SOME VERY SHORT STORIES
For all little children who fain would tellWhat in their tender hearts doth dwell
For all little children who fain would tellWhat in their tender hearts doth dwell
For all little children who fain would tellWhat in their tender hearts doth dwell
For all little children who fain would tell
What in their tender hearts doth dwell
Our puppy is so little that he can hardly stand up. But he wants the kitten to think him a big dog. So the other day he steadied himself on his legs and tried to give a loud bark. “Bow wow,” he said. And down he tumbled.
Once when a white kitten spied the tip of her tail, she tried to catch it. Round and round she went so fast that she turned into a white ball. But, of course, the tail went as fast as she did, so she couldn’t catch up with it. Soon she grew so dizzy that she had to stop. There she was back again, a sensible white kitten.
The other day a very young grasshopper and an old rooster were out in the field together.
“I can jump higher than anyone in this field,” cried the grasshopper. The rooster said nothing, but opened his mouth as if he meant to yawn.
“Here I go,” cried the grasshopper, and shejumped so high that she landed in the rooster’s mouth. The rooster gobbled her up.
And that was the end of her and her boasting.
A little gray mouse lived in a hole in our kitchen closet. One day she smelled some cheese. “M-m,” she said, “how delicious!” She peeped out to see whether Tom, our cat, was in the kitchen. He wasn’t. Out she stole, sniffed about, and found the cheese. Just as she began to nibble it, along came Tom. The little mouse darted back into her safe hole.
One morning the white hen went into the barn. The rooster saw her go, but he didn’t stop her. After a few minutes out she came, clucking to the whole world, “Cut-cut-cut-cut-cadah-cut! Cut-cut-cut-cut-cadah-cut!” And the whole world as well as the rooster knew she had laid an egg.
Once a man owned a wonderful goose. Every morning when he said, “Lay,” it laid a golden egg. By and by the man grew so greedy that he wanted all the golden eggs at once. So he cut open thegoose. There wasn’t one egg in it. And, of course, the goose couldn’t lay any more eggs now. The foolish man had killed the goose that laid the golden eggs.
—Æsop
(This story may be accompanied by blackboard sketches of the phases of the moon.)
One day the moon asked her mother for a cloak that would fit her well.
“How can I make a cloak that will fit you?” answered the mother. “You are always changing your size. One day you are a new moon. Another day you are a full moon. And another day you are neither.”
So the little moon has to go without a cloak.
—Old fable
One day in winter the snowflakes came down as soft and light and white as feathers. The little children looking out at the window sang,
“Old Mother Carey’s chickens,Old Mother Carey’s chickens;They are up in the sky,Ever so high;Old Mother Carey’s chickens.”
“Old Mother Carey’s chickens,Old Mother Carey’s chickens;They are up in the sky,Ever so high;Old Mother Carey’s chickens.”
“Old Mother Carey’s chickens,Old Mother Carey’s chickens;They are up in the sky,Ever so high;Old Mother Carey’s chickens.”
“Old Mother Carey’s chickens,
Old Mother Carey’s chickens;
They are up in the sky,
Ever so high;
Old Mother Carey’s chickens.”
Down fell the snowflakes, thick and fast, and more and more and more, till they made a snowstorm.
When they were all down the children brought out their sleds, and away they went coasting on Mother Carey’s chickens’ feathers.
Once a wee, wee girl came across a wee, wee dog scratching a wee, wee hole to bury a wee, wee bone. When the wee, wee dog had buried the wee, wee bone, he trotted off on his wee, wee legs. And when he had gone a wee, wee way, the wee, wee girl dug her wee, wee fingers into the wee, wee hole, and took away the wee, wee bone.
But the wee, wee dog smelled her out with his wee, wee nose and said, “Give me back my wee, wee bone; you can’t eat it and I can.” The wee, wee girl wouldn’t.
Then the wee, wee dog sat up on his wee, wee hind legs and cried a wee, wee tear. This made the wee, wee girl sorry. So she gave the wee, wee dog his wee, wee bone.
The wee, wee dog dried the wee, wee tear with his wee, wee paw, and ate up the wee, wee bone.
And that’s the end of this wee, wee story.
One evening a shepherd was turning away from the fold when one of the sheep bleated mournfully.
“Is thy lamb missing, poor mother?” asked the shepherd.
Just then he heard a loud bark, and there half a field away was Carlo, his dog, guiding home a frightened lamb. The little creature had strayed away from her mother to find the very sweetest bits of sheep sorrel.
“Bow wow, master,” called Carlo, “don’t close up yet.”
“Ba-a-a, ba-a-a-a,” cried the little lamb, “dear mother, where are you?”
