Summer passed and ShawondaseeBreathed his sighs o’er all the landscape,From the South-land sent his ardours,Wafted kisses warm and tender;And the maize-field grew and ripened,Till it stood in all the splendourOf its garments green and yellow,Of its tassels and its plumage,And the maize-ears full of shiningGleamed from bursting sheaths of verdure.Then Nokomis, the old woman,Spake, and said to Minnehaha,“’Tis the Moon when leaves are falling,All the wild rice has been gathered,And the maize is ripe and ready;Let us gather in the harvest,Let us wrestle with Mondamin,Strip him of his plumes and tassels,Of his garments green and yellow.”And the merry Laughing WaterWent rejoicing from the wigwam,With Nokomis, old and wrinkled,And they called the women round them,Called the young men and the maidens,To the harvest of the cornfields,To the husking of the maize-ear.Henry W. Longfellow.
Summer passed and ShawondaseeBreathed his sighs o’er all the landscape,From the South-land sent his ardours,Wafted kisses warm and tender;And the maize-field grew and ripened,Till it stood in all the splendourOf its garments green and yellow,Of its tassels and its plumage,And the maize-ears full of shiningGleamed from bursting sheaths of verdure.Then Nokomis, the old woman,Spake, and said to Minnehaha,“’Tis the Moon when leaves are falling,All the wild rice has been gathered,And the maize is ripe and ready;Let us gather in the harvest,Let us wrestle with Mondamin,Strip him of his plumes and tassels,Of his garments green and yellow.”And the merry Laughing WaterWent rejoicing from the wigwam,With Nokomis, old and wrinkled,And they called the women round them,Called the young men and the maidens,To the harvest of the cornfields,To the husking of the maize-ear.Henry W. Longfellow.
Summer passed and ShawondaseeBreathed his sighs o’er all the landscape,From the South-land sent his ardours,Wafted kisses warm and tender;And the maize-field grew and ripened,Till it stood in all the splendourOf its garments green and yellow,Of its tassels and its plumage,And the maize-ears full of shiningGleamed from bursting sheaths of verdure.Then Nokomis, the old woman,Spake, and said to Minnehaha,“’Tis the Moon when leaves are falling,All the wild rice has been gathered,And the maize is ripe and ready;Let us gather in the harvest,Let us wrestle with Mondamin,Strip him of his plumes and tassels,Of his garments green and yellow.”And the merry Laughing WaterWent rejoicing from the wigwam,With Nokomis, old and wrinkled,And they called the women round them,Called the young men and the maidens,To the harvest of the cornfields,To the husking of the maize-ear.Henry W. Longfellow.
Jack Frost visited Farmer Crane’s field one night, and the next morning the gold of the pumpkins shone more brilliantly than ever through their silver coverings.
“It is of no use,” said one large pumpkin to another lying beside it. “It is of no use. I was never made to be cut up for pumpkin pies. I feel I was put here for something higher.”
“Why, what do you mean?” said the other. “You never seemed dissatisfied before. You quite take my breath away.”
“Well, to tell the truth, I do not like the thought of being cut up and served on a table like an ordinary pumpkin. See how large I am, and what a glorious colour. Tell me, did you ever see a pumpkin more beautiful?”
“You are beautiful, indeed, but I never thought of being made for anything but pies. Do tell me of what other use can one be?”
“Well, I have always thought that I am not like the other pumpkins in this field, and when Farmer Crane pointed me out as the finest one he had, I heard him say, ‘That would be a fine one for a fair.’ It was not till then that I really knew for what I was intended.”
“I do remember,” answered the other. “Yes, I do remember hearing about some pumpkins’ being taken to a county fair once, but I never heard how they liked it. As for myself, I should be proud to be made into delicious pies and served on a beautiful plate.”
“How can you be satisfied with that thought? But there is Farmer Crane now. He is gathering some of thesmallerpumpkins to make pies with, I think.”
“Perhaps he knows best what you are made for,” answered the other.
Farmer Crane was soon at their side, and was looking from one to the other.
“What fine pies they will make. I had better take them now, I think,” he said, and they were quickly added to the golden heap already on the wagon.
How happy they all were—all but one that lay on the top of the large pile.
“It is hard to be thrown in with these ordinary pumpkins. If I could only slip off by myself. Perhaps there is at least a place at the bottom of the wagon where I can be alone.”
It was a long way from the top of the pile to the bed of the wagon, but it was very little trouble to slip away from the rest. It would take only a second, and then he could be away from the others. But alas! the discontented pumpkin slipped a little too far, and I’m sorry to say, soon lay on the frozen ground, a shattered heap.
“Dear me,” said the pumpkins in one breath; “see, that fine fellow has slipped off, and is broken to pieces. What a feast the cows and pigs will have.”
“It is too bad,” said one.
“And he was so anxious to be taken to a fair,” added another.
Hurrah for the tiny seed!Hurrah for the flower and vine!Hurrah for the golden pumpkin;Yellow and plump and fine!But better than all beginnings,Sure, nobody can deny,Is the end of the whole procession——This glorious pumpkin pie!
Hurrah for the tiny seed!Hurrah for the flower and vine!Hurrah for the golden pumpkin;Yellow and plump and fine!But better than all beginnings,Sure, nobody can deny,Is the end of the whole procession——This glorious pumpkin pie!
Hurrah for the tiny seed!Hurrah for the flower and vine!Hurrah for the golden pumpkin;Yellow and plump and fine!But better than all beginnings,Sure, nobody can deny,Is the end of the whole procession——This glorious pumpkin pie!
