamed
- the little boy, "what are you doing?"
-
- "Quick, set fire! thrust your brand in!" said
- the grandfather.
-
- Yone thought his dear grandfather had lost
- his mind, and he began to sob; but a little
- Japanese boy always obeys, so though he sobbed,
- he thrust his torch in, and the sharp flame ran
- up the dry stalks, red and yellow. In an
- instant, the field was ablaze, and thick black
- smoke began to pour up, on the mountain side.
- It rose like a cloud, black and fierce, and in no
- time the people below saw that their precious
- ricefields were on fire. Ah, how they ran!
- Men, women, and children climbed the mountain,
- running as fast as they could to save the
- rice; not one soul stayed behind.
-
- And when they came to the mountain top, and
- saw the beautiful rice-crop all in flames, beyond
- help, they cried bitterly, "Who has done this
- thing? How did it happen?"
-
- "I set fire," said the old man, very solemnly;
- and the little grandson sobbed, "Grandfather
- set fire."
-
- But when they came fiercely round the old
- man, with "Why? Why?" he only turned and
- pointed to the sea. "Look!" he said.
-
- They all turned and looked. And there,
- where the blue sea had lain, so calm, a mighty
- wall of water, reaching from earth to sky, was
- rolling in. No one could scream, so terrible
- was the sight. The wall of water rolled in on
- the land, passed quite over the place where the
- village had been, and broke, with an awful
- sound, on the mountain side. One wave more,
- and still one more, came; and then all was
- water, as far as they could look, below; the
- village where they had been was under the sea.
-
- But the people were all safe. And when they
- saw what the old man had done, they honoured
- him above all men for the quick wit which had
- saved them all from the tidal wave.
-
-
-
- THE STORY OF WYLIE[1]
-
- [1] Adapted from Rab and his Friends, by Dr John Brown.
-
-
- This is a story about a dog,--not the kind of
- dog you often see in the street here; not a fat,
- wrinkly pugdog, nor a smooth-skinned bulldog,
- nor even a big shaggy fellow, but a slim, silky-
- haired, sharp-eared little dog, the prettiest thing
- you can imagine. Her name was Wylie, and she
- lived in Scotland, far up on the hills, and helped
- her master take care of his sheep.
-
- You can't think how clever she was! She
- watched over the sheep and the little lambs like
- a soldier, and never let anything hurt them.
- She drove them out to pasture when it was
- time, and brought them safely home when it was
- time for that. When the silly sheep got frightened
- and ran this way and that, hurting themselves
- and getting lost, Wylie knew exactly what to
- do,--round on one side she would run, barking
- and scolding, driving them back; then round
- on the other, barking and scolding, driving them
- back, till they were all bunched together in front
- of the right gate. Then she drove them through
- as neatly as any person. She loved her work,
- and was a wonderfully fine sheepdog.
-
- At last her master grew too old to stay alone
- on the hills, and so he went away to live. Before
- he went, he gave Wylie to two kind young men
- who lived in the nearest town; he knew they
- would be good to her. They grew very fond of
- her, and so did their old grandmother and the
- little children: she was so gentle and handsome
- and well behaved.
-
- So now Wylie lived in the city where there
- were no sheep farms, only streets and houses,
- and she did not have to do any work at all,--
- she was just a pet dog. She seemed very happy
- and she was always good.
-
- But after a while, the family noticed something
- odd, something very strange indeed, about their
- pet. Every single Tuesday night, about nine
- o'clock, Wylie DISAPPEARED. They would look
- for her, call her,--no, she was gone. And she
- would be gone all night. But every Wednesday
- morning, there she was at the door, waiting to
- be let in. Her silky coat was all sweaty and
- muddy and her feet heavy with weariness, but
- her bright eyes looked up at her masters as
- if she were trying to explain where she had
- been.
-
- Week after week the same thing happened.
- Nobody could imagine where Wylie went every
- Tuesday night. They tried to follow her to find
- out, but she always slipped away; they tried to
- shut her in, but she always found a way out.
- It grew to be a real mystery. Where in the
- world did Wylie go?
-
- You never could guess, so I am going to tell
- you.
-
- In the city near the town where the kind
- young men lived was a big market like (naming
- one in the neighbourhood). Every sort of thing
- was sold there, even live cows and sheep and
- hens. On Tuesday nights, the farmers used to
- come down from the hills with their sheep to sell,
- and drive them through the city streets into the
- pens, ready to sell on Wednesday morning; that
- was the day they sold them.
-
- The sheep weren't used to the city noises and
- sights, and they always grew afraid and wild,
- and gave the farmers and the sheepdogs a great
- deal of trouble. They broke away and ran about,
- in everybody's way.
-
- But just as the trouble was worst, about
- sunrise, the farmers would see a little silky, sharp-
- eared dog come trotting all alone down the road,
- into the midst of them.
-
- And then!
-
- In and out the little dog ran like the wind,
- round and about, always in the right place,
- driving--coaxing--pushing--making the sheep
- mind like a good school-teacher, and never
- frightening them, till they were all safely in!
- All the other dogs together could not do as
- much as the little strange dog. She was a perfect
- wonder. And no one knew whose dog she
- was or where she came from. The farmers grew
- to watch for her, every week, and they called
- her "the wee fell yin" which is Scots for "the
- little terror"; they used to say when they saw
- her coming, "There's the wee fell yin! Now
- we'll get them in."
-
- Every farmer would have liked to keep her,
- but she let no one catch her. As soon as her
- work was done she was off and away like a fairy
- dog, no one knew where. Week after week this
- happened, and nobody knew who the little
- strange dog was.
-
- But one day Wylie went to walk with her two
- masters, and they happened to meet some sheep
- farmers. The sheep farmers stopped short and
- stared at Wylie, and then they cried out, "Why,
- THAT'S THE DOG! That's the wee fell yin!" And
- so it was. The little strange dog who helped
- with the sheep was Wylie.
-
- Her masters, of course, didn't know what the
- farmers meant, till they were told all about what
- I have been telling you. But when they heard
- about the pretty strange dog who came to
- market all alone, they knew at last where Wylie
- went, every Tuesday night. And they loved
- her better than ever
-
- Wasn't it wise of the dear little dog to go and
- work for other people when her own work was
- taken away? I fancy she knew that the best
- people and the best dogs always work hard at
- something. Any way she did that same thing
- as long as she lived, and she was always just as
- gentle, and silky-haired, and loving as at first.
-
-
-
- LITTLE DAYLIGHT[1]
-
- [1] Adapted from At the Back of the North Wind, by George
- Macdonald.
-
-
- Once there was a beautiful palace, which had
- a great wood at one side. The king and his
- courtiers hunted in the wood near the palace,
- and there it was kept open, free from underbrush.
- But farther away it grew wilder and wilder, till
- at last it was so thick that nobody knew what
- was there. It was a very great wood indeed.
-
- In the wood lived eight fairies. Seven of
- them were good fairies, who had lived there
- always; the eighth was a bad fairy, who had
- just come. And the worst of it was that nobody
- but the other fairies knew she WAS a fairy;
- people thought she was just an ugly old witch.
- The good fairies lived in the dearest little houses!
- One lived in a hollow silver birch, one in a little
- moss cottage, and so on. But the bad fairy lived
- in a horrid mud house in the middle of a dark
- swamp.
-
- Now when the first baby was born to the king
- and queen, her father and mother decided to
- name her "Daylight," because she was so bright
- and sweet. And of course they had a christening
- party. And of COURSE they invited the fairies,
- because the good fairies had always been at
- the christening party when a princess was born
- in the palace, and everybody knew that they
- brought good gifts.
-
- But, alas, no one knew about the swamp fairy,
- and she was not invited,--which really pleased
- her, because it gave her an excuse for doing
- something mean.
-
- The good fairies came to the christening party,
- and, one after another, five of them gave little
- Daylight good gifts. The other two stood among
- the guests, so that no one noticed them. The
- swamp fairy thought there were no more of them;
- so she stepped forward, just as the archbishop
- was handing the baby back to the lady-in-waiting.
-
- "I am just a little deaf," she said, mumbling
- a laugh with her toothless gums. "Will your
- reverence tell me the baby's name again?"
-
- "Certainly, my good woman," said the bishop;
- "the infant is little Daylight."
-
- "And little Daylight it shall be, forsooth,"
- cried the bad fairy. "I decree that she shall
- sleep all day." Then she laughed a horrid
- shrieking laugh, "He, he, hi, hi!"
-
- Everyone looked at everyone else in despair,
- but out stepped the sixth good fairy, who by
- arrangement with her sisters had remained in
- the background to undo what she could of any
- evil that the swamp fairy might decree.
-
- "Then at least she shall wake all night," she
- said, sadly.
-
- "Ah!" screamed the swamp fairy, "you spoke
- before I had finished, which is against the law,
- and gives me another chance." All the fairies
- started at once to say, "I beg your pardon!"
- But the bad fairy said, "I had only laughed `he,
- he!' and `hi, hi!' I had still `ho, ho!' and `hu,
- hu!' to laugh."
-
- The fairies could not gainsay this, and the
- bad fairy had her other chance. She said,--
-
- "Since she is to wake all night, I decree that
- she shall wax and wane with the moon! Ho,
- ho, hu, hu!"
-
- Out stepped the seventh good fairy. "Until
- a prince shall kiss her without knowing who
- she is," she said, quickly.
-
- The swamp fairy had been prepared for the
- trick of keeping back one good fairy, but she
- had not suspected it of two, and she could not
- say a word, for she had laughed "ho, ho!" and
- "hu, hu!"
-
- The poor king and queen looked sad enough.
- "We don't know what you mean," they said to
- the good fairy who had spoken last. But the
- good fairy smiled. "The meaning of the thing
- will come with the thing," she said.
-
- That was the end of the party, but it was
- only the beginning of the trouble. Can you
- imagine what a queer household it would be,
- where the baby laughed and crowed all night,
- and slept all day? Little Daylight was as
- merry and bright all night as any baby in the
- world, but with the first sign of dawn she fell
- asleep, and slept like a little dormouse till dark.
- Nothing could waken her while day lasted.