The mother heard her and bounded into the air with joy. “Ba-a-a, come to me, my lamb,” she called, “come to me, my lambkin, my wee lambkin, my wee wee little lamb.”
The little lamb leaped to her mother’s side and was safe in the fold.
The shepherd patted Carlo on the head and called him “Good dog” and said, “Come with me, my dog, and I’ll give thee a bone thick with meat.”
Once an ant went to the bank of a river to quench her thirst. As she stooped to the water she fell inand was nearly drowned. A dove perched on a tree overhanging the river saw her and quickly dropped down a leaf to her. The ant climbed up on the leaf and it floated to the bank. She went ashore, safe and sound.
Not long after this, a bird catcher stepped softly up to the tree to set a snare to catch the dove. The ant saw him and quickly stung him in the foot. The bird catcher’s cry at the pain startled the dove. Away she flew, safe and sound.
—Æsop
A boy put his hand into a jar to take some nuts. He grasped so many that there was no room for his hand to come out. In a great fright he burst into tears.
“Be satisfied with half as many,” said a man who was watching him, “and your hand will come out easily.”
The greedy boy dropped half, and at once out came his hand.
—Æsop
One day a little girl said to her wisest aunt, “I wish I could catch that sparrow.”
“The next time he comes,” said her wisest aunt,“shake some salt on his tail. But be sure not to let him see nor hear you.”
The little girl went into the house and brought out some salt. Pretty soon the sparrow alighted near her. She tiptoed up behind him with the salt ready in her hand. Nearer and nearer she stole.
Just as she stooped to shake the salt on his tail, the sparrow cocked his head at her and flew away.
A small brown bear and a small black bear walked up to each other and rubbed noses.
“Will you play with me if I play with you?” whispered the brown one to the other. And the other whispered, “I will.”
The two trotted out to the center of the cage. The brown one turned a somersault and the black one turned a bigger somersault. After this they both turned somersaults together.
When the play was over, they rubbed noses again and each went back to his own cave in the rocks.
Kit was the grocer’s horse. One day as the grocer came up to her she whinnied and rubbed her nose against his pocket.
“Ha, ha, ha, I’ve caught you this time; it isn’t in my pocket,” said the grocer; “here it is.” He held out to her a ripe red apple he had been hiding behind his back.
Kit didn’t wait to laugh at the joke; she ate the apple in one big bite.
Two white rabbits lived in a hutch in our back yard. One sunny morning said One to the Other, “Let us go out to see the world.”
So they did. They went up the alley way to the front garden. Here the grass was growing fresh and green.
“Ah,” said the Other to One, “the world was made for us. It is nothing but a big cabbage leaf. Taste it.”
Just as they put their noses down to nibble a bit of it, a dog pokedhisnose through the railing and said, “Bow wow.”
“Oh my, the world belongs to him,” they cried; “he may have it.”
And back they scurried to their safe hutch.
There they stayed, eating cabbage leaves and letting the world alone.
The pot said the kettle was black. And the kettle said the pot was black. And the pot said the kettle was black. And the kettle said the pot was black. And they kept it up.
In the middle of the dispute in came two servants. One seized the pot and the other seized the kettle, and they scrubbed them both within an inch of their lives. So I suppose the servants thought both were black. What do you think?
It was the small black turtle’s dinner time. He drew in his head and watched. A bluebottle buzzed by, singing. Snap! out came the turtle’s head. The bluebottle’s song was over, the turtle was eating him for dinner.
“A bluebottle is a delicious morsel,” said the turtle aloud to anyone who might happen to be passing.
He dined that day on foolish bluebottles who didn’t know he had a head.
The other day a caterpillar was out walking on a leaf, when it began to rain. He had no umbrella, but that did not bother him. He crawled under the leaf, and waited for the shower to be over.
When the rain-drops stopped pattering over his head, he stuck out his head to see whether the sky had cleared. It had. A beautiful rainbow was just fading out of the sky.
Up the caterpillar climbed, dry and comfortable, and went on with his walk.
One day Anna Lucy held a cockle-shell to her ear. She listened and then began to smile.
“Do you hear anything?” asked her little brother Frank.
“Yes,” answered Anna Lucy, “you may hear it too.” She held the shell to Frank’s ear. Frank listened, then he began to smile. “What is it?” he whispered.
“It is the song of the sea,” said Anna Lucy; “the shell sings it in her heart.”
A little water-snail with his house on his back floated on the top of the water. Suddenly he must have thought of something downstairs that he needed, for he drew himself into his house. Down it went to the bottom of the water. The water-snail stuck out his horns and head, and ate up a tiny bit of seaweed. So I suppose that is what he needed. In he drew himself again, and up went his house just as if it were an elevator.