I see you on the zig zag rails,You cheery little fellow!While purple leaves are whirling down,And scarlet, brown or yellow.I hear you when the air is fullOf snow-down of the thistle;All in your speckled jacket trim,“Bob White! Bob White!” you whistle.Tall amber sheaves, in rustling rows,Are nodded there to greet you,I know that you are out for play——How I should like to meet you!Though blithe of voice, so shy you are,In this delightful weather;What splendid playmates, you and I,Bob White, would make together.There, you are gone! but far awayI hear your whistle falling,Ah! maybe it is hide and seek,And that’s why you are calling.Along those hazy uplands wideWe’d be such merry rangers;What! silent now and hidden, too?Bob White, don’t let’s be strangers.Perhaps you teach your brood the game,In yonder rainbowed thicket,While winds are playing with the leaves,And softly creaks the cricket.“Bob White! Bob White!” again I hearThat blithely whistled chorus,Why should we not companions be?One Father watches o’er us!George Cooper.
I see you on the zig zag rails,You cheery little fellow!While purple leaves are whirling down,And scarlet, brown or yellow.I hear you when the air is fullOf snow-down of the thistle;All in your speckled jacket trim,“Bob White! Bob White!” you whistle.Tall amber sheaves, in rustling rows,Are nodded there to greet you,I know that you are out for play——How I should like to meet you!Though blithe of voice, so shy you are,In this delightful weather;What splendid playmates, you and I,Bob White, would make together.There, you are gone! but far awayI hear your whistle falling,Ah! maybe it is hide and seek,And that’s why you are calling.Along those hazy uplands wideWe’d be such merry rangers;What! silent now and hidden, too?Bob White, don’t let’s be strangers.Perhaps you teach your brood the game,In yonder rainbowed thicket,While winds are playing with the leaves,And softly creaks the cricket.“Bob White! Bob White!” again I hearThat blithely whistled chorus,Why should we not companions be?One Father watches o’er us!George Cooper.
I see you on the zig zag rails,You cheery little fellow!While purple leaves are whirling down,And scarlet, brown or yellow.I hear you when the air is fullOf snow-down of the thistle;All in your speckled jacket trim,“Bob White! Bob White!” you whistle.
Tall amber sheaves, in rustling rows,Are nodded there to greet you,I know that you are out for play——How I should like to meet you!Though blithe of voice, so shy you are,In this delightful weather;What splendid playmates, you and I,Bob White, would make together.
There, you are gone! but far awayI hear your whistle falling,Ah! maybe it is hide and seek,And that’s why you are calling.Along those hazy uplands wideWe’d be such merry rangers;What! silent now and hidden, too?Bob White, don’t let’s be strangers.
Perhaps you teach your brood the game,In yonder rainbowed thicket,While winds are playing with the leaves,And softly creaks the cricket.“Bob White! Bob White!” again I hearThat blithely whistled chorus,Why should we not companions be?One Father watches o’er us!George Cooper.
Emma Florence Bush.
Once there was a little pumpkin that grew on a vine in a field. All day long the sun shone on him, and the wind blew gently around him. Sometimes the welcome rain fell softly upon him, and as the vine sent her roots deep down into the earth and drew the good sustenance from it, and it flowed through her veins, the little pumpkin drank greedily of the good juice, and grew bigger and bigger, and rounder and rounder, and firmer and firmer.
By and by he grew so big he understood all that the growing things around him were saying, and he listened eagerly.
“I came from the seed of a Jack-o’-lantern,” said this vine to a neighbour, “therefore I must grow all Jack-o’-lanterns.”
“So did I,” said a neighbour, “but no Jack-o’-lanterns for me. It is too hard a life. I am going to grow just plain pumpkins.”
When the little pumpkin heard he was supposed to be a Jack-o’-lantern, he grew very worried, for he could not see that he was in any way different from any ordinary pumpkin, and if Mother Vine expected him to be a Jack-o’-lantern, he did not want to disappoint her.
At last he grew so unhappy over it that the dancing little sunbeams noticed it. “What is the matter, little pumpkin?” they cried. “Why do you not hold up your head and look around as you used to do?”
“Because,” answered the little pumpkin, sadly, “I have to be a Jack-o’-lantern, and I don’t know how. All I know about is how to be a little yellow pumpkin.”
Then the merry little breezes laughed and laughed until they shook the vine so that all the pumpkins had to tighten their hold not to be shaken off. “Oh, little pumpkin!” they cried, “why worry about what you will have to do later? Just try with all your might to be a little yellow pumpkin, and believe that if you do the best you can,everything will be all right. We know a secret, a beautiful secret, and some day we will tell it to you.”
“Oh, tell me now!” cried the little pumpkin, but the sunbeams and breezes laughed together, and chuckled,
“Oh no, oh no, oh no!Just grow and grow and grow,And some day you will know.”
“Oh no, oh no, oh no!Just grow and grow and grow,And some day you will know.”
“Oh no, oh no, oh no!Just grow and grow and grow,And some day you will know.”
The little pumpkin felt comforted. “After all,” he thought, “perhaps if I cannot be a Jack-o’-lantern I can be a good pumpkin, and I am so far down on the vine perhaps Mother Vine won’t notice me.” He looked around, and saw that all his brothers and sisters were only little pumpkins, too.