- Still, the royal family got used to this; but the
- rest of the bad fairy's gift was a great deal
- worse,--that about waxing and waning with
- the moon. You know how the moon grows
- bigger and brighter each night, from the time
- it is a curly silver thread low in the sky till it
- is round and golden, flooding the whole sky
- with light? That is the waxing moon. Then,
- you know, it wanes; it grows smaller and
- paler again, night by night, till at last it
- disappears for a while, altogether. Well, poor
- little Daylight waxed and waned with it. She
- was the rosiest, plumpest, merriest baby in the
- world when the moon was at the full; but as
- it began to wane her little cheeks grew paler,
- her tiny hands thinner, with every night, till
- she lay in her cradle like a shadow-baby, without
- sound or motion. At first they thought
- she was dead, when the moon disappeared, but
- after some months they got used to this too,
- and only waited eagerly for the new moon, to
- see her revive. When it shone again, faint and
- silver, on the horizon, the baby stirred weakly,
- and then they fed her gently; each night she
- grew a little better, and when the moon was
- near the full again, she was again a lively, rosy,
- lovely child.
-
- So it went on till she grew up. She grew
- to be the most beautiful maiden the moon ever
- shone on, and everyone loved her so much, for
- her sweet ways and her merry heart, that someone
- was always planning to stay up at night, to
- be near her. But she did not like to be watched,
- especially when she felt the bad time of waning
- coming on; so her ladies-in-waiting had to be
- very careful. When the moon waned she became
- shrunken and pale and bent, like an old,
- old woman, worn out with sorrow. Only her
- golden hair and her blue eyes remained
- unchanged, and this gave her a terribly strange
- look. At last, as the moon disappeared, she
- faded away to a little, bowed, old creature,
- asleep and helpless.
-
- No wonder she liked best to be alone! She
- got in the way of wandering by herself in the
- beautiful wood, playing in the moonlight when
- she was well, stealing away in the shadows
- when she was fading with the moon. Her
- father had a lovely little house of roses and
- vines built for her, there. It stood at the edge
- of a most beautiful open glade, inside the wood,
- where the moon shone best. There the princess
- lived with her ladies. And there she danced
- when the moon was full. But when the moon
- waned, her ladies often lost her altogether, so
- far did she wander; and sometimes they found
- her sleeping under a great tree, and brought her
- home in their arms.
-
- When the princess was about seventeen years
- old, there was a rebellion in a kingdom not far
- from her father's. Wicked nobles murdered
- the king of the country and stole his throne,
- and would have murdered the young prince,
- too, if he had not escaped, dressed in peasant's
- clothes.
-
- Dressed in his poor rags, the prince wandered
- about a long time, till one day he got into a
- great wood, and lost his way. It was the wood
- where the Princess Daylight lived, but of course
- he did not know anything about that nor about
- her. He wandered till night, and then he came
- to a queer little house. One of the good fairies
- lived there, and the minute she saw him she
- knew all about everything; but to him she
- looked only like a kind old woman. She gave
- him a good supper and a bed for the night, and
- told him to come back to her if he found no
- better place for the next night. But the prince
- said he must get out of the wood at once; so in
- the morning he took leave of the fairy.
-
- All day long he walked, and walked; but at
- nightfall he had not found his way out of the
- wood, so he lay down to rest till the moon
- should rise and light his path.
-
- When he woke the moon was glorious; it
- was three days from the full, and bright as
- silver. By its light he saw what he thought
- to be the edge of the wood, and he hastened
- toward it. But when he came to it, it was
- only an open space, surrounded with trees. It
- was so very lovely, in the white moonlight, that
- the prince stood a minute to look. And as he
- looked, something white moved out of the trees
- on the far side of the open space. It was
- something slim and white, that swayed in the dim
- light like a young birch.
-
- "It must be a moon fairy," thought the
- prince; and he stepped into the shadow.
-
- The moon fairy came nearer and nearer,
- dancing and swaying in the moonlight. And
- as she came, she began to sing a soft, gay little
- song.
-
- But when she was quite close, the prince saw
- that she was not a fairy after all, but a real
- human maiden,--the loveliest maiden he had
- ever seen. Her hair was like yellow corn, and
- her smile made all the place merry. Her white
- gown fluttered as she danced, and her little
- song sounded like a bird note.
-
- The prince watched her till she danced out
- of sight, and then until she once more came
- toward him; and she seemed so like a moon-
- beam herself, as she lifted her face to the sky,
- that he was almost afraid to breathe. He had
- never seen anything so lovely. By the time
- she had danced twice round the circle, he could
- think of nothing in the world except the hope
- of finding out who she was, and staying near her.
-
- But while he was waiting for her to appear
- the third time, his weariness overcame him, and
- he fell asleep. And when he awoke, it was
- broad day, and the beautiful maiden had
- vanished.
-
- He hunted about, hoping to find where she
- lived, and on the other side of the glade he
- came upon a lovely little house, covered with
- moss and climbing roses. He thought she
- must live there, so he went round to the
- kitchen door and asked the kind cook for a
- drink of water, and while he was drinking it
- he asked who lived there. She told him it was
- the house of the Princess Daylight, but she told
- him nothing else about her, because she was not
- allowed to talk about her mistress. But she
- gave him a very good meal and told him other
- things.
-
- He did not go back to the little old woman
- who had been so kind to him first, but
- wandered all day in the wood, waiting for the
- moontime. Again he waited at the edge of
- the dell, and when the white moon was high
- in the heavens, once more he saw the glimmering
- in the distance, and once more the lovely
- maiden floated toward him. He knew her
- name was the Princess Daylight, but this time
- she seemed to him much lovelier than before.
- She was all in blue like the blue of the sky
- in summer. (She really was more lovely, you
- know, because the moon was almost at the
- full.) All night he watched her, quite forgetting
- that he ought not to be doing it, till she
- disappeared on the opposite side of the glade.
- Then, very tired, he found his way to the little
- old woman's house, had breakfast with her, and
- fell fast asleep in the bed she gave him.
-
- The fairy knew well enough by his face that
- he had seen Daylight, and when he woke up in
- the evening and started off again she gave him
- a strange little flask and told him to use it if
- ever he needed it.
-
- This night the princess did not appear in
- the dell until midnight, at the very full of the
- moon. But when she came, she was so lovely
- that she took the prince's breath away. Just
- think!--she was dressed in a gown that looked
- as if it were made of fireflies' wings, em-
- broidered in gold. She danced around and
- around, singing, swaying, and flitting like a
- beam of sunlight, till the prince grew quite
- dazzled.
-
- But while he had been watching her, he had
- not noticed that the sky was growing dark
- and the wind was rising. Suddenly there was
- a clap of thunder. The princess danced on.
- But another clap came louder, and then a
- sudden great flash of lightning that lit up the
- sky from end to end. The prince couldn't help
- shutting his eyes, but he opened them quickly
- to see if Daylight was hurt. Alas, she was
- lying on the ground. The prince ran to her,
- but she was already up again.
-
- "Who are you?" she said.
-
- "I thought," stammered the prince, "you
- might be hurt."
-
- "There is nothing the matter. Go away."
-
- The prince went sadly.
-
- "Come back," said the princess. The prince
- came. "I like you, you do as you are told.
- Are you good?"
-
- "Not so good as I should like to be," said
- the prince.
-
- "Then go and grow better," said the princess.
-
- The prince went, more sadly.
-
- "Come back," said the princess. The prince
- came. "I think you must be a prince," she
- said.
-
- "Why?" said the prince.
-
- "Because you do as you are told, and you
- tell the truth. Will you tell me what the sun
- looks like?"
-
- "Why, everybody knows that," said the
- prince.
-
- "I am different from everybody," said the
- princess,--"I don't know."
-
- "But," said the prince, "do you not look
- when you wake up in the morning?"
-
- "That's just it," said the princess, "I never
- do wake up in the morning. I never can wake
- up until----" Then the princess remembered
- that she was talking to a prince, and putting
- her hands over her face she walked swiftly
- away. The prince followed her, but she turned
- and put up her hand to tell him not to. And
- like the gentleman prince that he was, he
- obeyed her at once.
-
- Now all this time, the wicked swamp fairy
- had not known a word about what was going
- on. But now she found out, and she was
- furious, for fear that little Daylight should be
- delivered from her spell. So she cast her
- spells to keep the prince from finding Daylight
- again. Night after night the poor prince
- wandered and wandered, and never could find
- the little dell. And when daytime came, of
- course, there was no princess to be seen.
- Finally, at the time that the moon was almost
- gone, the swamp fairy stopped her spells,
- because she knew that by this time Daylight
- would be so changed and ugly that the prince
- would never know her if he did see her. She
- said to herself with a wicked laugh:--
-
- "No fear of his wanting to kiss her now!"
-
- That night the prince did find the dell, but
- no princess came. A little after midnight he
- passed near the lovely little house where she
- lived, and there he overheard her waiting-
- women talking about her. They seemed in
- great distress. They were saying that the
- princess had wandered into the woods and
- was lost. The prince didn't know, of course,
- what it meant, but he did understand that the
- princess was lost somewhere, and he started
- off to find her. After he had gone a long
- way without finding her, he came to a big
- old tree, and there he thought he would light
- a fire to show her the way if she should happen
- to see it.
-
- As the blaze flared up, he suddenly saw a
- little black heap on the other side of the tree.
- Somebody was lying there. He ran to the
- spot, his heart beating with hope. But when
- he lifted the cloak which was huddled about
- the form, he saw at once that it was not
- Daylight. A pinched, withered, white, little old
- woman's face shone out at him. The hood was
- drawn close down over her forehead, the eyes
- were closed, and as the prince lifted the cloak,
- the old woman's lips moaned faintly.
-
- "Oh, poor mother," said the prince, "what
- is the matter?" The old woman only moaned
- again. The prince lifted her and carried her
- over to the warm fire, and rubbed her hands,
- trying to find out what was the matter. But
- she only moaned, and her face was so terribly
- strange and white that the prince's tender heart
- ached for her. Remembering his little flask,
- he poured some of his liquid between her lips,
- and then he thought the best thing he could do
- was to carry her to the princess's house, where
- she could be taken care of.
-
- As he lifted the poor little form in his arms,
- two great tears stole out from the old woman's
- closed eyes and ran down her wrinkled cheeks.
-
- "Oh, poor, poor mother," said the prince
- pityingly; and he stooped and kissed her
- withered lips.
-
- As he walked through the forest with the
- old woman in his arms, it seemed to him that
- she grew heavier and heavier; he could hardly
- carry her at all; and then she stirred, and at
- last he was obliged to set her down, to rest.