“You must find that house very convenient,” said I to him. But he said nothing to me; he only floated on the top of the water.
A toadstool sprang up in a night. But it fell to earth next day when the first passer-by touched it. An acorn took a hundred years to grow into an oak. But the oak is still standing, strong and tall.
One day as a snail with his house on his back crawled up a vine he met a ladybug. The two stopped to chat about their children. All of a sudden a little girl, who was passing, cried out,
“Ladybug, Ladybug, fly away home,Your house is on fire,Your children all burned.”
“Ladybug, Ladybug, fly away home,Your house is on fire,Your children all burned.”
“Ladybug, Ladybug, fly away home,Your house is on fire,Your children all burned.”
“Ladybug, Ladybug, fly away home,
Your house is on fire,
Your children all burned.”
Home flew Ladybug, pale with fright.
“How thankful I am,” said the snail, “that I carry my house on my back!” But on second thought he too turned pale with fright. “Perhaps my darling children will crawl near poor Ladybug’s house to see the fire, and be burned to death.” He turned about and crawled home as fast as his snail’s pace would let him, and that wasn’t very fast.
But it was all a joke; it happened on April Fool’s Day. The snail’s children were quite safe and so were Ladybug’s.
“Ha, ha, ha, Mr. Snail, you’re an April Fool,” cried the little girl, skipping past again.
But I don’t know whether they understood her. What do you think?
“Who are you?” said Tom, to a small black shadow beside him.
“Why, I’m you,” said the shadow; “don’t you know me?”
“What, a little fellow like you!” cried Tom; “you’re very much mistaken.” And away he strode.
“No, a big fellow like you,” said the shadow, as he shot out in front of Tom.
A canary swung in his golden cage and sang joyously. The window was open, so a lark heard him as she rose into the air. She alighted on the window sill in wonder.
“How can you sing shut up in a cage!” she exclaimed. “Come out into the free air and up into the sky with me.”
The canary stopped his song to listen to the lark. “Why do you stop singing, little canary?” asked a sick boy, in a feeble voice. He was in a bed near the canary’s cage. The lark could not see him, but she heard him. “Your song,” said the boy, “makes me forget my pain.”
The canary burst into a sweeter song. “Now I know,” said the lark, “he sings because it makes the sick boy happy.” And she flew upward, wiser than before.
One hot day in July a bird perched at the very top of a tall hemlock. The blazing sun shone on his scarlet body and made it glow like fire.
“What a foolish bird to be out in the scorchingsun,” cried Mother Robin to her husband. “He’ll be sunstruck.” She and Father Robin stood shading their eyes under the cool maple leaves to look up at him. “Who can he be?”
“I think, my dear,” said Father Robin, “that I had better go up and tell him to come down.”
“Oh,” cried Mother Robin, “what would the birdlings and I do if anything should happen to you!” and she caught him by the tail just as he was flying off.
As Father Robin opened his mouth to answer, the scarlet bird spread shining black wings and flew into the sunshine, singing,
“I love the sun, the light, the flame,Scarlet tanager is my name.”
“I love the sun, the light, the flame,Scarlet tanager is my name.”
“I love the sun, the light, the flame,Scarlet tanager is my name.”
“I love the sun, the light, the flame,
Scarlet tanager is my name.”
“Never fear for him,” said Mother Robin, “the sun and he are good friends.”
Once a water-baby named Tom swam close to some little trout. He began tormenting them and trying to catch them. They slipped through his fingers and jumped dean out of the water in their fright.
As Tom chased them he swam near a dark pool under an alder root. Out floushed a huge old brown trout ten times as big as he. She ran straight atTom and knocked nearly all the breath out of his body.
So it was Tom’s turn to be frightened. After that you may be sure he let the little trout alone.
—FromKingsley
A quick-witted old cow learned how to shake apples down from the trees. While rubbing herself against the tree she noticed that an apple sometimes fell. She rubbed a little harder, and more apples fell. Soon the farmer had to keep an eye on her to save his apples.
—FromBurroughs
When the sun got up one morning in winter he found a snowman staring at him rudely.
“Don’t stare at me. If you do you’ll melt,” said the sun.
“Indeed!” said the snowman. “A cat may look at a king. I’ll look at you if I like.” And he stared harder than ever.
Pretty soon he felt the top of his head softening. “I feel very queer,” said he to himself. But he didn’t stop staring. “Ugh!” he shivered, “water is running down my back. My nose is going. My toes are going. I’m going.”
And he went.
The kitten lay curled up in a ball fast asleep. The pup was broad awake.