“Oh, dear,” he cried, “are we going to disappoint Mother Vine? Aren’t any of us going to be Jack-o’-lanterns?” Then all his little brothers and sisters laughed, and said, “What do we care about being Jack-o’-lanterns? All we care about is to eat the good juice, and grow and grow.”
At last came the cold weather, and all the little pumpkins were now big ones, and a beautiful golden yellow. The biggest and yellowest of all was the little pumpkin who had tried so hard all summer to grow into a Jack-o’-lantern. He could not believe Mother Vine did not see him now, for he had grown so big that every one who saw him exclaimed about him, and Mother Vine did not seem at all disappointed, she just kept at work carrying the good food that kept her pumpkin children well fed.
At last one frosty morning, a crowd of children came to the field. “The pumpkins are ready,” they cried. “The pumpkins are ready; and we are going to find the biggest and yellowest and nicest to make a Jack-o’-lantern for the Thanksgiving party. All the grandmothers and grandfathers and aunts and uncles will see it, and we are going to eat the pies made from it.”
They looked here and there, all over the field, and pushed aside the vines to see better. All at once they saw the little pumpkin. “Oh!” they cried, “What a perfect Jack-o’-lantern! So big and firm andround and yellow! This shall be the Jack-o’-lantern for our Thanksgiving party, and it is so large there will be pie enough for every one.”
Then they picked the pumpkin and carried him to the barn. Father cut a hole in the top around the stem, lifted it off carefully and scooped out the inside, and the children carried it to mother in the kitchen. Then father made eyes and a nose and mouth, and fitted a big candle inside. “Oh, see the beautiful Jack-o’-lantern!” they cried.
The little pumpkin waited in the barn. “At last I am a Jack-o’-lantern,” he said. After a time it grew dark, and father came and carried him into the house, and lighted the candle, and put him right in the middle of the table, and all the grandmothers and grandfathers, and aunts and uncles, cried, “Oh, what a beautiful, big, round, yellow Jack-o’-lantern!”
Then the little pumpkin was happy, for he knew Mother Vine would have been proud of him, and he shone—shone—SHONE, until the candle was all burned out.
Then came the Autumn all in yellow clad,As though he joyèd in his plenteous store,Laden with fruits that made him laugh, full gladThat he had banished hunger, which to-foreHad by the body oft him pinchèd sore:Upon his head a wreath, that was enroll’dWith ears of corn of every sort, he bore;And in his hand a sickle he did hold,To reap the ripen’d fruits the which the earth had yold.Edmund Spenser.
Then came the Autumn all in yellow clad,As though he joyèd in his plenteous store,Laden with fruits that made him laugh, full gladThat he had banished hunger, which to-foreHad by the body oft him pinchèd sore:Upon his head a wreath, that was enroll’dWith ears of corn of every sort, he bore;And in his hand a sickle he did hold,To reap the ripen’d fruits the which the earth had yold.Edmund Spenser.
Then came the Autumn all in yellow clad,As though he joyèd in his plenteous store,Laden with fruits that made him laugh, full gladThat he had banished hunger, which to-foreHad by the body oft him pinchèd sore:Upon his head a wreath, that was enroll’dWith ears of corn of every sort, he bore;And in his hand a sickle he did hold,To reap the ripen’d fruits the which the earth had yold.Edmund Spenser.
The katydids say it as plain as can beAnd the crickets are singing it under the trees;In the asters’ blue eyes you may read the same hint,Just as clearly as if you had seen it in print.And the corn sighs it, too, as it waves in the sun,That autumn is here and summer is done.Persis Gardiner.
The katydids say it as plain as can beAnd the crickets are singing it under the trees;In the asters’ blue eyes you may read the same hint,Just as clearly as if you had seen it in print.And the corn sighs it, too, as it waves in the sun,That autumn is here and summer is done.Persis Gardiner.
The katydids say it as plain as can beAnd the crickets are singing it under the trees;In the asters’ blue eyes you may read the same hint,Just as clearly as if you had seen it in print.And the corn sighs it, too, as it waves in the sun,That autumn is here and summer is done.Persis Gardiner.
Patten Beard
From “The Bluebird’s Garden.” Used by special permission of the author and the Pilgrim Press.
Long, long, long ago—so long that this story has had time to grow into a garden legend—two green grasshoppers went out, one fine day, to play with a cricket. They played tag, and I’m on gypsyland. At last they decided to have a game of hide-and-seek.
The goal was a blade of grass, and they counted out to see who should be goal man. It fell to the little cricket, Katy-did. She was to hide her eyes behind the grassblade, and count up to one hundred by tens, while the two grasshoppers went off to hide.
So the cricket hid her face so that she could not see, and began: “Ten, twenty, thirty, forty, fifty, sixty, seventy, eighty, ninety, one hundred! Coming!”
Though there were plenty of good places in which to hide in the garden, one green grasshopper had been slow to suit himself. He had not yet hidden when the little cricket turned about and caught him.
And he began, “You didn’t count up to a hundred! I didn’t have time to hide! You should have hollered, ‘Coming!’ It’s no fair! I’m not going to play any more—you didn’t count up to a hundred!”
At this, the other grasshopper came out of hiding. “She did count up to a hundred,” he said, “Katy did!”
She didn’t”She did!”She didn’t!”Katy did, did, did!”Katy didn’t, didn’t, didn’t!”Did, did, did!”Didn’t, didn’t, didn’t!”Katy did!”Katy didn’t!”She did!”She didn’t!”Katy did!”Katy didn’t!”