- He meant to lay her on the ground. But the
- old woman stood upon her feet.
-
- And then the hood fell back from her face.
- As she looked up at the prince, the first, long,
- yellow ray of the rising sun struck full upon
- her,--and it was the Princess Daylight! Her
- hair was golden as the sun itself, and her eyes
- as blue as the flower that grows in the corn.
-
- The prince fell on his knees before her. But
- she gave him her hand and made him rise.
-
- "You kissed me when I was an old woman,"
- said the princess, "I'll kiss you now that I am
- a young princess." And she did.
-
- And then she turned her face toward the
- dawn.
-
- "Dear Prince," she said, "is that the sun?"
-
-
-
- THE SAILOR MAN[1]
-
- [1] From The Golden Windows, by Laura E. Richards.
- (H. R. Allenson Ltd. 2s. 6d. net.)
-
-
- Once upon a time, two children came to the
- house of a sailor man, who lived beside the
- salt sea; and they found the sailor man sitting
- in his doorway knotting ropes.
-
- "How do you do?" asked the sailor man.
-
- "We are very well, thank you," said the
- children, who had learned manners, "and we
- hope you are the same. We heard that you
- had a boat, and we thought that perhaps you
- would take us out in her, and teach us how to
- sail, for that is what we most wish to know."
-
- "All in good time," said the sailor man. "I
- am busy now, but by-and-by, when my work
- is done, I may perhaps take one of you if you
- are ready to learn. Meantime here are some
- ropes that need knotting; you might be doing
- that, since it has to be done." And he showed
- them how the knots should be tied, and went
- away and left them.
-
- When he was gone the first child ran to the
- window and looked out.
-
- "There is the sea," he said. "The waves
- come up on the beach, almost to the door of
- the house. They run up all white, like prancing
- horses, and then they go dragging back. Come
- and look!"
-
- "I cannot," said the second child. "I am
- tying a knot."
-
- "Oh!" cried the first child, "I see the boat.
- She is dancing like a lady at a ball; I never
- saw such a beauty. Come and look!"
-
- "I cannot," said the second child. "I am
- tying a knot."
-
- "I shall have a delightful sail in that boat,"
- said the first child. "I expect that the sailor
- man will take me, because I am the eldest and
- I know more about it. There was no need of
- my watching when he showed you the knots,
- because I knew how already."
-
- Just then the sailor man came in.
-
- "Well," he said, "my work is over. What
- have you been doing in the meantime?"
-
- "I have been looking at the boat," said the
- first child. "What a beauty she is! I shall
- have the best time in her that ever I had in
- my life."
-
- "I have been tying knots," said the second
- child.
-
- "Come, then," said the sailor man, and he
- held out his hand to the second child. "I will
- take you out in the boat, and teach you to sail
- her."
-
- "But I am the eldest," cried the first child,
- "and I know a great deal more than she does."
-
- "That may be," said the sailor man; "but
- a person must learn to tie a knot before he can
- learn to sail a boat."
-
- "But I have learned to tie a knot," cried the
- child. "I know all about it!"
-
- "How can I tell that?" asked the sailor man.
-
-
-
- THE STORY OF JAIRUS'S DAUGHTER[1]
-
- [1] This should usually be prefaced by a brief statement
- of Jesus habit of healing and comforting all with whom He
- came in close contact. The exact form of the preface must
- depend on how much of His life has already been given in
- stories.
-
-
- Once, while Jesus was journeying about, He
- passed near a town where a man named Jairus
- lived. This man was a ruler in the synagogue,
- and he had just one little daughter about twelve
- years of age. At the time that Jesus was there
- the little daughter was very sick, and at last
- she lay a-dying.
-
- Her father heard that there was a wonderful
- man near the town, who was healing sick people
- whom no one else could help, and in his despair
- he ran out into the streets to search for Him.
- He found Jesus walking in the midst of a
- crowd of people, and when he saw Him he fell
- down at Jesus feet and besought Him to come
- into his house, to heal his daughter. And
- Jesus said, Yes, he would go with him. But
- there were so many people begging to be
- healed, and so many looking to see what
- happened, that the crowd thronged them, and
- kept them from moving fast. And before they
- reached the house one of the man's servants
- came to meet them, and said, "Thy daughter
- is dead; trouble not the Master to come
- farther."
-
- But instantly Jesus turned to the father and
- said, "Fear not; only believe, and she shall be
- made whole." And He went on with Jairus, to
- the house.
-
- When they came to the house, they heard the
- sound of weeping and lamentation; the household
- was mourning for the little daughter, who
- was dead. Jesus sent all the strangers away
- from the door, and only three of His disciples
- and the father and mother of the child went in
- with Him. And when He was within, He said
- to the mourning people, "Weep not; she is
- not dead; she sleepeth."
-
- When He had passed, they laughed Him to
- scorn, for they knew that she was dead.
-
- Then Jesus left them all, and went alone
- into the chamber where the little daughter lay.
- And when He was there, alone, He went up to
- the bed where she was, and bent over her, and
- took her by the hand. And He said, "Maiden,
- arise."
-
- And her spirit came unto her again! And
- she lived, and grew up in her father's house.
-
-
-
- ESPECIALLY FOR CLASSES IV. AND V.
-
-
- ARTHUR AND THE SWORD[1]
-
- [1] Adapted from Sir Thomas Malory.
-
-
- Once there was a great king in Britain named
- Uther, and when he died the other kings and
- princes disputed over the kingdom, each wanting
- it for himself. But King Uther had a son
- named Arthur, the rightful heir to the throne,
- of whom no one knew, for he had been taken
- away secretly while he was still a baby by a
- wise old man called Merlin, who had him
- brought up in the family of a certain Sir Ector,
- for fear of the malice of wicked knights. Even
- the boy himself thought Sir Ector was his
- father, and he loved Sir Ector's son, Sir Kay,
- with the love of a brother.
-
- When the kings and princes could not be
- kept in check any longer, and something had
- to be done to determine who was to be king,
- Merlin made the Archbishop of Canterbury send
- for them all to come to London. It was
- Christmas time, and in the great cathedral a
- solemn service was held, and prayer was made
- that some sign should be given, to show who
- was the rightful king. When the service was
- over, there appeared a strange stone in the
- churchyard, against the high altar. It was a
- great white stone, like marble, with something
- sunk in it that looked like a steel anvil; and
- in the anvil was driven a great glistening sword.
- The sword had letters of gold written on it,
- which read: "Whoso pulleth out this sword of
- this stone and anvil is rightwise king born of
- all England."
-
- All wondered at the strange sword and its
- strange writing; and when the archbishop himself
- came out and gave permission, many of the
- knights tried to pull the sword from the stone,
- hoping to be king. But no one could move it
- a hair's breadth.
-
- "He is not here," said the archbishop, "that
- shall achieve the sword; but doubt not, God
- will make him known."
-
- Then they set a guard of ten knights to keep
- the stone, and the archbishop appointed a day
- when all should come together to try at the
- stone,--kings from far and near. In the meantime,
- splendid jousts were held, outside London,
- and both knights and commons were bidden.
-
- Sir Ector came up to the jousts, with others,
- and with him rode Kay and Arthur. Kay
- had been made a knight at Allhallowmas, and
- when he found there was to be so fine a joust
- he wanted a sword, to join it. But he had left
- his sword behind, where his father and he had
- slept the night before. So he asked young
- Arthur to ride for it.
-
- "I will well," said Arthur, and rode back for
- it. But when he came to the castle, the lady
- and all her household were at the jousting, and
- there was none to let him in.
-
- Thereat Arthur said to himself, "My brother
- Sir Kay shall not be without a sword this day."
- And he remembered the sword he had seen in
- the churchyard. "I will to the churchyard,"
- he said, "and take that sword with me." So he
- rode into the churchyard, tied his horse to the
- stile, and went up to the stone. The guards
- were away to the tourney, and the sword was
- there, alone.
-
- Going up to the stone, young Arthur took the
- great sword by the hilt, and lightly and fiercely
- he drew it out of the anvil.
-
- Then he rode straight to Sir Kay, and gave it
- to him.
-
- Sir Kay knew instantly that it was the sword
- of the stone, and he rode off at once to his father
- and said, "Sir, lo, here is the sword of the
- stone; I must be king of the land." But Sir
- Ector asked him where he got the sword. And
- when Sir Kay said, "From my brother," he
- asked Arthur how he got it. When Arthur
- told him, Sir Ector bowed his head before him.
- "Now I understand ye must be king of this
- land," he said to Arthur.
-
- "Wherefore I?" said Arthur.
-
- "For God will have it so," said Ector;
- "never man should have drawn out this sword
- but he that shall be rightwise king of this land.
- Now let me see whether ye can put the sword
- as it was in the stone, and pull it out again."
-
- Straightway Arthur put the sword back.
-
- Then Sir Ector tried to pull it out, and after
- him Sir Kay; but neither could stir it. Then
- Arthur pulled it out. Thereupon, Sir Ector
- and Sir Kay kneeled upon the ground before him.
-
- "Alas," said Arthur, "mine own dear father
- and brother, why kneel ye to me?"
-
- Sir Ector told him, then, all about his royal
- birth, and how he had been taken privily away
- by Merlin. But when Arthur found Sir Ector
- was not truly his father, he was so sad at heart
- that he cared not greatly to be king. And he
- begged his father and brother to love him still.
- Sir Ector asked that Sir Kay might be seneschal
- when Arthur was king. Arthur promised with
- all his heart.
-
- Then they went to the archbishop and told
- him that the sword had found its master. The
- archbishop appointed a day for the trial to be
- made in the sight of all men, and on that day
- the princes and knights came together, and each
- tried to draw out the sword, as before. But as
- before, none could so much as stir it.
-
- Then came Arthur, and pulled it easily from
- its place.
-
- The knights and kings were terribly angry
- that a boy from nowhere in particular had beaten
- them, and they refused to acknowledge him king.
- They appointed another day, for another great
- trial.
-
- Three times they did this, and every time the
- same thing happened.
-
- At last, at the feast of Pentecost, Arthur
- again pulled out the sword before all the knights
- and the commons. And then the commons
- rose up and cried that he should be king, and
- that they would slay any who denied him.
-
- So Arthur became king of Britain, and all
- gave him allegiance.