He stole up to kitty, lifted his paw, and gave her a tap on the nose. Then he scampered off. Up started kitty, and round and round the kitchen went the pup with kitty after him.
It made the kitchen clock so dizzy to watch them that she put up her long hand to steady her head.—“One,” rang the bell inside of her.
“Time’s up,” cried the pup. And he and kitty sat down on the mat side by side and the pup put out his tongue and laughed at the fun.
Everybody was out. So of course Dan, the pup, was master of the house. He trotted proudly through the halls and poked his nose into every room, for burglars.
In his master’s room he heard something say, “Tick, tick, tick, tick.” Dan pricked up his ears. Somebody was in the house. Who could it be? A glove lay on the floor near the mantel. Dan walked over and began to sniff at it.
“One,” struck the clock on the mantelpiece. Dan scampered off as fast as his legs could carry him.
“Down you go,” cried the wind to the leaves one morning in autumn. And down he blew them in crowds from the trees, brown ones, red ones, and yellow ones. Then he drove them scurrying before him up the street. At last he swirled them together in heaps, and left off to rest.
So there we too shall let them lie.
The little yellow canary that used to sing so sweetly grew sick and died. The children wept to see it.
“Let us bury him under the apple-tree,” said Alice; “every spring it will cover his grave with white blossoms.”
So Robert dug a small grave under the apple-tree, and Alice laid the canary gently in it. They covered him with the soft earth.
Every spring the apple-tree sent down his white blossoms on the grave.
One morning as a shining white swan sailed about on the lake he saw a boy on the bank, eating some bread. He swam over to the boy and thrust out his long white neck toward the bread.
“The beautiful swan wants my bread,” cried the boy. He was delighted.
He broke it and threw it bit by bit on a lily pad. The swan ate it, to the last crumb. Then he bent his head as if to thank the boy, and sailed away.
Some boys at play near a pond began to pelt the frogs with stones, just for the fun of seeing them go under water. They killed several of them.
At last one of the frogs lifted his head high out of the water, and cried out, “Pray stop, boys; what is fun for you is death to us.”
“That is true,” said one of the boys; “let us leave the poor creatures in peace.” And they did.
—FromÆsop
There was a poor but good little girl who lived alone with her mother. One day they no longer had anything to eat. The child went out into the forest, and there an old woman gave her a wonderful little pot. When you said to it, “Cook, little pot, cook,” it would cook good sweet porridge. And when you said, “Stop, little pot, stop,” it would stop cooking. The girl took the pot home to her mother, and theywere no longer hungry, but ate sweet porridge whenever they chose.
Once when the girl had gone out her mother said, “Cook, little pot, cook.” The mother ate till she was satisfied. But when she wanted the pot to stop she found she did not know the word. So it went on cooking and the porridge rose over the edge. STILL it cooked on until the kitchen and the whole house were full, and then the next house, and then the whole street, as if it meant to feed the whole world. No one could stop it.
At last when only one house remained the child came home from the opposite direction and just said, “Stop, little pot, stop,” and it stopped.
But whoever wished to come back to the town that night had to eat his way back.
—Folk story
Early in spring a couple of bluebirds set out to look for a home.
“What do you think of this vacant dove-cote for our nest, sweet wife?” asked he. “The view from the top of the gable is beautiful.”
“I am afraid of all these windows,” said she, peeping in at each. “The wind might prove too strong for our little ones when they come.”
“Parents must think of that,” said he. And on they flew.
Under the eaves of a barn they found an empty swallow’s nest. “The very thing for us,” they both cried, and alighted to look at it. At this minute who should arrive from the south but the swallow who owned it? He saw at once what they were at and flew straight into it, crying,
“Kwi-kwi-kwivet,My house is not to let.”
“Kwi-kwi-kwivet,My house is not to let.”
“Kwi-kwi-kwivet,My house is not to let.”
“Kwi-kwi-kwivet,
My house is not to let.”
“How delightful to own a home of your own,” said the she-bluebird.
“Isn’t it?” agreed the he-bluebird.
“Is that a wren’s house over there?” asked she, flying over. But when she attempted to poke her nose inside, out rushed two little wrens at her and scolded her away.
“My love,” said he, “how you are trembling. Let us build a house of our own.”
And that’s what they did. In a stump in an open field they found exactly the hole they wanted and there they made their nest.
It wasn’t long before their little ones came and found it the snuggest in the world.
One day a dog named Jip went for a walk. He came to a yard where there was a hen with her brood of chicks. Said Jip to himself, “A downy little yellow chick would make a sweet dinner for a dog. I think I’ll have it.” He turned in at the gate. But Mother Hen had something to say about it. “Cluck, cluck,” she cried to her chicks, and spread out her wings to hide them. Then she lowered her head, stuck out her sharp beak, and made straight for Jip. He turned tail and fled home as fast as his legs would carry him.