She didn’t”She did!”She didn’t!”Katy did, did, did!”Katy didn’t, didn’t, didn’t!”Did, did, did!”Didn’t, didn’t, didn’t!”Katy did!”Katy didn’t!”She did!”She didn’t!”Katy did!”Katy didn’t!”
To this very, very day, you can hear the dispute still going on in the garden, and the game of tag has never yet been finished. Ever since that time the grasshoppers who started the discussion have been called katydids, and the whole garden is full of the controversy. You can hear hundreds of little voices keeping it up, though nothing is ever decided. So it goes on eternally, Katy did—Katy didn’t, did, did, did, didn’t, didn’t, she did, she didn’t—for nobody has ever yet settled a dispute by contradiction. By this time, too, everyone has forgotten what the quarrel was about.
Old Dame Cricket, down in a thicket,Brought up her children nine,——Queer little chaps, in glossy black capsAnd brown little suits so fine.“My children,” she said,“The birds are abed:Go and make the dark earth glad!Chirp while you can!”And then she began,——Till, oh, what a concert they had!They hopped with delight,They chirped all night,Singing, “Cheer up! cheer up! cheer!”Old Dame Cricket,Down in the thicket,Sat awake till dawn to hear.“Nice children,” she said,“And very well bred.My darlings have done their best.Their naps they must take:The birds are awake;And they can sing all the rest.”
Old Dame Cricket, down in a thicket,Brought up her children nine,——Queer little chaps, in glossy black capsAnd brown little suits so fine.“My children,” she said,“The birds are abed:Go and make the dark earth glad!Chirp while you can!”And then she began,——Till, oh, what a concert they had!They hopped with delight,They chirped all night,Singing, “Cheer up! cheer up! cheer!”Old Dame Cricket,Down in the thicket,Sat awake till dawn to hear.“Nice children,” she said,“And very well bred.My darlings have done their best.Their naps they must take:The birds are awake;And they can sing all the rest.”
Old Dame Cricket, down in a thicket,Brought up her children nine,——Queer little chaps, in glossy black capsAnd brown little suits so fine.“My children,” she said,“The birds are abed:Go and make the dark earth glad!Chirp while you can!”And then she began,——Till, oh, what a concert they had!
They hopped with delight,They chirped all night,Singing, “Cheer up! cheer up! cheer!”Old Dame Cricket,Down in the thicket,Sat awake till dawn to hear.
“Nice children,” she said,“And very well bred.My darlings have done their best.Their naps they must take:The birds are awake;And they can sing all the rest.”
Harriet Beecher Stowe
Miss Katy-Did sat on the branch of a flowering azalia in her best suit of fine green and silver, with wings of point-lace from mother nature’s finest web.
Her gallant cousin, Colonel Katy-Did, had looked in to make her a morning call.
“Certainly I am a pretty creature,” she said to herself when the gallant Colonel said something about being dazzled by her beauty.
“The fact is, my dear Colonel,” said Miss Katy, “I am thinking of giving a party, and you must help me make out the lists.”
“My dear, you make me the happiest of Katy-Dids.”
“Now,” said Miss Katy, drawing an azalia leaf towards her, “let us see—whom shall we have? The Fireflies are a little unsteady, but they are so brilliant, everybody wants them—and they belong to the higher circles.”
“Yes, we must have the Fireflies,” said the colonel.
“Well, then—and the Butterflies and the Moths, now there’s the trouble. There are so many Moths, and they’re so dull. Still if you have the Butterflies you can’t leave out the Moths.”
“Old Mrs. Moth has been ill lately. That may keep two or three of the Misses Moth at home,” said the colonel.
“I thought she was never sick,” said Miss Katy-Did.
“Yes, I understand she and her family ate up a whole fur cape last month, and it disagreed with them.”
“Oh, how can they eat such things as worsted and fur?” then sneered Miss Katy-Did.
“By your fairy-like delicacy one can see that you couldn’t eat such things,” smiled the colonel.
“Mamma says she doesn’t know what keeps me alive. Half a dewdrop and a little bit of the nicest part of a rose-leaf often lasts me for aday. But to our list. Let’s see,—the Fireflies, Butterflies, Moths. The Bees must come, I suppose.”
“The Bees are a worthy family,” nodded the colonel.
“Yes, but dreadfully humdrum. They never talk about anything but honey and housekeeping.”
“Then there are the Bumble Bees.”
“Oh, I dote on them,” said Miss Katy-Did. “General Bumble is one of the most dashing, brilliant fellows of the day.”
“He’s shockingly fat!” said the colonel.
“Yes, he is a little stout,” nodded Miss Katy-Did, “but he is very elegant in his manners,—something soldierly and breezy about him.”
“If you invite the Bumble Bees, you must have the Hornets.”
“Ah, they are spiteful,—I detest them.”
“Nevertheless, one must not offend the Hornets, and how about the Mosquitoes?” asked the Colonel.
“They are very common. Can’t one cut them?”
“I think not, my dear Miss Katy. Young Mosquito is connected with some of our leading papers, and he carries a sharp pen. It will never do to offend him.”
“And I suppose one must ask all his dreadful relations, too,” sighed Miss Katy.
At this moment they saw Miss Keziah Cricket coming. She carried her workbag on her arm, and she asked for a subscription to help a poor family of Ants who had just had their house hoed up by some one who was clearing the garden walks.
