O
ONCE there was a girl whose name was Coralie. She was a very pretty girl, and very clever. She was so bright in her lessons at school that all she needed to do was to read them over once, and she knew them.
She lived in a pretty home, and was a great pet. Her parents loved her dearly, and although they were not well off, they gave Coralie everything she wished for that they could afford. So, you see, she had all the comforts of life, if not the luxuries.
You would think she would have been a very happy child, wouldn’t you? Well, she would have been if she had not had one very dreadful fault. Sometimes she told only half the truth; sometimes she told only quarter the truth; sometimes she stretched the truth so far that she broke it.
Her parents did everything they could to cure her of her dreadful fault, but everything failed. Even being in her room for a whole day with only bread and butter and milk did not help her. At last they became almost desperate.
One evening, after Coralie had gone to bed, her father said, “There is only one thing left, I suppose. We must take Coralie to the magician, Merlin.”
“Yes,” replied her mother with a sigh, “it is the only thing I can think of. You need not go, dear husband, for it will mean the loss of several days’ work. I will take her myself. We can start to-morrow morning.”
So in the morning, her mother and Coralie set out on their journey.
Now, the enchanter, Merlin, knew untruthful people even a long way off. He could tell them by their odor. So as Coralie and her mother drew near his palace, which was built of frosted glass, he threw some incense on the fire to keep himself from becoming ill.
At length, Coralie’s mother rang the door bell, and Merlin himself came to the door. “Good afternoon,” he said.
“Good afternoon,” replied Coralie’s mother; “we have come a long distance to see you, sir, because——”
Merlin raised his hand. “I know all about the reason,” he said. “You have come to see me because you cannot make your daughter tell the truth. She is one of the most untruthful children that ever lived. I know, because her lies often make me ill. When I smelled her coming, I had to burn incense;” and he frowned terribly.
You can imagine how this frightened Coralie. She hid behind her mother. Her mother seemed frightened, too.
“Oh, sir,” she begged, “please deal as gently with her as you can. We love her so dearly. We are so grieved that we cannot cure her our own selves.”
“Do not fear,” answered the magician. “I am not going to hurt her. All that I wish to do is to make her a present.”
So he invited them into the palace, and led the way to his workroom. All the woodwork in the room was light green. The windows were studded with red and blue and green jewels, and they threw rainbow colors on the floor.
Merlin went to a golden table, and, opening a drawer, took out a beautiful amethyst necklace, with a diamond clasp. He threw the necklace around Coralie’s neck.
“That is all,” he said to her mother. “You may go. I am going to lend my magic necklace of truth to Coralie. I shall come for it in one year.” Then he turned to Coralie, and said, “Do not take it off. If you do, great harm may come to you. Good-by,” and he clapped his hands twice.
He Threw the Necklace Around Coralie’s Neck
He Threw the Necklace Around Coralie’s Neck
Two slaves appeared, and after bowing before Merlin, showed Coralie and her mother to the door.
Coralie, of course, was delighted with the necklace. All her life long she had wished for jewelry, but her parents could not afford to get her anything but the pretty seal ring which she wore. As to getting such a necklace as Merlin had given her, it would have taken everything they owned in the world to so much as buy the diamond clasp.
When she went back to school, the girls all gathered about her and began to admire the necklace.
“Isn’t it beautiful!” they exclaimed. “What a lucky girl! Your people must have fallen heirs to a fortune!”
“Isn’t it pretty!” said Coralie, lifting the sparkling string for them to see better. “Yes, my father and mother gave it to me. You see, I have been ill, and they were so glad when I got well that they gave me this for a present.”
“Oh! Oh! Oh!” cried the girls.
And no wonder they did, for all the sparkle left the necklace, and it looked dull and old and scratched.
“What is the matter?” asked Coralie. “Don’t you think my parents could give it to me? They bought it, and paid an immense sum for it.”
At that falsehood, the necklace turned from the light purple amethyst color to a dull gray agate, and the diamond clasp to a mud-color shade. Then Coralie saw what had happened, and she was frightened.
“No,” she said, “they did not give it to me. We went to the magician, Merlin, and he lent it to me.”
At these truthful words, the necklace became as beautiful as ever. But the children began to laugh.
“What are you laughing at?” asked Coralie. “You needn’t make fun. Merlin was very glad to see us. When he saw us in the distance he sent his carriage to meet us. It was drawn by two fawn-colored horses, and the coachman wore livery. There was agreat feast spread for us, and each of us had a servant in back of our chairs. We had golden plates to eat from, and——”
Suddenly Coralie stopped speaking, for the children were laughing at her harder than ever. She looked down at her necklace. No wonder they laughed. It was dull again in color, and had grown so long it rested upon the ground.
“Ho, ho, Coralie!” cried one. “Come, now! You are stretching the truth! Set us right!”
“Well,” confessed Coralie, “Merlin didn’t send any one to meet us. We walked, and we were in his palace only a little while.”
At these words, the necklace shrank to its right size, and resumed its own beautiful color.
“But now, Coralie,” cried the children, “but now tell us truly where you got the necklace. Did the magician give it to you?”
“Yes,” said Coralie, “he just handed it to me without saying a word. I think he——”
She did not finish the sentence, for the necklace had suddenly grown so tight that it was choking her, and she was gasping for breath.
“Come, come, Coralie!” cried one of the girls. “You are keeping back part of the truth! Tell the truth! What happened?”
“He said I was one of the most untruthful persons in the world,” admitted Coralie; and the necklace became itself again.
And so things kept on. Every time Coralie tried to say one untruthful thing, the necklace behaved in some queer, frightful way. Even the children became sorry for her, for she began to look worried all the time.
“If I were you, I’d take the necklace back,” one of the girls told her. “It gives you no happiness at all.”
“Indeed it doesn’t,” said Coralie, “I wish I——”
“Why don’t you take it back?” the girl asked.
Now, Coralie did not wish to tell her, and kept still, forshe was wondering what she could possibly say; but the necklace began to act wildly. The stones began to dance up and down so hard that they hurt her.
“Merlin told me I must not take it off,” she said. “If I should do so, great harm would come to me. He is coming for it when I’ve worn it for a year.”
And the necklace shone just a little more brightly than before, and the diamond clasp sparkled so that it would have dazzled your eyes to look at it.
And after that Coralie began to lose the worried look, for the telling of the truth was beginning to be a habit with her. The necklace very seldom had to remind her, for every day it grew easier for her to tell the truth.
And when Merlin came for his necklace, he brought her a far more beautiful gift than the necklace, but it was one that she could not wear showily. It was a necklace of pearls, pearls of great price which she wore just over her heart. You see, Merlin needed his magic necklace for another child who did not tell the truth.
Nobody knows where the magic necklace is to-day; but if I were a child in the habit of telling falsehoods, I should not feel quite sure that it would not be found again.
* * * * * *
“Will it?” asked Mary Frances, as the Story Lady finished the story.
“It may be,” said the Story King. “I have an idea where it is. Why? Do you know any children who do not speak the truth?”
“I—I am sorry to say that I do,” Mary Frances said. “I do not know many, though. I know two who do not always tell the truth; and I know one child who isn’t kind to her pet cat. I wish I knew a story to tell her when I go home.”
“All right, perhaps you would like to hear the story of Linda.”
“Please tell it to me?” she asked.
So the Story Lady told the story of “The Cat and the Carrots.”