Once when some oxen went to their manger to eat hay they found a small dog in it. The dog growled and snapped at the oxen and would not let them come near the hay. The stableman saw it all. “Get out of there, you selfish cur!” he cried to the dog. “You cannot eat the hay yourself and you will not let those who can.” He seized a whip and the dog was glad to run yelping away.
—FromÆsop
A real apple and a clay apple lay side by side. The real apple was jealous of the clay apple. A little girl had smoothed and pressed and patted the cheek of the clay apple, but she had only looked at him. Soon along came the little girl with her hat and coat on. She picked up the real apple. “Come, ripe red apple,” said she; “we’ll go visiting. I know a little lame boy who will like a bite of you. My clay apple would never do for that.”
As she looked at him, the real apple felt himself turning a deeper red, he was so ashamed that he had been jealous.
A dog was crossing a stream of water, with a piece of meat in his mouth. As he looked down, he thought he saw another dog with a larger piece of meat. Said the greedy fellow to himself, “I’ll have that too.” He dropped his own meat and sprang into the water after the shadow. The real meat fell into the water and floated away.
—Æsop
One morning Tom’s right foot said to Tom’s left foot, “Let me go first.”
“No,” said Tom’s left foot, “you let me go first.”
“No,” said Tom’s right foot, “you let me go first.”
And they began all over again.
Suddenly Tom’s left ear remarked to Tom’s right ear, “Perhaps, the silly things will set out together.”
“The very thing to do,” cried both feet, and they started off. This left Tom without a leg to stand on. So he fell down and bruised them both.
They were black and blue for three whole days.
The wax doll went to visit the rag doll and sat in a sunny window, where the people passing might admire her.
“How handsome you are,” said the rag doll. “I wish I had large blue eyes and red and white cheeks. That white silk dress is very becoming.”
The wax doll only stared and smiled.
“Towser, the dog, leads me a life of it,” went on the rag doll. She felt she must make conversation for her guest. “Why,” said she, “the other day he tore me almost to pieces, when—” She stopped suddenly. Something dreadful was happening to the wax doll. Her face was running down on her white silk dress.
Just then in came the little girl who owned the dolls. “Dear, dear me,” said she, “the wax doll has melted,” and she threw her into a corner.
“After all,” said the rag doll to herself, thoughtfully, “I am not beautiful, and Towser troubles me, but I have much to be thankful for.”
One morning Tom met the geese on their way to the pond, and for once the gander was not leading them. Tom made sure of this. Gander had once chased him half a mile for teasing the geese.
“I’ll be master instead of the gander,” said he to the geese. “Shoo! back you go.” He spread out his arms to drive them back. When they turned to go, he ran around in front of them. “Shoo! forward you go,” said he. Once more the geese set off hopefully for the pond. “Shoo! back you go,” cried Tom. So he kept the poor geese running back and forth distracted.
At last one small goose plucked up her courage. “Hiss-s-s-s-s,” she cried, stretching out her long neck toward Tom. Instantly out went twenty necks and twenty geese made for Tom, crying, “Hiss-ss-ss-ss.” Tom took to his heels.
Under a rock lay a great brown, sharp-nosed creature, with a white tip to her brush, and round her four or five little cubs, the funniest fellows you eversaw. It was Mrs. Vixen, a mother fox, and her children.
The mother lay on her back, rolling about, and stretching out her legs and head and tail in the bright sunshine. The cubs jumped over her, and ran around her, and nibbled her paws, and lugged her about by the tail, and she enjoyed it mightily.
But one selfish little fellow put an end to all the fun. He stole away from the rest to a dead crow close by, and dragged it off to hide it, though it was nearly as big as himself. His brothers caught him at it and set off after him in full cry. Before they knew it they were seen by a man. They left the dead crow and ran back to tell their mother.
Up jumped Mrs. Vixen. She caught the smallest one up in her mouth, and the rest toddled after her. Soon she had them safe at home in a dark opening in the rocks. But the fun was over for that day.
—FromKingsley
“Why do you strike me and hold me in?” cried the hoop to the stick.
“Shall I let you go?” asked the stick.
“Do,” said the hoop; “I do not need your guidance.”
“Very well,” said the stick. And she let him go. Down the street rolled the hoop. Fast and fasterhe went. He could not stop himself. A turn in the flags headed him straight toward the street. Out he plunged under the wheels of a passing wagon, and was crushed to pieces.