“How stupid of the Ants,” said Katy, “not to know better than to put their house in a garden-walk.”
“Ah, they are in great trouble,” said Miss Cricket. “Their stores are all destroyed, and their father killed—cut quite in two by a hoe.”
“How very shocking! I don’t like to hear such disagreeable things. But I have nothing to give. Mamma said yesterday she didn’t know how our bills were to be paid,—and there’s my green satin with point lace yet to come home,” said Miss Katy, shrugging her shoulders.
Little Miss Cricket hopped briskly off. “Poor, extravagant little thing,” she said to herself.
“Shall you invite the Crickets?” said Colonel Katy-Did.
“Why, Colonel, what a question! I invite the Crickets? No, indeed.”
“And shall you ask the Locusts or the Grasshoppers?”
“Certainly. The Locusts, of course—a very old and fine family, and the Grasshoppers are pretty well, and ought to be asked. But one must draw the line somewhere—and the Crickets! Why, I can’t think of them.”
“I thought they were very nice, respectable people,” said the colonel.
“Oh, perfectly nice and respectable,—but——”
“Do explain, my dear Katy.”
“Why, theircolour, to be sure. Don’t you see?”
“Oh!” said the colonel. “That’s it, is it? And tell me, please, who decides what colour shall be the reigning colour?”
“What a question! The only true colour—the only proper one—isourcolour to be sure. A lovely pea green is the shade on which to found an aristocratic distinction. Of course, we are liberal; we associate with the Moths, who are gray; with the Butterflies, who are blue and gold coloured; with the Grasshoppers, yellow and brown; and society would become dreadfully mixed if it were not fortunately ordered that the Crickets are as black as jet. The fact is that a class to be looked down upon is necessary to all elegant society, and if the Crickets were not black we could not keep them down. Everybody knows they are often a great deal cleverer than we are. They have a vast talent for music and dancing; they are very quick at learning, and would be getting to the very top of the ladder if we allowed them to climb. Now, so long as we are green and they are black, we have a superiority that can never be taken from us. Don’t you see now?”
“Oh, yes, I see exactly,” said the colonel. “Now that Keziah Cricket, who just came in here, is quite a musician, and her old father plays the violin beautifully; by the way, we might engage him for our orchestra.”
And so Miss Katy’s ball came off. It lasted from sundown till daybreak, so that it seemed as if every leaf in the forest were alive. The Katy-Dids, and the Mosquitoes, and the Locusts, and a full orchestra of Crickets made the air perfectly vibrate.
Old Parson Too-Whit was shocked at the gaieties, which were kept up by the pleasure-loving Katy-Dids night after night.
But about the first of September the celebrated Jack Frost epidemic broke out. Poor Miss Katy, with her flimsy green satin, and point lace, was one of the first victims, and fell from the bough in company with a sad shower of last year’s leaves.
The worthy Cricket family, however, avoided Jack Frost by moving in time to the chimney corner of a nice little cottage that had been built in the wood. There good old Mr. and Mrs. Cricket, with sprightly Miss Keziah and her brothers and sisters, found a warm and welcome home. When the storm howled without, and lashed the poor, naked trees, the crickets on the warm hearth would chirp out cheery welcome to the happy family in the cottage.
(Adapted.)
Little cricket, full of mirth,Chirping on my kitchen hearth;Wheresoever be thine abode,Always harbinger of good.Pay me for thy warm retreatWith a song more soft and sweet;In return thou shalt receiveSuch a strain as I can give.William Cowper.
Little cricket, full of mirth,Chirping on my kitchen hearth;Wheresoever be thine abode,Always harbinger of good.Pay me for thy warm retreatWith a song more soft and sweet;In return thou shalt receiveSuch a strain as I can give.William Cowper.
Little cricket, full of mirth,Chirping on my kitchen hearth;Wheresoever be thine abode,Always harbinger of good.Pay me for thy warm retreatWith a song more soft and sweet;In return thou shalt receiveSuch a strain as I can give.William Cowper.
Used by special permission of Charles Scribner and Sons.
All around the house is the jet black night,It stares through the window-pane,It creeps in the corners hiding from the lightAnd it moves with the moving flame.Now my little heart goes a-beating like a drum,With the breath of the bogie in my hair,While all around the candle the crooked shadows comeAnd go marching along up the stair.The shadow of the baluster, the shadow of the light,The shadow of the child that goes to bed,All the wicked shadows come a tramp, tramp, tramp,With the black night overhead.Robert Louis Stevenson.
All around the house is the jet black night,It stares through the window-pane,It creeps in the corners hiding from the lightAnd it moves with the moving flame.Now my little heart goes a-beating like a drum,With the breath of the bogie in my hair,While all around the candle the crooked shadows comeAnd go marching along up the stair.The shadow of the baluster, the shadow of the light,The shadow of the child that goes to bed,All the wicked shadows come a tramp, tramp, tramp,With the black night overhead.Robert Louis Stevenson.
All around the house is the jet black night,It stares through the window-pane,It creeps in the corners hiding from the lightAnd it moves with the moving flame.Now my little heart goes a-beating like a drum,With the breath of the bogie in my hair,While all around the candle the crooked shadows comeAnd go marching along up the stair.The shadow of the baluster, the shadow of the light,The shadow of the child that goes to bed,All the wicked shadows come a tramp, tramp, tramp,With the black night overhead.Robert Louis Stevenson.