-
-
-
- TARPEIA
-
-
- There was once a girl named Tarpeia, whose
- father was guard of the outer gate of the citadel
- of Rome. It was a time of war,--the Sabines
- were besieging the city. Their camp was close
- outside the city wall.
-
- Tarpeia used to see the Sabine soldiers when
- she went to draw water from the public well,
- for that was outside the gate. And sometimes
- she stayed about and let the strange men talk
- with her, because she liked to look at their
- bright silver ornaments. The Sabine soldiers
- wore heavy silver rings and bracelets on their
- left arms,--some wore as many as four or five.
-
- The soldiers knew she was the daughter of the
- keeper of the citadel, and they saw that she had
- greedy eyes for their ornaments. So day by
- day they talked with her, and showed her their
- silver rings, and tempted her. And at last Tarpeia
- made a bargain, to betray her city to them.
- She said she would unlock the great gate and
- let them in, IF THEY WOULD GIVE HER WHAT THEY WORE
- ON THEIR LEFT ARMS.
-
- The night came. When it was perfectly dark
- and still, Tarpeia stole from her bed, took the
- great key from its place, and silently unlocked
- the gate which protected the city. Outside, in
- the dark, stood the soldiers of the enemy, waiting.
- As she opened the gate, the long shadowy files
- pressed forward silently, and the Sabines
- entered the citadel.
-
- As the first man came inside, Tarpeia stretched
- forth her hand for her price. The soldier lifted
- high his left arm. "Take thy reward!" he said,
- and as he spoke he hurled upon her that which
- he wore upon it. Down upon her head crashed
- --not the silver rings of the soldier, but the
- great brass shield he carried in battle!
-
- She sank beneath it, to the ground.
-
- "Take thy reward," said the next; and his
- shield rang against the first.
-
- "Thy reward," said the next--and the next--
- and the next--and the next; every man wore
- his shield on his left arm.
-
- So Tarpeia lay buried beneath the reward
- she had claimed, and the Sabines marched past
- her dead body, into the city she had betrayed.
-
-
-
- THE BUCKWHEAT[1]
-
- [1] Adapted from Hans Christian Andersen.
-
-
- Down by the river were fields of barley and
- rye and golden oats. Wheat grew there, too,
- and the heaviest and richest ears bent lowest,
- in humility. Opposite the corn was a field of
- buckwheat, but the buckwheat never bent; it
- held its head proud and stiff on the stem.
-
- The wise old willow-tree by the river looked
- down on the fields, and thought his thoughts.
-
- One day a dreadful storm came. The field-
- flowers folded their leaves together, and bowed
- their heads. But the buckwheat stood straight
- and proud.
-
- "Bend your head, as we do," called the field-
- flowers.
-
- "I have no need to," said the buckwheat.
-
- "Bend your head, as we do!" warned the
- golden wheat-ears; "the angel of the storm is
- coming; he will strike you down."
-
- "I will not bend my head," said the buckwheat.
-
- Then the old willow-tree spoke: "Close your
- flowers and bend your leaves. Do not look at
- the lightning when the cloud bursts. Even men
- cannot do that; the sight of heaven would strike
- them blind. Much less can we who are so
- inferior to them!"
-
- "`Inferior,' indeed!" said the buckwheat.
- "Now I WILL look!" And he looked straight
- up, while the lightning flashed across the sky.
-
- When the dreadful storm had passed, the
- flowers and the wheat raised their drooping
- heads, clean and refreshed in the pure, sweet
- air. The willow-tree shook the gentle drops
- from its leaves.
-
- But the buckwheat lay like a weed in the
- field, scorched black by the lightning.
-
-
-
- THE JUDGMENT OF MIDAS[1]
-
- [1] Adapted from Old Greek Folk-Stories, by Josephine Preston
- Peabody. (Harrap & Co. 9d.)
-
-
- The Greek God Pan, the god of the open air,
- was a great musician. He played on a pipe of
- reeds. And the sound of his reed-pipe was so
- sweet that he grew proud, and believed himself
- greater than the chief musician of the gods,
- Apollo, the son-god. So he challenged great
- Apollo to make better music than he.
-
- Apollo consented to the test, for he wished to
- punish Pan's vanity, and they chose the mountain
- Tmolus for judge, since no one is so old and
- wise as the hills.
-
- When Pan and Apollo came before Tmolus,
- to play, their followers came with them, to hear,
- and one of those who came with Pan was a
- mortal named Midas.
-
- First Pan played; he blew on his reed-pipe,
- and out came a tune so wild and yet so coaxing
- that the birds hopped from the trees to get near;
- the squirrels came running from their holes;
- and the very trees swayed as if they wanted to
- dance. The fauns laughed aloud for joy as the
- melody tickled their furry little ears. And
- Midas thought it the sweetest music in the
- world.
-
- Then Apollo rose. His hair shook drops of
- light from its curls; his robes were like the
- edge of the sunset cloud; in his hands he held
- a golden lyre. And when he touched the
- strings of the lyre, such music stole upon the
- air as never god nor mortal heard before. The
- wild creatures of the wood crouched still as
- stone; the trees kept every leaf from rustling;
- earth and air were silent as a dream. To hear
- such music cease was like bidding farewell to
- father and mother.
-
- When the charm was broken, the hearers
- fell at Apollo's feet and proclaimed the victory
- his. All but Midas. He alone would not
- admit that the music was better than Pan's.
-
- "If thine ears are so dull, mortal," said
- Apollo, "they shall take the shape that suits
- them." And he touched the ears of Midas.
- And straightway the dull ears grew long,
- pointed, and furry, and they turned this way
- and that. They were the ears of an ass!
-
- For a long time Midas managed to hide
- the tell-tale ears from everyone; but at last a
- servant discovered the secret. He knew he
- must not tell, yet he could not bear not to;
- so one day he went into the meadow, scooped
- a little hollow in the turf, and whispered the
- secret into the earth. Then he covered it up
- again, and went away. But, alas, a bed of
- reeds sprang up from the spot, and whispered
- the secret to the grass. The grass told it to
- the tree-tops, the tree-tops to the little birds,
- and they cried it all abroad.
-
- And to this day, when the wind sets the
- reeds nodding together, they whisper, laughing,
- "Midas has the ears of an ass! Oh, hush,
- hush!"
-
-
-
- WHY THE SEA IS SALT[1]
-
- [1] There are many versions of this tale, in different
- collections. This one is the story which grew up in my mind,
- about the bare outline related to me by one of Mrs Rutan's
- hearers. What the original teller said, I never knew, but
- what the listener felt was clear. And in this form I have
- told it a great many times.
-
-
- Once there were two brothers. One was
- rich, and one was poor; the rich one was
- rather mean. When the Poor Brother used
- to come to ask for things it annoyed him, and
- finally one day he said, "There, I'll give it to
- you this time, but the next time you want
- anything, you can go Below for it!"
-
- Presently the Poor Brother did want something,
- and he knew it wasn't any use to go to
- his brother; he must go Below for it. So he
- went, and he went, and he went, till he came
- Below.
-
- It was the queerest place! There were red
- and yellow fires burning all around, and kettles
- of boiling oil hanging over them, and a queer
- sort of men standing round, poking the fires.
- There was a Chief Man; he had a long curly
- tail that curled up behind, and two ugly little
- horns just over his ears; and one foot was very
- queer indeed. And as soon as anyone came
- in the door, these men would catch him up
- and put him over one of the fires, and turn
- him on a spit. And then the Chief Man, who
- was the worst of all, would come and say,
- "Eh, how do you feel now? How do you
- feel now?" And of course the poor people
- screamed and screeched and said, "Let us out!
- Let us out!" That was just what the Chief
- Man wanted.
-
- When the Poor Brother came in, they picked
- him up at once, and put him over one of the
- hottest fires, and began to turn him round and
- round like the rest; and of course the Chief
- Man came up to him and said, "Eh, how do
- you feel now? How do you feel now?" But
- the Poor Brother did not say, "Let me out!
- Let me out!" He said, "Pretty well, thank
- you."
-
- The Chief Man grunted and said to the
- other men, "Make the fire hotter." But the
- next time he asked the Poor Brother how he
- felt, the Poor Brother smiled and said. "Much
- better now, thank you." The Chief Man did
- not like this at all, because, of course, the whole
- object in life of the people Below was to make
- their victims uncomfortable. So he piled on
- more fuel and made the fire hotter still. But
- every time he asked the Poor Brother how he
- felt, the Poor Brother would say, "Very much
- better"; and at last he said, "Perfectly
- comfortable, thank you; couldn't be better."
-
- You see when the Poor Brother was on
- earth he had never once had money enough
- to buy coal enough to keep him warm; so he
- liked the heat.
-
- At last the Chief Man could stand it no
- longer.
-
- "Oh, look here," he said, "you can go
- home."
-
- "Oh no, thank you," said the Poor Brother,
- "I like it here."
-
- "You MUST go home," said the Chief Man
-
- "But I won't go home," said the Poor
- Brother.
-
- The Chief Man went away and talked with
- the other men; but no matter what they did
- they could not make the Poor Brother uncomfortable;
- so at last the Chief Man came back
- and said,--
-
- "What'll you take to go home?"
-
- "What have you got?" said the Poor
- Brother.
-
- "Well," said the Chief Man, "if you'll go
- home quietly I'll give you the Little Mill that
- stands behind my door."
-
- "What's the good of it?" said the Poor
- Brother.
-
- "It is the most wonderful mill in the world,"
- said the Chief Man. "Anything at all that you
- want, you have only to name it, and say, `Grind
- this, Little Mill, and grind quickly,' and the
- Mill will grind that thing until you say the
- magic word, to stop it."
-
- "That sounds nice," said the Poor Brother.
- "I'll take it." And he took the Little Mill
- under his arm, and went up, and up, and up,
- till he came to his own house.
-
- When he was in front of his little old hut, he
- put the Little Mill down on the ground and
- said to it, "Grind a fine house, Little Mill, and
- grind quickly." And the Little Mill ground,
- and ground, and ground the finest house that
- ever was seen. It had fine big chimneys, and
- gable windows, and broad piazzas; and just as
- the Little Mill ground the last step of the last
- flight of steps, the Poor Brother said the magic
- word, and it stopped.
-
- Then he took it round to where the barn was,
- and said, "Grind cattle, Little Mill, and grind
- quickly." And the Little Mill ground, and
- ground, and ground, and out came great fat
- cows, and little woolly lambs, and fine little
- pigs; and just as the Little Mill ground the
- last curl on the tail of the last little pig, the
- Poor Brother said the magic word, and it
- stopped.
-
- He did the same thing with crops for his
- cattle, pretty clothes for his daughters, and
- everything else they wanted. At last he had
- everything he wanted, and so he stood the
- Little Mill behind his door.
-
- All this time the Rich Brother had been
- getting more and more jealous, and at last he
- came to ask the Poor Brother how he had
- grown so rich. The Poor Brother told him all
- about it. He said, "It all comes from that
- Little Mill behind my door. All I have to do
- when I want anything is to name it to the
- Little Mill, and say, `Grind that, Little Mill,
- and grind quickly,' and the Little Mill will
- grind that thing until----"
-
- But the Rich Brother didn't wait to hear any
- more. "Will you lend me the Little Mill?" he
- said.
-
- "Why, yes," said the Poor Brother, "I will."
-
- So the Rich Brother took the Little Mill
- under his arm and started across the fields to
- his house. When he got near home he saw the
- farm-hands coming in from the fields for their
- luncheon. Now, you remember, he was rather
- mean. He thought to himself, "It is a waste
- of good time for them to come into the house;
- they shall have their porridge where they are."
- He called all the men to him, and made
- them bring their porridge-bowls. Then he set
- the Little Mill down on the ground, and said
- to it, "Grind oatmeal porridge, Little Mill, and
- grind quickly!" The Little Mill ground, and
- ground, and ground, and out came delicious
- oatmeal porridge. Each man held his bowl
- under the spout. When the last bowl was
- filled, the porridge ran over on the ground.
-
- "That's enough, Little Mill," said the Rich
- Brother. "You may stop, and stop quickly."
-
- But this was not the magic word, and the
- Little Mill did not stop. It ground, and ground,
- and ground, and the porridge ran all round and
- made a little pool. The Rich Brother said,
- "No, no, Little Mill, I said, `Stop grinding, and
- stop quickly.'" But the Little Mill ground, and
- ground, faster than ever; and presently there
- was a regular pond of porridge, almost up to
- their knees. The Rich Brother said, "Stop
- grinding," in every kind of way; he called the
- Little Mill names; but nothing did any good.
- The Little Mill ground porridge just the same.
- At last the men said, "Go and get your brother
- to stop the Little Mill, or we shall be drowned
- in porridge."
-
- So the Rich Brother started for his brother's
- house. He had to swim before he got there,
- and the porridge went up his sleeves, and down
- his neck, and it was horrid and sticky. His
- brother laughed when he heard the story, but
- he came with him, and they took a boat and
- rowed across the lake of porridge to where the
- Little Mill was grinding. And then the Poor
- Brother whispered the magic word, and the
- Little Mill stopped.
-
- But the porridge was a long time soaking into
- the ground, and nothing would ever grow there
- afterwards except oatmeal.
-
- The Rich Brother didn't seem to care much
- about the Little Mill after this, so the Poor
- Brother took it home again and put it behind
- the door; and there it stayed a long, long while.
-
- Years afterwards a Sea Captain came there on
- a visit. He told such big stories that the Poor
- Brother said, "Oh, I daresay you have seen
- wonderful things, but I don't believe you ever
- saw anything more wonderful than the Little
- Mill that stands behind my door."
-
- "What is wonderful about that?" said the
- Sea Captain.
-
- "Why," said the Poor Brother, "anything in
- the world you want,--you have only to name it
- to the Little Mill and say, `Grind that, Little
- Mill, and grind quickly,' and it will grind that
- thing until----"
-
- The Sea Captain didn't wait to hear another
- word. "Will you lend me that Little Mill?"
- he said eagerly.
-
- The Poor Brother smiled a little, but he said,
- "Yes," and the Sea Captain took the Little Mill
- under his arm, and went on board his ship and
- sailed away.
-
- They had head-winds and storms, and they
- were so long at sea that some of the food gave
- out. Worst of all, the salt gave out. It was
- dreadful, being without salt. But the Captain
- happened to remember the Little Mill.
-
- "Bring up the salt box!" he said to the cook.
- "We will have salt enough."
-
- He set the Little Mill on deck, put the salt
- box under the spout, and said,--
-
- "Grind salt, Little Mill, and grind quickly!"
-
- And the Little Mill ground beautiful, white,
- powdery salt. When they had enough, the
- Captain said, "Now you may stop, Little Mill,
- and stop quickly." The Little Mill kept on
- grinding; and the salt began to pile up in little
- heaps on the deck. "I said, `Stop,'" said the
- Captain. But the Little Mill ground, and ground,
- faster than ever, and the salt was soon thick on
- the deck like snow. The Captain called the
- Little Mill names and told it to stop, in every
- language he knew, but the Little Mill went on
- grinding. The salt covered all the decks and
- poured down into the hold, and at last the ship
- began to settle in the water; salt is very heavy.
- But just before the ship sank to the water-line,
- the Captain had a bright thought: he threw the
- Little Mill overboard!
-
- It fell right down to the bottom of the sea.
- AND IT HAS BEAN GRINDING SALT EVER SINCE.
-
-
-
- BILLY BEG AND HIS BULL[1]
-
- [1] Adapted from In Chimney Corners, by Seumas McManus.
- I have ventured to give this in the somewhat Hibernian
- phraseology suggested by the original, because I have found
- that the humour of the manner of it appeals quite as readily
- to the boys and girls of my acquaintance as to maturer friends,
- and they distinguish as quickly between the savour of it and
- any unintentional crudeness of diction.
-
-
- Once upon a time, there was a king and a
- queen, and they had one son, whose name was
- Billy. And Billy had a bull he was very fond
- of, and the bull was just as fond of him. And
- when the queen came to die, she put it as her
- last request to the king, that come what might,
- come what may, he'd not part Billy and the bull.
- And the king promised that, come what might,
- come what may, he would not. Then the good
- queen died, and was buried.
-
- After a time, the king married again, and the
- new queen could not abide Billy; no more could
- she stand the bull, seeing him and Billy so thick.
- So she asked the king to have the bull killed.
- But the king said he had promised, come what
- might, come what may, he'd not part Billy Beg
- and his bull, so he could not.
-
- Then the queen sent for the Hen-Wife, and
- asked what she should do. "What will you
- give me," said the Hen-Wife, "and I'll very soon
- part them?"
-
- "Anything at all," said the queen.
-
- "Then do you take to your bed, very sick with
- a complaint," said the Hen-Wife, "and I'll do
- the rest."
-
- So the queen took to her bed, very sick with
- a complaint, and the king came to see what
- could be done for her. "I shall never be better
- of this," she said, "till I have the medicine the
- Hen-Wife ordered."
-
- "What is that?" said the king.
-
- "A mouthful of the blood of Billy Beg's bull."
-
- "I can't give you that," said the king, and
- went away, sorrowful.
-
- Then the queen got sicker and sicker, and
- each time the king asked what would cure her she
- said, "A mouthful of the blood of Billy Beg's
- bull." And at last it looked as if she were going
- to die. So the king finally set a day for the bull
- to be killed. At that the queen was so happy
- that she laid plans to get up and see the grand
- sight. All the people were to be at the killing,
- and it was to be a great affair.
-
- When Billy Beg heard all this, he was very
- sorrowful, and the bull noticed his looks. "What
- are you doitherin' about?" said the bull to him.
- So Billy told him. "Don't fret yourself about
- me," said the bull, "it's not I that'll be killed!"
-
- The day came, when Billy Beg's bull was to
- be killed; all the people were there, and the
- queen, and Billy. And the bull was led out, to
- be seen. When he was led past Billy he bent
- his head. "Jump on my back, Billy, my boy,"
- says he, "till I see what kind of a horseman you
- are!" Billy jumped on his back, and with that
- the bull leaped nine miles high and nine miles
- broad and came down with Billy sticking between
- his horns. Then away he rushed, over the head
- of the queen, killing her dead, where you
- wouldn't know day by night or night by day,
- over high hills, low hills, sheep walks and
- bullock traces, the Cove o' Cork, and old Tom
- Fox with his bugle horn.
-
- When at last he stopped he said, "Now,
- Billy, my boy, you and I must undergo great
- scenery; there's a mighty great bull of the forest
- I must fight, here, and he'll be hard to fight,
- but I'll be able for him. But first we must have
- dinner. Put your hand in my left ear and pull
- out the napkin you'll find there, and when you've
- spread it, it will be covered with eating and
- drinking fit for a king."
-
- So Billy put his hand in the bull's left ear,
- and drew out the napkin, and spread it; and,
- sure enough, it was spread with all kinds of
- eating and drinking, fit for a king. And Billy
- Beg ate well.
-
- But just as he finished he heard a great roar,
- and out of the forest came a mighty bull, snorting
- and running.
-
- And the two bulls at it and fought. They
- knocked the hard ground into soft, the soft into
- hard, the rocks into spring wells, and the spring
- wells into rocks. It was a terrible fight. But
- in the end, Billy Beg's bull was too much for
- the other bull, and he killed him, and drank his
- blood.
-
- Then Billy jumped on the bull's back, and the
- bull off and away, where you wouldn't know day
- from night or night from day, over high hills,
- low hills, sheep walks and bullock traces, the
- Cove o' Cork, and old Tom Fox with his bugle
- horn. And when he stopped he told Billy to
- put his hand in his left ear and pull out the
- napkin, because he'd to fight another great bull
- of the forest. So Billy pulled out the napkin
- and spread it, and it was covered with all kinds
- of eating and drinking, fit for a king.
-
- And, sure enough, just as Billy finished eating,
- there was a frightful roar, and a mighty great
- bull, greater than the first, rushed out of the
- forest. And the two bulls at it and fought.
- It was a terrible fight! They knocked the hard
- ground into soft, the soft into hard, the rocks
- into spring wells, and the spring wells into rocks.
- But in the end, Billy Beg's bull killed the other
- bull, and drank his blood.
-
- Then he off and away, with Billy.
-
- But when he came down, he told Billy Beg
- that he was to fight another bull, the brother of
- the other two, and that this time the other bull
- would be too much for him, and would kill him
- and drink his blood.
-
- "When I am dead, Billy, my boy," he said,
- "put your hand in my left ear and draw out the
- napkin, and you'll never want for eating or
- drinking; and put your hand in my right ear,
- and you'll find a stick there, that will turn into
- a sword if you wave it three times round your
- head, and give you the strength of a thousand
- men beside your own. Keep that; then cut a
- strip of my hide, for a belt, for when you buckle
- it on, there's nothing can kill you."
-
- Billy Beg was very sad to hear that his friend
- must die. And very soon he heard a more
- dreadful roar than ever he heard, and a tremendous
- bull rushed out of the forest. Then came
- the worst fight of all. In the end, the other
- bull was too much for Billy Beg's bull, and he
- killed him and drank his blood.
-
- Billy Beg sat down and cried for three days
- and three nights. After that he was hungry;
- so he put his hand in the bull's left ear, and
- drew out the napkin, and ate all kinds of eating
- and drinking. Then he put his hand in the
- right ear and pulled out the stick which was to
- turn into a sword if waved round his head three
- times, and to give him the strength of a thousand
- men beside his own. And he cut a strip of the
- hide for a belt, and started off on his adventures.
-
- Presently he came to a fine place; an old
- gentleman lived there. So Billy went up and
- knocked, and the old gentleman came to the
- door.
-
- "Are you wanting a boy?" says Billy.
-
- "I am wanting a herd-boy," says the gentleman,
- "to take my six cows, six horses, six
- donkeys, and six goats to pasture every morning,
- and bring them back at night. Maybe you'd do."
-
- "What are the wages?" says Billy.
-
- "Oh, well," says the gentleman, "it's no use
- to talk of that now; there's three giants live
- in the wood by the pasture, and every day they
- drink up all the milk and kill the boy that looks
- after the cattle; so we'll wait to talk about
- wages till we see if you come back alive."
-
- "All right," says Billy, and he entered service
- with the old gentleman.
-
- The first day, he drove the six cows, six
- horses, six donkeys, and six goats to pasture,
- and sat down by them. About noon he heard
- a kind of roaring from the wood; and out
- rushed a giant with two heads, spitting fire
- out of his two mouths.
-
- "Oh! my fine fellow," says he to Billy, "you
- are too big for one swallow and not big enough
- for two; how would you like to die, then?
- By a cut with the sword, a blow with the fist
- or a swing by the back?"
-
- "That is as may be," says Billy, "but I'll
- fight you." And he buckled on his hide belt
- and swung his stick three times round his
- head, to give him the strength of a thousand
- men besides his own, and went for the giant.
- And at the first grapple Billy Beg lifted the giant
- up and sunk him in the ground, to his armpits.
-
- "Oh, mercy! mercy! Spare my life!" cried
- the giant.
-
- "I think not," said Billy; and he cut off his
- heads.
-
- That night, when the cows and the goats
- were driven home, they gave so much milk
- that all the dishes in the house were filled
- and the milk ran over and made a little brook
- in the yard.
-
- "This is very queer," said the old gentleman;
- "they never gave any milk before. Did you see
- nothing in the pasture?"
-
- "Nothing worse than myself," said Billy.
- And next morning he drove the six cows, six
- horses, six donkeys, and six goats to pasture
- again.
-
- Just before noon he heard a terrific roar; and
- out of the wood came a giant with six heads.
-
- "You killed my brother," he roared, fire
- coming out of his six mouths, "and I'll very
- soon have your blood! Will you die by a cut
- of the sword, or a swing by the back?"
-
- "I'll fight you," said Billy. And buckling
- on his belt and swinging his stick three times
- round his head, he ran in and grappled the
- giant. At the first hold, he sunk the giant up
- to the shoulders in the ground.
-
- "Mercy, mercy, kind gentleman!" cried the
- giant. "Spare my life!"
-
- "I think not," said Billy, and cut off his heads.
-
- That night the cattle gave so much milk that
- it ran out of the house and made a stream, and
- turned a mill wheel which had not been turned
- for seven years!
-
- "It's certainly very queer," said the old
- gentleman; "did you see nothing in the
- pasture, Billy?"
-
- "Nothing worse than myself," said Billy.
-
- And the next morning the gentleman said,
- "Billy, do you know, I only heard one of the
- giants roaring in the night, and the night before
- only two. What can ail them, at all?"
-
- "Oh, maybe they are sick or something,"
- says Billy; and with that he drove the six
- cows, six horses, six donkeys, and six goats
- to pasture.
-
- At about ten o'clock there was a roar like a
- dozen bulls, and the brother of the two giants
- came out of the wood, with twelve heads on
- him, and fire spouting from every one of them.
-
- "I'll have you, my fine boy," cries he; "how
- will you die, then?"
-
- "We'll see," says Billy; "come on!"
-
- And swinging his stick round his head, he
- made for the giant, and drove him up to his
- twelve necks in the ground. All twelve of the
- heads began begging for mercy, but Billy soon
- out them short. Then he drove the beasts
- home.
-
- And that night the milk overflowed the mill-
- stream and made a lake, nine miles long, nine
- miles broad, and nine miles deep; and there are
- salmon and whitefish there to this day.
-
- "You are a fine boy," said the gentleman,
- "and I'll give you wages."
-
- So Billy was herd.
-
- The next day, his master told him to look
- after the house while he went up to the king's
- town, to see a great sight. "What will it
- be?" said Billy. "The king's daughter is to
- be eaten by a fiery dragon," said his master,
- "unless the champion fighter they've been feed-
- ing for six weeks on purpose kills the dragon."
- "Oh," said Billy.
-
- After he was left alone, there were people
- passing on horses and afoot, in coaches and
- chaises, in carriages and in wheelbarrows, all
- going to see the great sight. And all asked
- Billy why he was not on his way. But Billy
- said he didn't care about going.
-
- When the last passer-by was out of sight,
- Billy ran and dressed himself in his master's
- best suit of clothes, took the brown mare from
- the stable, and was off to the king's town.
-
- When he came there, he saw a big round
- place with great high seats built up around it,
- and all the people sitting there. Down in the
- midst was the champion, walking up and down
- proudly, with two men behind him to carry
- his heavy sword. And up in the centre of the
- seats was the princess, with her maidens; she
- was looking very pretty, but nervous.
-
- The fight was about to begin when Billy got
- there, and the herald was crying out how the
- champion would fight the dragon for the princess's
- sake, when suddenly there was heard a
- fearsome great roaring, and the people shouted,
- "Here he is now, the dragon!"
-
- The dragon had more heads than the biggest
- of the giants, and fire and smoke came from
- every one of them. And when the champion
- saw the creature, he never waited even to take
- his sword,--he turned and ran; and he never
- stopped till he came to a deep well, where he
- jumped in and hid himself, up to the neck.
-
- When the princess saw that her champion
- was gone, she began wringing her hands, and
- crying, "Oh, please, kind gentlemen, fight the
- dragon, some of you, and keep me from being
- eaten! Will no one fight the dragon for me?"
- But no one stepped up, at all. And the dragon
- made to eat the princess.
-
- Just then, out stepped Billy from the crowd,
- with his fine suit of clothes and his hide belt
- on him. "I'll fight the beast," he says, and
- swinging his stick three times round his head,
- to give him the strength of a thousand men
- besides his own, he walked up to the dragon,
- with easy gait. The princess and all the people
- were looking, you may be sure, and the dragon
- raged at Billy with all his mouths, and they
- at it and fought. It was a terrible fight, but
- in the end Billy Beg had the dragon down, and
- he cut off his heads with the sword.
-
- There was great shouting, then, and crying
- that the strange champion must come to the
- king to be made prince, and to the princess,
- to be seen. But in the midst of the hullabaloo
- Billy Begs slips on the brown mare and is off
- and away before anyone has seen his face. But,
- quick as he was, he was not so quick but that
- the princess caught hold of him as he jumped
- on his horse, and he got away with one shoe
- left in her hand. And home he rode, to his
- master's house, and had his old clothes on and
- the mare in the stable before his master came
- back.
-
- When his master came back, he had a great
- tale for Billy, how the princess's champion had
- run from the dragon, and a strange knight had
- come out of the clouds and killed the dragon,
- and before anyone could stop him had
- disappeared in the sky. "Wasn't it wonderful?"
- said the old gentleman to Billy. "I should say
- so," said Billy to him.
-
- Soon there was proclamation made that the
- man who killed the dragon was to be found,
- and to be made son of the king and husband
- of the princess; for that, everyone should come
- up to the king's town and try on the shoe which
- the princess had pulled from off the foot of the
- strange champion, that he whom it fitted should
- be known to be the man. On the day set, there
- was passing of coaches and chaises, of carriages
- and wheelbarrows, people on horseback and
- afoot, and Billy's master was the first to go.
-
- While Billy was watching, at last came along
- a raggedy man.
-
- "Will you change clothes with me, and I'll
- give you boot?" said Billy to him.
-
- "Shame to you to mock a poor raggedy
- man!" said the raggedy man to Billy.
-
- "It's no mock," said Billy, and he changed
- clothes with the raggedy man, and gave him
- boot.
-
- When Billy came to the king's town, in his
- dreadful old clothes, no one knew him for the
- champion at all, and none would let him come
- forward to try the shoe. But after all had tried,
- Billy spoke up that he wanted to try. They
- laughed at him, and pushed him back, with
- his rags. But the princess would have it that
- he should try. "I like his face," said she; "let
- him try, now."
-
- So up stepped Billy, and put on the shoe, and
- it fitted him like his own skin.
-
- Then Billy confessed that it was he that
- killed the dragon. And that he was a king's
- son. And they put a velvet suit on him, and
- hung a gold chain round his neck, and everyone
- said a finer-looking boy they'd never seen.
-
- So Billy married the princess, and was the
- prince of that place.
-
-
-
- THE LITTLE HERO OF HAARLEM[1]
-
- [1] Told from memory of the story told me when a child.
-
-
- A long way off, across the ocean, there is a
- little country where the ground is lower than
- the level of the sea, instead of higher, as it is
- here. Of course the water would run in and
- cover the land and houses, if something were
- not done to keep it out. But something is done.
- The people build great, thick walls all round
- the country, and the walls keep the sea out.
- You see how much depends on those walls,--
- the good crops, the houses, and even the safety
- of the people. Even the small children in that
- country know that an accident to one of the
- walls is a terrible thing. These walls are really
- great banks, as wide as roads, and they are
- called "dikes."
-
- Once there was a little boy who lived in that
- country, whose name was Hans. One day, he
- took his little brother out to play. They went
- a long way out of the town, and came to where
- there were no houses, but ever so many flowers
- and green fields. By-and-by, Hans climbed up
- on the dike, and sat down; the little brother
- was playing about at the foot of the bank.
-
- Suddenly the little brother called out, "Oh,
- what a funny little hole! It bubbles!"
-
- "Hole? Where?" said Hans.
-
- "Here in the bank," said the little brother;
- "water's in it."
-
- "What!" said Hans, and he slid down as
- fast as he could to where his brother was playing.
-
- There was the tiniest little hole in the bank.
- Just an air-hole. A drop of water bubbled
- slowly through.
-
- "It is a hole in the dike!" cried Hans. "What
- shall we do?"
-
- He looked all round; not a person or a house
- in sight. He looked at the hole; the little
- drops oozed steadily through; he knew that
- the water would soon break a great gap,
- because that tiny hole gave it a chance. The
- town was so far away--if they ran for help it
- would be too late; what should he do? Once
- more he looked; the hole was larger, now, and
- the water was trickling.
-
- Suddenly a thought came to Hans. He stuck
- his little forefinger right into the hole, where it
- fitted tight; and he said to his little brother,
- "Run, Dieting! Go to the town and tell the
- men there's a hole in the dike. Tell them I will
- keep it stopped till they get here."
-
- The little brother knew by Hans' face that
- something very serious was the matter, and he
- started for the town, as fast as his legs could
- run. Hans, kneeling with his finger in the hole,
- watched him grow smaller and smaller as he got
- farther away.
-
- Soon he was as small as a chicken; then he
- was only a speck; then he was out of sight.
- Hans was alone, his finger tight in the bank.
-
- He could hear the water, slap, slap, slap, on
- the stones; and deep down under the slapping
- was a gurgling, rumbling sound. It seemed
- very near.
-
- By-and-by, his hand began to feel numb. He
- rubbed it with the other hand; but it got colder
- and more numb, colder and more numb, every
- minute. He looked to see if the men were
- coming; the road was bare as far as he could
- see. Then the cold began creeping, creeping,
- up his arm; first his wrist, then his arm to the
- elbow, then his arm to the shoulder; how cold
- it was! And soon it began to ache. Ugly
- little cramp-pains streamed up his finger, up
- his palm, up his arm, till they reached into his
- shoulder, and down the back of his neck. It
- seemed hours since the little brother went away.
- He felt very lonely, and the hurt in his arm
- grew and grew. He watched the road with all
- his eyes, but no one came in sight. Then he
- leaned his head against the dike, to rest his
- shoulder.
-
- As his ear touched the dike, he heard the
- voice of the great sea, murmuring. The sound
- seemed to say,--
-
- "I am the great sea. No one can stand
- against me. What are you, a little child, that
- you try to keep me out? Beware! Beware!"
-
- Hans' heart beat in heavy knocks. Would
- they never come? He was frightened.
-
- And the water went on beating at the wall,
- and murmuring, "I will come through, I will
- come through, I will get you, I will get you,
- run--run--before I come through!"
-
- Hans started to pull out his finger; he was so
- frightened that he felt as if he must run for ever.
- But that minute he remembered how much
- depended on him; if he pulled out his finger, the
- water would surely make the hole bigger, and
- at last break down the dike, and the sea would
- come in on all the land and houses. He set his
- teeth, and stuck his finger tighter than ever.
-
- "You shall NOT come through!" he whispered,
- "I will NOT run!"
-
- At that moment, he heard a far-off shout.
- Far in the distance he saw a black something on
- the road, and dust. The men were coming! At
- last, they were coming. They came nearer, fast,
- and he could make out his own father, and the
- neighbours. They had pickaxes and shovels,
- and they were running. And as they ran they
- shouted, "We're coming; take heart, we're
- coming!"
-
- The next minute, it seemed, they were there.
- And when they saw Hans, with his pale face,
- and his hand tight in the dike, they gave a great
- cheer,--just as people do for soldiers back from
- war; and they lifted him up and rubbed his
- aching arm with tender hands, and they told him
- that he was a real hero and that he had saved
- the town.
-
- When the men had mended the dike, they
- marched home like an army, and Hans was
- carried high on their shoulders, because he was
- a hero. And to this day the people of Haarlem
- tell the story of how a little boy saved the dike.
-
-
-
- THE LAST LESSON[1]
-
- [1] Adapted from the French of Alphonse Daudet.
-
-
- Little Franz didn't want to go to school, that
- morning. He would much rather have played
- truant. The air was so warm and still,--you
- could hear the blackbird singing at the edge of
- the wood, and the sound of the Prussians drilling,
- down in the meadow behind the old sawmill.
- He would SO much rather have played truant!
- Besides, this was the day for the lesson in the
- rule of participles; and the rule of participles in
- French is very, very long, and very hard, and it
- has more exceptions than rule. Little Franz
- did not know it at all. He did not want to go
- to school.
-
- But, somehow, he went. His legs carried him
- reluctantly into the village and along the street.
- As he passed the official bulletin-board before
- the town hall, he noticed a little crowd round it,
- looking at it. That was the place where the
- news of lost battles, the requisition for more
- troops, the demands for new taxes were posted.
- Small as he was, little Franz had seen enough to
- make him think, "What NOW, I wonder?" But
- he could not stop to see; he was afraid of being
- late.
-
- When he came to the school-yard his heart
- beat very fast; he was afraid he WAS late, after
- all, for the windows were all open, and yet he
- heard no noise,--the schoolroom was perfectly
- quiet. He had been counting on the noise and
- confusion before school,--the slamming of desk
- covers, the banging of books, the tapping of the
- master's cane and his "A little less noise, please,"
- --to let him slip quietly into his seat unnoticed.
- But no; he had to open the door and walk up
- the long aisle, in the midst of a silent room, with
- the master looking straight at him. Oh, how hot
- his cheeks felt, and how hard his heart beat!
- But to his great surprise the master didn't scold
- at all. All he said was, "Come quickly to your
- place, my little Franz; we were just going to
- begin without you!"
-
- Little Franz could hardly believe his ears;
- that wasn't at all the way the master was accustomed
- to speak. It was very strange! Somehow--
- everything was very strange. The room
- looked queer. Everybody was sitting so still, so
- straight--as if it were an exhibition day, or
- something very particular. And the master--
- he looked strange, too; why, he had on his fine
- lace jabot and his best coat, that he wore only
- on holidays, and his gold snuff-box in his hand.
- Certainly it was very odd. Little Franz looked
- all round, wondering. And there in the back of
- the room was the oddest thing of all. There, on
- a bench, sat VISITORS. Visitors! He could not
- make it out; people never came except on great
- occasions,--examination days and such. And it
- was not a holiday. Yet there were the agent,
- the old blacksmith, the farmer, sitting quiet and
- still. It was very, very strange.
-
- Just then the master stood up and opened
- school. He said, "My children, this is the last
- time I shall ever teach you. The order has come
- from Berlin that henceforth nothing but German
- shall be taught in the schools of Alsace and
- Lorraine. This is your last lesson in French.
- I beg you, be very attentive."
-
- HIS LAST LESSON IN FRENCH! Little Franz could
- not believe his ears; his last lesson--ah, THAT
- was what was on the bulletin-board! It flashed
- across him in an instant. That was it! His
- last lesson in French--and he scarcely knew
- how to read and write--why, then, he should
- never know how! He looked down at his
- books, all battered and torn at the corners; and
- suddenly his books seemed quite different to
- him, they seemed--somehow--like friends. He
- looked at the master, and he seemed different,
- too,--like a very good friend. Little Franz
- began to feel strange himself. Just as he was
- thinking about it, he heard his name called, and
- he stood up to recite.
-
- It was the rule of participles.
-
- Oh, what wouldn't he have given to be able
- to say it of from beginning to end, exceptions
- and all, without a blunder! But he could only
- stand and hang his head; he did not know a
- word of it. Then through the hot pounding in
- his ears he heard the master's voice; it was
- quite gentle; not at all the scolding voice he
- expected. And it said, "I'm not going to punish
- you, little Franz. Perhaps you are punished
- enough. And you are not alone in your fault.
- We all do the same thing,--we all put off our
- tasks till to-morrow. And--sometimes--to-
- morrow never comes. That is what it has been
- with us. We Alsatians have been always putting
- off our education till the morrow; and now they
- have a right, those people down there, to say to
- us, `What! You call yourselves French, and
- cannot even read and write the French language?
- Learn German, then!'"
-
- And then the master spoke to them of the
- French language. He told them how beautiful
- it was, how clear and musical and reasonable,
- and he said that no people could be hopelessly
- conquered so long as it kept its language, for
- the language was the key to its prison-house.
- And then he said he was going to tell them a
- little about that beautiful language, and he
- explained the rule of participles.
-
- And do you know, it was just as simple as
- A B C! Little Franz understood every word.
- It was just the same with the rest of the grammar
- lesson. I don't know whether little Franz
- listened harder, or whether the master explained
- better; but it was all quite clear, and simple.
-
- But as they went on with it, and little Franz
- listened and looked, it seemed to him that the
- master was trying to put the whole French
- language into their heads in that one hour.
- It seemed as if he wanted to teach them all he
- knew, before he went,--to give them all he had,
- --in this last lesson.
-
- From the grammar he went on to the writing
- lesson. And for this, quite new copies had
- been prepared. They were written on clean,
- new slips of paper, and they were:--
-
- France: Alsace.
- France: Alsace.
-
- All up and down the aisles they hung out from
- the desks like little banners, waving--
-
- France: Alsace.
- France: Alsace.
-
-
- And everybody worked with all his might,--
- not a sound could you hear but the scratching
- of pens on the "France: Alsace."
-
- Even the little ones bent over their up and
- down strokes with their tongues stuck out to
- help them work.
-
- After the writing came the reading lesson,
- and the little ones sang their ba, be, bi, bo, bu.
-
- Right in the midst of it, Franz heard a curious
- sound, a big deep voice mingling with the
- children's voices. He turned round, and there,
- on the bench in the back of the room, the old
- blacksmith sat with a big A B C book open on
- his knees. It was his voice Franz had heard.
- He was saying the sounds with the little
- children,--ba, be, bi, bo, bu. His voice sounded
- so odd, with the little voices,--so very odd,--it
- made little Franz feel queer. It seemed so
- funny that he thought he would laugh; then he
- thought he wouldn't laugh, he felt--he felt
- very queer.