Once a little round-faced clock lived on the desk of a man who wrote stories. The clock had a chance to hear most of the stories. For when the man finished a story he usually called a beautiful lady into the room and read it to her. The beautiful lady laughed at the fun in the story and the little clock’s face shone. But perhaps that is what a clean little clock’s face always does.
One day the man read from the story, “The prince and the princess were married just as the clock struck”—“One!” rang the little clock. Its heart almost stopped beating; it had not meant to interrupt the story.
The beautiful lady cried, “Why, the clock knows the story.” But she laughed as she said it.
What do you think about it?
The other day baby went on a voyage on the good shipHands and Knees. She crept out into the hall so softly that mother did not hear her go.
Out there was the cuckoo clock that said “R-r-r-r-.” Baby stopped and looked up at it. A door in the clock opened, and out came a little bird who cried, “Cuck-oo, cuck-oo, cuck-oo.” In he went again and the door shut.
Baby gurgled with glee. “I tee oo,” she cried. She sat down to wait for the little bird to come out and play again.
But mother found her, and carried her back on the good shipMother’s Arms.
One day four little white pigs and three little white geese met together near Rover’s kennel. But they were so full of themselves that they did not notice where they were.
“We stole out while Mother Sow was dozing after dinner,” screamed the little pigs. They laughed so much they rolled on the ground.
“We stole out while Mother Goose was gabbling with a neighbor,” giggled the little geese. And they hugged their sides to think how clever they were.
“What’s this! what’s this!” growled Rover, coming to the door of his kennel.
The pigs squealed with fright and the geese clacked in terror. All took to their heels, back to their mothers.
A merchant had done good business at the fair; he had sold his wares, and filled his bag with gold and silver. Then he set out at once on his journey home, for he wished to be in his own house before night. He packed his bag with the money on his horse, and rode away.
At noon he rested in a town; when he wanted to go on, the stable-boy brought out his horse, and said,—
“A nail is wanting, sir, in the shoe of its left hind foot.”
“Let it be wanting,” answered the merchant; “the shoe will stay on for the six miles I have still to go. I am in a hurry.” In the afternoon, when he once more got down and had his horse fed, the stable-boy went into the room to him, and said,—
“Sir, a shoe is wanting from your horse’s left hind foot. Shall I take him to the blacksmith?”
“Let it still be wanting,” said the man; “the horse can very well hold out for a couple of miles more. I am in a hurry.”
He rode forth, but before long the horse began to limp. It had not limped long before it began to stumble, and it had not stumbled long before it fell down and broke its leg. The merchant had to leave the horse where it was, and unstrap the bag, takeit on his back, and go home on foot. And he did not get there until quite late at night.
“That unlucky nail,” said he to himself, “has made all this trouble.”
Make haste slowly.
—Old tale
Anna Mary invited Dan, her dog, into the yard to see her make soap bubbles. She blew out a beautiful one shining with all the colors of the rainbow.
Dan watched it as it floated on the air. “What can the lovely thing be?” thought he to himself. It passed close to him. He put out his paw to touch it. The delicate bubble was gone. There was nothing but a wet spot on Dan’s inquisitive nose.
“Goosy Dan,” said Anna Mary, scolding him, “lovely moons floating in the air are not to be touched by clumsy paws.”
She blew the next one high above Dan’s head.
The peacock pretended not to see anyone. He strutted about picking up corn. But he must have glanced out of the corner of his eye every time he stooped for another kernel. For when a crowd had gathered he left off eating and faced about in front of the people.
He swelled out his chest till he could not see his ugly feet. Out he spread slowly his shining blue and green tail with its hundreds of eyes. It came up around his head like a gorgeous frame.
All the little boys and girls in the crowd held their breath until it came out in a great “Ah!” The peacock let them look a whole minute. Then he lowered his tail and strutted away.
The rooster with the reddest comb perched himself up on the gate-post to crow. As he stretched his neck he caught sight of another rooster higher up on the barn.
“I’ll have no one in this barnyard higher than I,” said he; “I am master here.” And he flew up at the rooster. But his wings were so short that he barely reached the edge of the roof. Had he fallen he would have been disgraced before all the fowls in the barnyard. He was so furious at the thought that he rushed up the sloping roof and pecked at the rooster savagely. The rooster never budged.
“Ha, ha, silly cockscomb!” screamed Poll, the parrot, shaking with laughter. “It serves you right. Did you hurt your beak? He isn’t a live rooster at all. He’s only a weathervane.”
The cobbler sat at his bench. The shoes stood in a row before him.
“Which shall I mend first?” thought he to himself. “I know,” he said aloud; “I’ll begin with whichever pair has walked most.”
At this out toddled baby’s shoes.