One Hallowe’en a band of merry pixies were dancing round and round a bright green ring in the meadow. In the center stood the Little Fiddler, playing his gayest music, and keeping time with his head and one tiny foot. The faster he played, the merrier the little creatures danced. What sport it was to twirl and twist in time with the fairy music, which the jolly little elf brought out from his tiny instrument. No wonder the pixies laughed until their sides ached. And so, indeed, did their little musician. Sometimes he was obliged to stop playing for a few seconds in order to catch his breath.
Now there was one pixie named Twinkling Feet who was the best dancer in the ring, and he could cut such queer little capers that hiscompanions fairly shrieked with laughter when they looked at him. Suddenly he thought what sport it would be to play a trick on all the little dancers. Very slyly he tripped his partner, and the two fell down in the grass, dragging with them one pixie after another until all in the circle were sprawling on the ground. There they lay for several seconds, a wriggling mass of green coats and red caps. It was some time before they could pick themselves up. Many of them laughed heartily at the mishap, but a few were so badly bruised that they were obliged to slip away and bathe their shins in the evening dew.
“Who tripped first in the ring?”
“Who made us fall on our stumjackets?”
“Who spoiled our Hallowe’en dance?” asked one little pixie after another.
“Twinkling Feet and I fell first,” said the best dancer’s partner. “I don’t know what made us tangle our feet, do you?” he asked, laughing and turning to his companion.
But Twinkling Feet’s little brown face was so drawn and sober that his partner asked quickly, “Why, whatisthe matter with you?”
“I don’t know,” said the little elf.
“Why,do lookat him,” cried another pixie.
“Does anything hurt you?” asked several little creatures together.
“I feel very queer,” said Twinkling Feet.
“Have you what mortals call ‘pain?’” asked his partner.
“I don’t know what that is, but I feel very, very queer. Please ask the Little Fiddler if he knows what is the matter with me.”
The group of pixies that had gathered around Twinkling Feet moved away in order to let the elfin musician come close to the queer-looking pixie. The little Fiddler gazed steadily at him, shook his white head, and said slowly, “A frightful thing has happened. Twinkling Feet has lost his laugh!”
“Lost his laugh!” shrieked all the other little elfs.
“He has lost his laugh!” repeated the Fiddler Pixie.
“Lost my laugh,” moaned Twinkling Feet. “Oh, please tell me what to do.”
“There is nothing to do but go and search for it. You can not dancein a pixie ring without your laugh, and mark what I say, you must find it before midnight.”
“But what if Ican’tfind it?” cried the frightened elf.
“Then you’ll be a pixiewithout a laugh—that is all,” declared the Little Fiddler.
At these awful words every pixie’s face grew sober. They looked at each other very solemnly and said, “A pixie without a laugh! How terrible!”
Then one after another they cried out. “Search for it, Twinkling Feet. Perhaps you’ll find it before midnight. Start now. Think how sad it will be if you are never able to dance in the ring again.”
“Where shall I go, Fiddler Pixie?” asked Twinkling Feet.
“Well, you might ask Jack-o’-Lantern,” said the musician. “He’s been flitting about in the meadow all the evening. See, there he goes over by the brook.”
Away ran the little pixie as fast as his legs could carry him. It was no easy matter to come close enough to Jack-o’-Lantern to make himhear. Twinkling Feet was almost ready to give up the chase when the little man stopped, poked his head out of his lantern, and called, “Do you wish to speak to me?”
“Don’t you know me?” cried the pixie. “I’m Twinkling Feet.”
“Why, what has happened to you?” asked Jack. “You’re the queerest looking chap I ever saw.”
“I’ve lost my laugh. Please tell me, Jack-o’-Lantern, have you seen it?”
“Lost your laugh!” repeated the lantern man, looking very serious. “No wonder I didn’t know you. I’m very sorry to say I’ve seen nothing of your laugh.”
“Do you know anyone who could help me, Jack?” asked Twinkling Feet. “Oh do help me find it.”
“Well, let me see. You might ask Jolly Little Witch. Her eyes are very sharp. She’s in the ragweed meadow, looking for a good riding stalk. As soon as she finds one I’m going to light her to the village where she will make plenty of merriment at the children’s party. It’s Hallowe’en, you know. Come, jump into my lantern, and I’ll take you to her.”
Twinkling Feet hopped into the little lantern, and away they went to the ragweed field. When they drew near the Jolly Little Witch called out, “I’ve found a good ragweed stalk, Jack, but I’ve lost my goggles. Come, perhaps you can help me find them. I can’t go to the village without my goggles. Why, who is that in the lantern with you?”
“A pixie who wants to ask you something,” said Jack-o’-Lantern, opening the door to let Twinkling Feet out. Then the lantern man hurried away to search for the witch’s goggles.
“Please, Jolly Little Witch, I’ve lost my laugh,” said Twinkling Feet.
“Lost your laugh! and on Hallowe’en! Well, no wonder I didn’t know you. You’re the queerest looking pixie I ever saw. Tell me how you happened to lose your laugh?”
But Twinkling Feet did not answer her question. He said meekly, “Have you seen it?”
“No, my little fellow. I’m sorry to say I’ve not seen your laugh,” said the Jolly Little Witch.
“A pixie can’t dance without his laugh,” sighed Twinkling Feet.
“No, of course he can’t. Dear, dear! How sorry I am for you,” said the little witch, shaking her head.
“And if a pixie loses anything on Hallowe’en, he must find it before midnight or give it up forever.”