-
- So it went on with the lessons; they had
- them all. And then, suddenly, the town clock
- struck noon. And at the same time they heard
- the tramp of the Prussians' feet, coming back
- from drill.
-
- It was time to close school.
-
- The master stood up. He was very pale.
- Little Franz had never seen him look so tall.
- He said: "My children--my children"--but something
- choked him; he could not go on. Instead he
- turned and went to the blackboard and took up
- a piece of chalk. And then he wrote, high up,
- in big white letters, "Vive la France!"
-
- And he made a little sign to them with his
- head, "That is all; go away."
-
-
-
- THE STORY OF CHRISTMAS
-
-
- There was once a nation which was very
- powerful, very fortunate, and very proud. Its
- lands were fruitful; its armies were victorious
- in battle; and it had strong kings, wise lawgivers,
- and great poets. But after a great many
- years, everything changed. The nation had no
- more strong kings, no more wise lawgivers; its
- armies were beaten in battle, and neighbouring
- tribes conquered the country and took the
- fruitful lands; there were no more poets except
- a few who made songs of lamentation. The
- people had become a captive and humiliated
- people; and the bitterest part of all its sadness
- was the memory of past greatness.
-
- But in all the years of failure and humiliation,
- there was one thing which kept this people from
- despair; one hope lived in their hearts and kept
- them from utter misery. It was a hope which
- came from something one of the great poets of
- the past had said, in prophecy. This prophecy
- was whispered in the homes of the poor, taught
- in the churches, repeated from father to son
- among the rich; it was like a deep, hidden well
- of comfort in a desert of suffering. The prophecy
- said that some time a deliverer should be born
- for the nation, a new king even stronger than
- the old ones, mighty enough to conquer its
- enemies, set it free, and bring back the splendid
- days of old. This was the hope and expectation
- all the people looked for; they waited through
- the years for the prophecy to come true.
-
- In this nation, in a little country town, lived
- a man and a woman whose names were Joseph
- and Mary. And it happened, one year, that
- they had to take a little journey up to the town
- which was the nearest tax-centre, to have their
- names put on the census list; because that was
- the custom in that country.
-
- But when they got to the town, so many
- others were there for the same thing, and it was
- such a small town, that every place was crowded.
- There was no room for them at the inn. Finally
- the innkeeper said they might sleep in the stable
- on the straw. So they went there for the night.
-
- And while they were there, in the stable, their
- first child was born to them, a little son. And
- because there was no cradle to put Him in, the
- mother made a little warm nest of the hay in
- the big wooden manger where the oxen had
- eaten, and wrapped the baby in swaddling
- clothes, and laid Him in the manger, for a bed!
-
- That same night, on the hills outside the
- town, there were shepherds, keeping their
- flocks through the darkness. They were tired
- with watching over the sheep, and they stood or
- sat about, drowsily, talking and watching the
- stars. And as they watched, behold, an angel
- of the Lord appeared unto them! And the
- glory of the Lord shone round about them!
- And they were sore afraid. But the angel said
- unto them, "Fear not, for behold I bring you
- good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all
- people. For unto you is born, this day, in the city
- of David, a saviour,--which is Christ the Lord.
- And this shall be a sign unto you: ye shall find
- the babe, wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying
- in a manger."
-
- And suddenly there was with the angel a
- multitude of the heavenly host, praising God,
- and saying, "Glory to God in the highest, and
- on earth peace, good will toward men."
-
- When the angels were gone up from them into
- heaven, the shepherds said to one another, "Let
- us now go even unto Bethlehem, and see this
- thing which is come to pass, which the Lord
- hath made known unto us." And they came,
- with haste, and they found Mary, and Joseph,
- and the babe lying in a manger. And when
- they saw Him in the manger, they knew that
- the wonderful thing the angel said had really
- happened, and that the great deliverer was born
- at last.
-
-
-
- THE CHILD-MIND; AND HOW TO SATISFY IT
-
-
- "It is the grown people who make the nursery
- stories," wrote Stevenson, "all the children
- do is jealously to preserve the text." And the
- grown person, whether he makes his stories
- with pen or with tongue, should bring two
- qualities at least to the work--simplicity of
- language and a serious sincerity. The reason
- for the simplicity is obvious, for no one, child or
- otherwise, can thoroughly enjoy a story clouded
- by words which convey no meaning to him.
-
- The second quality is less obvious but equally
- necessary. No absence of fun is intended by
- the words "serious sincerity," but they mean
- that the story-teller should bring to the child an
- equal interest in what is about to be told; an
- honest acceptance, for the time being, of the
- fairies, or the heroes, or the children, or the
- animals who talk, with which the tale is
- concerned. The child deserves this equality of
- standpoint, and without it there can be no entire
- success.
-
- As for the stories themselves, the difficulty
- lies with the material, not with the CHILD. Styles
- may be varied generously, but the matter must
- be quarried for. Out of a hundred children's
- books it is more than likely that ninety-nine will
- be useless; yet perhaps out of one autobiography
- may be gleaned an anecdote, or a reminiscence
- which can be amplified into an absorbing tale.
- Almost every story-teller will find that the open
- eye and ear will serve him better than much
- arduous searching. No one book will yield him
- the increase to his repertoire which will come to
- him by listening, by browsing in chance volumes
- and magazines, and even newspapers, by observing
- everyday life, and in all remembering his own
- youth, and his youthful, waiting audience.
-
- And that youthful audience? A rather too
- common mistake is made in allowing overmuch
- for the creative imagination of the normal child.
- It is not creative imagination which the normal
- child possesses so much as an enormous credulity
- and no limitations. If we consider for a
- moment we see that there has been little or
- nothing to limit things for him, therefore
- anything is possible. It is the years of our life as
- they come which narrow our fancies and set a
- bound to our beliefs; for experience has taught
- us that for the most part a certain cause will
- produce a certain effect. The child, on the
- contrary, has but little knowledge of causes, and as
- yet but an imperfect realisation of effects. If
- we, for instance, go into the midst of a savage
- country, we know that there is the chance of
- our meeting a savage. But to the young child
- it is quite as possible to meet a Red Indian
- coming round the bend of the brook at the
- bottom of the orchard, as it is to meet him in
- his own wigwam.
-
- The child is an adept at make-believe, but his
- make-believes are, as a rule, practical and serious.
- It is credulity rather than imagination which
- helps him. He takes the tales he has been TOLD,
- the facts he has observed, and for the most part
- reproduces them to the best of his ability. And
- "nothing," as Stevenson says, "can stagger a
- child's faith; he accepts the clumsiest substitutes
- and can swallow the most staring incongruities.
- The chair he has just been besieging as a castle is
- taken away for the accommodation of a morning
- visitor and he is nothing abashed; he can skirmish
- by the hour with a stationary coal-scuttle;
- in the midst of the enchanted pleasuance he can
- see, without sensible shock, the gardener soberly
- digging potatoes for the day's dinner."
-
- The child, in fact, is neither undeveloped
- "grown-up" nor unspoiled angel. Perhaps he
- has a dash of both, but most of all he is
- akin to the grown person who dreams. With
- the dreamer and with the child there is that
- unquestioning acceptance of circumstances as they
- arise, however unusual and disconcerting they
- may be. In dreams the wildest, most improbable
- and fantastic things happen, but they are
- not so to the dreamer. The veriest cynic amongst
- us must take his dreams seriously and without
- a sneer, whether he is forced to leap from
- the edge of a precipice, whether he finds himself
- utterly incapable of packing his trunk in time
- for the train, whether in spite of his distress at
- the impropriety, he finds himself at a dinner-
- party minus his collar, or whether the riches of
- El Dorado are laid at his feet. For him at the
- time it is all quite real and harassingly or
- splendidly important.
-
- To the child and to the dreamer all things are
- possible; frogs may talk, bears may be turned
- into princes, gallant tailors may overcome giants,
- fir-trees may be filled with ambitions. A chair
- may become a horse, a chest of drawers a coach
- and six, a hearthrug a battlefield, a newspaper
- a crown of gold. And these are facts which the
- story-teller must realise, and choose and shape
- the stories accordingly.
-
- Many an old book, which to a modern grown
- person may seem prim and over-rigid, will be
- to the child a delight; for him the primness
- and the severity slip away, the story remains.
- Such a book as Mrs Sherwood's Fairchild Family
- is an example of this. To a grown person
- reading it for the first time, the loafing
- propensities of the immaculate Mrs Fairchild, who
- never does a hand's turn of good work for anyone
- from cover to cover, the hard piety, the
- snobbishness, the brutality of taking the children
- to the old gallows and seating them before the
- dangling remains of a murderer, while the lesson
- of brotherly love is impressed are shocking
- when they are not amusing; but to the child
- the doings of the naughty and repentant little
- Fairchilds are engrossing; and experience proves
- to us that the twentieth-century child is as eager
- for the book as were ever his nineteenth-century
- grandfather and grandmother.
-
- Good Mrs Timmin's History of the Robins,
- too, is a continuous delight; and from its
- pompous and high-sounding dialogue a skilful
- adapter may glean not only one story, but one
- story with two versions; for the infant of
- eighteen months can follow the narrative of the
- joys and troubles, errors and kindnesses of
- Robin, Dicky, Flopsy and Pecksy; while the
- child of five or ten or even more will be keenly
- interested in a fuller account of the birds'
- adventures and the development of their several
- characters and those of their human friends and
- enemies.
-
- From these two books, from Miss Edgeworth's
- wonderful Moral Tales; from Miss Wetherell's
- delightful volume Mr Rutherford's Children;
- from Jane and Ann Taylor's Original Poems;
- from Thomas Day's Sandford and Merton; from
- Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress and Lamb's Tales
- from Shakespeare, and from many another old
- friend, stories may be gathered, but the story
- teller will find that in almost all cases
- adaptation is a necessity. The joy of the hunt,
- however, is a real joy, and with a field which
- stretches from the myths of Greece to Uncle
- Remus, from Le Morte d'Arthur to the Jungle
- Books, there need be no more lack of pleasure
- for the seeker than for the receiver of the spoil.
-
-
-
-
-
-
- End of
- *The Project Gutenberg Etext of How To Tell Stories To Children
- And Some Stories To Tell* #1 in our series by Sara Cone Bryant
-
-