The cobbler laughed at them. “Why,” said he, “baby has been in the world only two years at most. You can’t have walked far yet.”
“Well,” said the shoe for the right foot, “baby’s mother says we never stop going until she takes us off at night. We notice that grown people sit down a great deal.”
“Well, well,” said the cobbler, “have your way.” So he waxed his thread and sewed a patch on each small sole.
Mary and Anna Jane were playing in the fields. Suddenly Mary stopped and said, “I wonder what time it is. Mother said we should go home at four o’clock.”
A dandelion spoke up politely. “My head will tell you what o’clock it is,” said he. “Blow it off, and, as you blow, count.”
“You are very kind, sir,” said Anna Jane. Mary was too much astonished to speak.
Anna Jane blew once. “One o’clock,” said she.
“Go on,” cried the dandelion. “My head is at your service.”
Anna Jane went on blowing and counting. “Two o’clock, three o’clock, four o’clock.” The whole head was off.
“Thank you, dandelion,” said Anna Jane, although she was not sure whether the dandelion could hear without his head. “It’s time for us to be going home.”
So Anna Jane and Mary went home at the right time.
It was time for the caterpillar to shut himself in and prepare for a new life. So he chose a low branch and began spinning his cocoon about him. He made it firm and strong, so that no one should break through it and disturb him. It wrapped him about like a shroud. The caterpillar lay down in it and waited.
Days passed and a new day came. The caterpillar burst from the cocoon, changed most gloriously; no longer a crawling worm, but a splendid butterfly with wings. At first he tried his wings timidly. Soon he spread them wide and flew up into the sunshine.
Grown people as well as little children wondered at the change, and felt joy in it.
One evening as Nan started out for a walk the white moon in the sky went before her.
“Why, the moon is coming, too,” said Nan, and she stood still, she was so surprised. The white moon stood still too. Nan walked on faster. The white moon went faster before her. At the corner Nan turned to go home. Now the white moon was behind, but it followed her even to the door. Nan looked up at it before going in, and the white moon looked down at Nan.
That night before she jumped into bed Nan looked out of the window. There in the starry sky was the moon gazing down at her.
“Were you waiting for me all this time, moon?” asked Nan. “I can’t come out until to-morrow night. We’ll have another walk then.”
And they did.
A great many years ago in far-off Italy lived Christopher Columbus. He did a wonderful thing. He and some companions and sailors set out in three small ships to cross the great wide ocean. The huge waves tossed the ships about and came up over their bows. The sailors were so terrified theybegged Columbus to turn back. But he was too brave to do that. He kept on till he came to a new country. It was America, our country. Then he and all with him knelt on the shore and gave thanks to God.
“Yesterday,” said the Moon to me, “I looked down into a small yard. There sat a clucking hen with eleven chicks, and a pretty little girl was running and jumping around them. The poor hen didn’t know what to make of it. She screamed and spread out her wings over her brood. The noise brought the girl’s father out. He scolded his daughter and sent her into the house. I glided on and thought no more about it.
“But this evening, only a few minutes ago, I looked down into the same yard. The hen and her chicks had gone to roost. Everything was quiet. Out came the little girl, crept to the hen-house, pushed back the bolt, and slipped in. The hen and chicks cried out at once and came fluttering down from their perches. I saw it all, for I looked through a hole in the hen-house wall. I was angry with the obstinate child. And so was her father. He came out and seized her by the arm.
“‘What are you about?’ he asked.
“The little girl wept and sobbed. ‘I wanted tokiss the hen and beg her pardon for frightening her yesterday, but she does not understand.”
“‘I do now,’ said her father. And he kissed her on the forehead and on the mouth and on the eyes. ‘You are my own sweet little daughter. The hen will understand best if you let her alone.’”
—Hans Christian Andersen
In a beautiful rose there dwelt a little elf. With a fairy microscope you could see his wings reaching from his shoulders to his feet. Without it you couldn’t see him at all.
One day when he went out into the sunshine to play he had such fun that he forgot all about getting home in time. He flew from flower to flower. He danced on the wings of the passing butterfly. Best of all, he measured how many steps it would take to cross all the roads made of veins on the geranium leaf.
It was this that delayed him so long. Before he knew it the sun was down, dewdrops sprinkled the leaf, and the night began to darken. The poor little elf was very much frightened. He began to shiver, too, with the cold. Indeed, he grew so numb that he could hardly spread his wings to fly back to the rosebush. But he managed it.
The beautiful rose was just closing her petals for the night. In he dived under the warm leaves.
The weed smelled rank to heaven. But she looked out at everyone as bold as brass.
“Hold up your heads,” she cried to the violets. “Push yourselves forward where people may see you.”
But the violets held down their heads modestly.
Along came Lucy looking for some flowers. “Ugh! what a rank smell that weed has!” she cried. She plucked it up by the root and threw it on a heap of rubbish. But she gathered a great bunch of the dewy violets for her grandmother’s birthday.
There was once on a time a maiden who was pretty but very lazy and wasteful. When a little knot came in the flax she was spinning, she at once pulled out a whole heap of it and threw it away. Her servant gathered up the bits of flax that had been thrown away, cleaned them, spun them, and wove them into a piece of fine linen. Out of this she made herself a beautiful dress.
Well, the maiden was to be married. On the eveof the wedding the servant was dancing about in the pretty dress she had made. The bride said to the bridegroom, “How that girl jumps about dressed in my odds and ends!” The bridegroom asked the bride what she meant. Then she told him that the servant was wearing a dress made of the flax she had thrown away. When the bridegroom heard that, he knew how lazy and wasteful she was.
“The other girl is the wife for me,” said he. And he married the other girl in the very dress she had made out of the odds and ends.
—Folk tale
One day as Abraham Lincoln rode along on his horse he saw a pig struggling to keep herself from sinking into a deep place filled with mud. The poor thing was squealing in terror, because the mud was sucking her in.
At first Lincoln rode by without stopping. But his kind heart could not forget the pig. He turned back, got down from his horse, and drew the pig out of the mud.
There was once a foolish little grasshopper that spent all her time playing. Through the longsummer and autumn she did nothing but sing from morning till night. So when winter came and the snow covered the ground, she hadn’t a morsel of food stored away in her house.
Soon she was so faint with hunger that she begged her neighbor, the ant, to give her something to eat. “I am starving,” she said; “give me a grain of wheat.”
“Why did you not save some grain at harvest time?” asked the ant. “There was plenty to be had. What were you doing?”
“I was singing,” answered the grasshopper. “I had no time for work.”
“Hoity toity!” cried the ant; “if you sang all summer you must dance hungry to bed in winter.”
—Æsop
A donkey and a mule set out with their master on a long journey. Each animal carried a load.
As he climbed the steep path up a mountain the donkey felt his load heavier than he could bear. He begged the mule to help him. “Help me, brother,” he cried, “or I shall drop.” But the mule pretended not to hear. After struggling along a little farther the poor donkey fell dead.
The master now placed the donkey’s load on the mule, giving him two loads to carry. And on top of both he piled the donkey.
“It serves me right,” said the mule to himself; “had I helped the donkey I should not now be carrying his burden.”
—Æsop
Once on a time, when the world was very young, the magpie was the only bird that did not know how to build a nest. She told her trouble to the other birds and they all met to teach her.
“Place that stick there,” said the blackbird. He flew over and did it for her himself.
“Oh,” said the magpie, “I knew that before.”
“Place this stick here,” said the thrush, placing it for her.
“Oh,” said the magpie, “I knew that before.”
The wren and the robin, the goldfinch and the chaffinch, the lark and the swallow, and many other birds went on showing her how to build the nest. As each bit was added, she said, “Oh, I knew that before.”
At last, when the nest was only half finished, the birds lost patience with the conceited empty-head.
“Well, Mistress Mag,” cried they, flying away, “as you know all about it, you may e’en finish the nest yourself.”
That is the reason the magpie’s nest is so badly made.
—Folk tale
One day the flowers flew off their stalks high into the air. They waved their leaves for wings. Because they behaved themselves so well the fairies let them fly again and again, and they no longer had to sit still on their stalks and remain home from morning till night. So by and by their leaves became wings. The flowers had changed into butterflies, red, yellow, and white.
—FromHans Christian Andersen
The organ-grinder called out to the monkey seated on his shoulder, “Dance for the children, Jacko, and I will play.”
Jacko swung himself lightly to the sidewalk, pulled off his velvet cap, and bowed low. Then he put the cap on again, pressing it down firmly on his head, and held out his little red skirt with his paws. “Begin,” cried his master. And Jacko began to step and turn and slide in time to the music.
The children clapped their hands. Faster and faster went the music and faster and faster went Jacko. At last he spun round and round until he looked like a red top. The music stopped suddenly. Jacko stood motionless on the very tip of his toes. After this he pulled off his cap and bowed low.
“Bravo, Jacko,” cried the children, and each threw a penny into his cap for food for himself and his master.
One day all the rabbits were close together near a back fence, sitting up on their haunches. The rabbit in the middle was telling the others a story. It was about a rabbit.
“So,” said he, going on with the story, “whenever the little rabbit was hungry all he had to say was