“I could have helped you on any other night, but you see I always spend Hallowe’en in the village with the children. I shall be late to-night if I don’t find those goggles.” And again she began to search for them.
The pixie looked at her for a moment. Then he asked, “Do the children laugh a good deal on Hallowe’en?”
“Why, my little man, it’s the time in all the year when they laugh most. To-night there is to be a witch’s party. I shall secretly join the children, and play all sorts of tricks for their amusement. What a nuisance it is that I’ve lost those goggles.”
“I’ll help you search for them, Jolly Little Witch,” said the pixie.“I suppose I must give up my laugh, for I don’t know anyone else to ask about it. Please tell me what your goggles look like.”
“They are two round glass windows, which I wear over my eyes when I ride through the air,” said the little Witch.
Away started the pixie to search for them. He looked carefully around every ragweed stalk in the meadow, but he could see nothing which looked like “two round glass windows.”
“Perhaps one cannot findanythingwhich has been lost on Hallowe’en,” he said to himself.
Slowly he walked back to the place where he had left the Jolly Little Witch. When he reached her he stared sharply at something on top of her head.
“Please tell me more about your goggles,” said Twinkling Feet. “Are they like the two glass windows across the front of your hat?”
“Across the front of my hat!” exclaimed the witch, putting her hands up to find out what the little elf meant. Then she burst out laughing, and said, “Well, well! What strange things do happen onHallowe’en! Come, Jack-o’-Lantern! Come! The pixie has found my goggles. They were on top of my head all the time!”
And turning to Twinkling Feet she said, “You shall go with us to the village, and see the merriment if you like. I’m sure Jack will carry you in his lantern.”
“Of course I will,” said the lantern man. “And while you are playing tricks at the children’s party, I’ll carry him anywhere he wishes to go. It is a long while before midnight.”
“I want to see the children, and hear them laugh,” said Twinkling Feet.
The Jolly Little Witch pulled her goggles down on her nose, and mounted her ragweed stalk. The pixie hopped into the lantern, and away through the air the three sailed.
When they drew near the village, the little Witch lowered herself to the ground.
“Meet me here before the party is over, Jack-o’-Lantern,” she said. “I shall leave before the children take off their masks. In the meantime, let Twinkling Feet see the fun the children will have on the way to the party.”
Away she ran up the village street to a corner where she joined a group of jolly little boys and girls on their way to the party. They wore black dresses, high, pointed hats with narrow brims, and funny little masks. Not a word did anyone speak, but the sound of their merry laughter reached Twinkling Feet’s ears.
He slipped out of the lantern, and ran toward the group of children as fast as he could go. Before he reached them, however, the tiniest bit of a creature, turning somersaults faster than anyone could count, came bounding to him. It climbed up the pixie’s little body, and disappeared into his mouth. Twinkling Feet burst into the merriest laugh, and ran back to Jack-o’-Lantern, crying out, “I’ve found it! I’ve found my laugh! My dear little laugh! Oh, how happy I am! Jack-o’-Lantern, please take me back to the pixie ring. I’ve found my dear little laugh!”
He hopped into the little man’s lantern, and away over the fields they flew. As they drew near the green ring where the pixies were still dancing, the delighted elf called out, “I’ve found my laugh! I’ve found my dear little laugh!”
“Welcome back, Twinkling Feet,” answered the dancers.
He hopped out of the lantern, and joined the other merry pixies. When they stopped dancing for a little while, the Fiddler Pixie slipped up to the Twinkling Feet, and whispered slyly, “Always watch your laugh carefully while you are dancing.”
—Cornish Legend, Adapted.
Here comes a Jack-o’-lanternTo frighten you to-night;Made from a hollow pumpkinWith a candle for its light.Go off! You Jack-o’-lantern!You can not frighten me,You’re nothing but a pumpkinAs any one can see!
Here comes a Jack-o’-lanternTo frighten you to-night;Made from a hollow pumpkinWith a candle for its light.Go off! You Jack-o’-lantern!You can not frighten me,You’re nothing but a pumpkinAs any one can see!
Here comes a Jack-o’-lanternTo frighten you to-night;Made from a hollow pumpkinWith a candle for its light.Go off! You Jack-o’-lantern!You can not frighten me,You’re nothing but a pumpkinAs any one can see!
The autumn wind blew sharp and shrill around the turrets of a grey stone castle. But indoors the fire crackled merrily in my lady’s bower where an old nurse was telling a tale of Elfland to Janet, the fairest of Scotch maidens.
When the story was finished, Janet’s merry laugh echoed through the halls. The old nurse nodded her head earnestly and said, “’Tis well known, my lassie, that the people of Elfland revel in the hills and hollows of Scotland. Come close, and I’ll tell you a secret.”
Janet leaned forward, and the old woman whispered, “An Elfin Knight, named Tam Lin, haunts the moorland on the border of your father’s estate. No maiden dares venture near the enchanted place, for if she should fall under the spell of this Elfin Knight she would be obliged to give him a precious jewel for a ransom.”
“One glimpse of the Elfin Knight would be worth the rarest gem I have,” laughed Janet. “How I wish I could see him!”
“Hush-sh!” said her nurse tremblingly. “Nay, nay, my lady! Mortals should have nothing to do with the people of Elfland. By all means shun the moorland at this time of the year, for to-morrow is Hallowe’en—the night when the fairies ride abroad.”
But the next morning Janet bound her golden braids about her head, kilted up her green kirtle, and tripped lightly to the enchanted moorland. When she came near she saw lovely flowers blooming as gaily as if it were mid-summer time. She stooped to gather some of the roses when suddenly she heard the faintest silvery music. She glanced around, and there, riding toward her, was the handsomest knight she had ever seen. His milk-white steed, which sped along lighter than the wind, was shod in silver shoes, and from the bridle hung tiny silver bells.
When the knight came near, he sprang lightly from his horse and said, “Fair Janet, tell me why you pluck roses in Elfland?”
The maiden’s heart beat very fast, and the flowers dropped from her hands, but she answered proudly, “I came to see Tam Lin, the Elfin Knight.”
“He stands before you,” said the knight. “Have you come to free him from Elfland?”
At these words Janet’s courage failed, for she feared he might cast a spell over her. But when the knight saw how she trembled, he said, “Have no fear, Lady Janet, and you shall hear my story. I am the son of noble parents. One day, when I was a lad of nine years, I went hunting with my father. Now it chanced that we became separated from each other, and ill-luck attended me. My good horse stumbled, and threw me to the ground where I lay stunned by the fall. There the Fairy Queen found me, and carried me off to yonder green hill. And while it is pleasant enough in fairyland, yet I long to live among mortals again.”
“Then why do you not ride away to your home?” asked Janet.
“Ah, that I can not do unless some fair maiden is brave enough to help me. In three ways she must prove her courage. First she must will to meet me here in the enchanted moorland. That you have done,” declared the knight. Then he stopped, and looked pleadingly at Janet. All her fear vanished, and she asked, “In what other ways must the maiden show her courage?”
“She must banish all fear of him. That, too, you have done,” said the knight.
“Tell me the third way, Tam Lin, for I believe I am the maid to free you.”
“Only my true love can prove her courage in the third way, fair Janet.”
And the maiden answered, “I am thy true love, Tam Lin.”
“Then heed what I say, brave lady. To-night is Hallowe’en. At the midnight hour, the Fairy Queen and all her knights will ride abroad. If you dare win your true love, you must wait at Milescross until the Fairy Queen and her Elfin Knights pass. I shall be in her train.”
“But how shall I know you among so many knights, Tam Lin?” then asked Lady Janet.
“I shall ride in the third group of followers. Let the first and second companies of the Fairy Queen pass, and look for me in the third. There will be only three knights in this last company; one will ride on a black horse, one on a brown, and the third on a milk-white steed,” said the knight, pointing to his horse. “My right hand will be gloved, Janet,” he continued, “but my left hand will hang bare at my side. By these signs you will know me.”
“I shall know you without fail,” nodded Janet.
“Wait, calmly, until I am near you, then spring forward and seize me. When the fairies see you holding me they will change my form into many shapes. Do not fear, but hold me fast in your arms. At last I shall take my human form. If you have courage enough to do this, you will free your true love from the power of the fairies.”
“I have courage enough to do all that you say,” declared Janet. Then they sealed this promise with a kiss, and parted.
Gloomy was the night, and eerie was the way to Milescross. But Janet threw her green mantle about her shoulders, and sped to the enchanted moorland. All the way she said to herself over and over, “On this Hallowe’en at midnight I shall free my true love, Tam Lin, from Elfland.”
At Milescross she hid herself and waited. How the wind from the sea moaned across the moorland! Presently she heard a merry tinkling sound of far-off music, and in the distance she saw a twinkling light dancing forward. Janet could hear her heart beat, but there she stood, undaunted. The Fairy Queen and her train were riding forth. In the lead of her first merry company of knights and maids of honour rode the beautiful queen, whose jeweled girdle and crown flashed in the darkness. The second group passed quickly, and now came three knights in a third group. One rode on a black horse, one on a brown, and there came the milk-white steed last of all. Janet could see that one hand of the rider was gloved, and one hung bare at his side. Then up leaped the maiden. Quickly she seized the bridle of the milk-whitesteed, pulled the rider from his horse, and threw her green mantle around him. There was a clamour among the Elfin Knights, and the Fairy Queen cried out, “Tam Lin! Tam Lin! Some mortal has hold of Tam Lin, the bonniest knight in my company!”
Then the strangest things happened. Instead of Tam Lin, Janet held in her arms a bearded lion, which struggled mightily to get away. But she remembered the knight’s warning. “Hold me fast, and fear me not.”
The next moment she held a fire-breathing dragon, which almost slipped from her, but she tightened her grasp, and thought of Tam Lin’s words. The dragon changed to a burning bush, and the flames leaped up on all sides, but Janet stood still and felt no harm. Then in her arms she held a branching tree, filled with blossoms. And at last Tam Lin, her own true love, stood there.
When the Fairy Queen saw that none of her enchantments could frighten Janet, she cried out angrily, “The maiden has won a stately bridegroom who was my bonniest knight. Alas! Tam Lin is lost to Elfland.”
On into the darkness rode the fairy train. Tam Lin and Lady Janet hastened back to the grey stone castle. There, in a short time, a wedding feast was prepared, and Tam Lin, who was really a Scottish Earl, and Lady Janet, the bravest maid in Scotland, were married.
—Old Ballad Retold.
Once upon a time a bonnie Prince fell in love with a lassie who was nobly born, but was not his equal in rank. The king was sorely vexed, because his son looked with favour on this maiden, and his majesty determined to part the lovers. He sent the high chancellor of the court to an old witch for advice. After thinking the matter over for nine days, the old woman muttered the following answer: