IVFAVORITES
(Adapted for Children, Six to Twelve Years.)
Onceupon a time a Duck was sitting all alone on her nest watching for her young ducklings to hatch. All at once the eggs seemed alive. “Peep! Peep!” and one little fluffy yellow head after another looked out. “Quack! Quack!” said the Duck, and all the ducklings quacked too, as well as they could. But one egg still remained unhatched, and it was the largest egg of all. “I must sit on it a little longer,” said Mother Duck very tenderly. This she did until at last the large egg cracked and out tumbled a large, ugly, gray Duckling. He seemed so different from the others that the mother thought sure that he must be a turkey, until she saw him swim in the water, just as well as her other children. But he was not so pretty as the others, and the poor, ugly Duckling was bitten and pecked and chased and kicked about and made fun of by all, and even his own brothers and sisters were unkind to him. At last he could bear it no longer, and he ran away, going on and on until he came to a swamp where the wild geese lived. “Bang! Bang!” went a gun in the morning, and two of the geese fell dead. In a moment more a large, terrible dog ran up. He put his nose close to the Duckling, showing his sharp teeth, and then “Splash! Splash!” he went out of the water without touching him. “I am so ugly a dog will not bite me,” the poor bird said, lying still until thegun stopped shooting. In the evening he flew away from the swamp and came to a hut where an old woman lived with a cat and a hen. These made so much fun of him because he was so ugly that he flew away from them and was very lonely and sad among the rushes all the long, cold winter until the spring came. Then one morning he flew on and on until he came to a large, beautiful garden where he saw three white swans moving on the smooth water. “I will fly to them,” he said. As soon as they saw him they swam toward him and began to stroke his neck with their beaks. Just then he looked down into the clear water, and was surprised at his own image. He saw himself no longer a dark, gray, ugly duckling, but a beautiful snow-white swan like the others. Little children running about the garden came up to throw bread and cake into the water. “Oh, see!” cried one of the children. “There is a new one! The new one is the prettiest!” The Swan was so happy he did not know what to do. He was not at all proud, but he shook his beautiful feathers, stretched his graceful, slender neck, and said: “Now, when people see me they will be glad! I never dreamed of such happiness when I was an ugly duckling!”—Adapted from Hans Christian Andersen.
Once there were three brothers, Hans, Swartz, and Gluck, the youngest. These three brothers owned a rich farm in a valley far up on the mountainside. The apples that grew there were so red, the corn so yellow, the grapes so blue, and everything was so fertile that it was called “Treasure Valley.” On the very top of the mountain a river shone so bright and golden when lighted by the rays of the setting sun that people called it the “Golden River,” but its waters flowed down on the otherside of the mountain. The two older brothers were so selfish and cruel that they were called the “Black Brothers.” They beat their brother Gluck so cruelly one day for being kind to some one that the West Wind punished them by blowing, blowing, blowing so hard that everything became dry and the valley became a desert. Then the three brothers went to live in the town, and the two oldest went from bad to worse, until one day they said, “We have nothing left in the world but Gluck’s Golden Pitcher.” This pitcher was a gift from his uncle, which Gluck highly prized, but the cruel brothers ordered him, while they were away, to put it into the melting-pot and make it into gold spoons that they might secure money to support them. While the melting-pot with the gold pitcher in it was warming over the hot fire, Gluck looked out of the window and saw the sun reflecting its yellow glow in the Golden River, far up on the mountain crest. He sighed, “How fine it would be if only that river were really gold. We wouldn’t be poor then!” “It wouldn’t be fine at all,” said a thin little voice from the melting-pot. “Pour me out! Pour me out! I’m too hot,” continued the thin little voice. It was the King of the Golden River, a queer little dwarf, who peeped out of the melting-pot and said: “Whoever climbs to the top of the mountain where the Golden River begins, and pours in three drops of holy water, shall find the river turned into gold. But whoever fails at the first trial can have no other, and will be changed into a big black boulder.” With these words the King of the Golden River vanished up the chimney. Just then the two brothers knocked at the door and came in, and when they saw the golden pitcher all melted away and vanished in smoke up the chimney, they beat poor Gluck black and blue for his carelessness. When Gluck told them what the King of the Golden River had said, at first they wouldnot believe him, and then they quarreled so terribly over which should be the first to go, that a policeman came and Swartz was thrown into prison. Then Hans said, “I will be the first to get the gold.” He took a bottle of water and climbed up, up, up the mountainside until he met a dog so thirsty that his tongue hung from his mouth. Hans gave the dog a kick and passed on until he met a little child, who said, “I’m so thirsty.” But Hans gave the child a slap and passed on until he met a queer little old man, who cried, “Water! Water! I’m dying for water!” Hans spoke bad words and passed on, drinking up all the water himself. So when he came to the source of the Golden River he found that all his water was gone, and he did not have even three drops to put into the river. Then, in a rage, he threw the empty bottle into the stream, and immediately there was great thunder and lightning, and Hans was changed into a big black boulder.
When Hans did not return, Gluck went to work in a goldsmith’s shop to earn money enough to get Swartz out of prison. As soon as he was released he said, “Now I will try to get the gold.” So Swartz took a bottle of water and climbed up, up, up the mountainside, passing the poor, thirsty dog, the little child, and the queer little old man dying of thirst, without so much as sharing one drop of water with them. When he came to the source of the Golden River he found that all his water was gone and he did not have even three drops to pour into the river. Then, in a rage, he threw the empty bottle into the stream, and immediately there was great thunder and lightning, and Swartz was changed into a big black boulder beside his brother.
Gluck waited long for his brothers to return, but when they did not come he took a bottle of water and started to climb up, up, up the mountainside until he cameto the poor thirsty dog, and the little child, and then the queer little old man, with each of whom Gluck kindly shared the water from his bottle, and when he reached the top of the mountain he found he had plenty of water still in his bottle. So he poured in three drops of his holy water into the heart of the river, but, to his surprise, he found that the river did not change into gold. The water began to flow down the other side of the mountain toward Treasure Valley. He was disappointed and sad. Then the King of the Golden River appeared again and said, “Follow the stream!” Then he noticed, as he went down the mountainside, that everywhere the river flowed flowers and vines and fruit trees blossomed, and soon all Treasure Valley was one rich, beautiful garden again. Then he saw that the river was indeed, as the King had said, a River of Gold. After that Gluck lived in a beautiful home in Treasure Valley. His apples were red, his corn was yellow, his grapes were blue, and everything became prosperous again. But the hungry and thirsty were never once sent empty away.—Adapted from John Ruskin.
One hot summer morning a little Cloud rose out of the sea and floated happily across the blue sky. Far below lay the earth, brown and dry and desolate from drought. The little Cloud could see the poor earth-people working and suffering in the heat, while she floated here and there in the sky without a care. “Oh, if I could only help those people,” said the Cloud. “If I could make their work easier and give the hungry ones food and the thirsty ones drink! Yes, I will help, I will!” And she began to sink softly down to the earth. As she sank lower she remembered when she was a tiny cloud-child in the lap of Mother Ocean she was told that if theclouds went too near the earth they would die. Thinking of that she held herself from sinking and swayed herself here and there in the breeze. Then she said, “Men of earth, come what may, I will help. I will.” All at once she became so large and wide-spread that the men of earth were afraid; the trees and the grasses bowed themselves; a wonderful light glowed from her heart; the sound of thunder rolled through the sky, and a love greater than words can tell filled the Cloud. Down, down, close to earth she swept, and gave up her life in a heavy shower of rain. That rain was the Cloud’s generous deed, but it was her death, and it was her glory too. Over the whole country round, as far as the rain fell, a lovely rainbow spread its arch, and all the brightest rays of heaven made its colors. It was the last greeting of a love so great as to sacrifice itself. Soon the rainbow was gone, but long, long after, the men and women, saved by the Cloud, kept her blessing in their hearts.—Adapted from “How to Tell Stories to Children,” Sara Cone Bryant.
Far up in the mountains of New England there was a great rock in such a position as to resemble the features of a human face. There were the broad arch of the forehead, the eyes, the nose, and the lips. So real was it, the Great Stone Face seemed to be alive. Happy were the children who grew up to manhood or womanhood with this Great Stone Face before their eyes, for the features were all so noble and their expression like the glow of a great, warm heart, it was an education to look at it. There was a belief among the people who lived in the valley, that one day a boy would be born who would become the greatest and noblest man of his times, and whose face would exactly resemble the Great Stone Face.After a long time a boy grew up in the valley who learned to love the sight of this image. After his day’s work was done he would gaze up at it until he thought it seemed to notice him and give him a smile of kindness and encouragement in response to his look of love. Very often during those years a rumor arose that the great man foretold for ages had at last appeared. A boy who had grown up in the valley, had gone away and become a millionaire, returned, and people said, “This is he!” But it proved untrue. Then a soldier, and a statesman, and a poet arose, and people said, “This is he!” But it was not so. Meanwhile, the boy who quietly day by day lived, and labored, and looked up, and loved the Great Stone Face grew to manhood, becoming more and more like it, until one day everybody saw the resemblance, and cried, “This is he!” And it was. This good boy and young man had gradually grown in gentleness and goodness and love until his face became as magnetic and his influence as helpful in the valley as the Great Stone Face.—Adapted from Hawthorne.
(Written by Canon Kingsley for his own little boy.)
Once there was a chimney-sweep, and his name was Tom. He lived in a great city, where there were plenty of chimneys to sweep. He never washed himself, he never had been taught to say his prayers, he could not read or write. One morning Tom and his master, Mr. Grimes, started off to sweep some chimneys in the country. Mr. Grimes rode the donkey, and Tom, with his brushes, walked behind. They overtook a poor old Irish woman, trudging along with a bundle on her back. She had a shawl on her head and a red dress. She spoke kindly to Tom, and they walked along together untilthey came to a spring. The master jumped from the donkey and dipped his head into the water, shaking his ears to dry them. Tom said, “Master, I never saw you wash before.” “Nor will you see me wash again, most likely. I did it for coolness, not for cleanliness. I’d be ashamed to want washing every week or so like any smutty collier-lad.” “I wish I might wash,” said poor little Tom. “Come along,” said Grimes. “What do you want with washing yourself?” and he began beating the poor boy. “Shame on you!” cried the old woman. “They that wish to be clean, clean they will be; they that wish to be dirty, dirty they will be. Remember!”
That day Tom swept so many chimneys that he got lost, and came down the wrong chimney in one house, and found himself standing in a room the like of which he had never seen before. There was a wash-stand with a basin and soap and brushes and towels. Looking toward the bed he held his breath, for there, under the snow-white coverlet, was the most beautiful little girl Tom had ever seen. “Are all the people like that when they are washed?” he thought. Then he looked at his wrists and tried to rub off the soot, and wondered if it ever would come off. Looking round he saw standing close to him a little, ugly, black, ragged boy with red eyes and grinning white teeth. “Who are you?” he said. “What does such a little black monkey want here?” But it was himself reflected in the great mirror, the like of which also Tom had never seen before. Tom found out then, for the first time, that he was dirty. He burst into tears and turned to sneak up the chimney again to hide himself, but he upset the fender and threw the fire-irons down with a great noise. Under the window there was a great tree, and Tom went down the tree like a cat and across the garden toward the woods. The gardener, who was busily engaged in watering the rose-bushes,saw him and gave chase; the milkmaid heard the noise and followed too; and so did the groom and the plowman, and the old Irish woman and Mr. Grimes. But Tom ran faster than all, and in the woods he was lost from view, and all went back again. On the bank of a river Tom sat down to rest, and was soon fast asleep and dreaming of the little clean girl and the Irish woman who said, “They that wish to be clean, clean they will be.” All at once he cried out, “I must be clean! I must be clean!” He awoke and went into the water, where he washed his feet, and suddenly he was changed into a Water-baby. Hundreds of other Water-babies were there, laughing and singing and shouting and romping in the clear, cool water, and all dressed in their little bathing-suits, so clean and white. The one that had been poor little Tom, the chimney-sweep, was the happiest and whitest among them all. And he never forgot the old Irish woman (who was really Queen of the Water-babies) or what she had said: “They that wish to be clean, clean they will be; they that wish to be dirty, dirty they will be.”—Adapted from “The Water-babies.”
Once in a little town in Russia there was a lonely old cobbler who lived in a cellar. There was always plenty of work for him, for he was prompt and honest and industrious. But the cobbler was not happy, for it seemed to him God had been unkind to him in taking away his wife and children by death. But at last a good priest came and taught this unhappy cobbler to read the New Testament, and then he grew happy and contented, and changed in every way. One day as he was reading how the Lord was treated when he was on earth, he said to himself, “And suppose he came to me,would I treat him differently?” “Martin!”—and a Voice seemed close to his ear. “Who’s there?” the cobbler said; but no reply came. “Martin, Martin,” said the Voice again, “look to-morrow on the street; I am coming!” Next morning Martin waited and waited, but saw no stranger come near. An old soldier, whom he knew, came into his shop out of the snow, to whom the cobbler gave a cup of tea and whom he treated with kindness as he told him he was expecting his little Father, Christ. Later in the day a poor widow with a little child came into his shop out of the cold, to whom the cobbler gave warm food and a coat and some money, as he told her how he was expecting the Lord to come to him that day. In the late afternoon the cobbler saw from his cellar window a poor apple-woman fighting a boy who had stolen some of her apples. The cobbler rushed into the street and told the woman she ought to forgive the boy as the Lord forgave us. He purchased an apple which he gave to the boy, who, touched by the kindness, begged the apple-woman’s pardon and kindly helped her by carrying her heavy basket for her.
By the evening lamp-light the cobbler opened his New Testament and was disappointed because the Christ-guest had not come. Then a Voice whispered, “Martin! Dost thou not know me?” “Who art thou?” cried the cobbler. “’Tis I,” cried the Voice. “Lo, ’tis I!” And forth from the dark corner of the shop stepped the soldier, and then the widow with the little child, and then the old apple-woman and the lad with the apple. All smiled and vanished. But the heart of the cobbler was glad, and he saw at the top of the Gospel page these words: “I was an hungered and thirsty, and ye gave me drink; I was a stranger, and ye took me in.” And at the bottom of the page he read: “Inasmuch as ye have done it to one of the least of these my brethren, ye have doneit unto me.” Then the cobbler saw that the Lord had really come to him and he had really received Him that day.—Adapted from Count Tolstoy.
(Written by Robert Browning, the poet, for the amusement of a friend’s son who was ill, and to give him subjects for drawings.)
Long ago in a country far away there was a town that was troubled with rats. These rats fought the dogs and killed the cats and bit the babies in their cradles. They ate up all the cheese. Yes, and often a man would find a rat’s nest in his Sunday hat. The people began to think they would have to move out and let the rats have the town. At last the Mayor and Council met to see if they could think of a way to get rid of them. They had almost given up when they heard a rap at the door. “Come in,” they said; and there stood a strange, tall, thin man, with a queer long coat, half yellow and half red, that came down to his heels, and a pipe upon which he played. “My friends,” said he, “I see you have a great many rats in your town. If I can rid you of them, will you give me a thousand guilders?” “Yes, fifty,” they cried; “only take away the rats!” Then Pied Piper stepped out into the street and began to blow on his pipe. Before he had played three notes, out of the houses the rats came tumbling—great rats, small rats, lean rats, fat rats, black rats, gray rats, brown rats, all following the Piper as if for their very lives. Straight to the river he walked, drawing the rats after him. In they plunged head first, and were all drowned. How the bells rang for joy! How the people shouted! The Mayor gave orders to poke out all the nests and fill up the holes. “First, if you please, my thousand guilders,” said thePiper. The Mayor and Council laughed: “Now the rats are dead, they won’t come back to life, you know. It was only a joke we spoke. We won’t give you more than fifty guilders.” Pied Piper threatened, but the Mayor said, “Do your worst. Blow your pipe till you burst.” Then the Piper stepped into the street again and played three notes, and at once all the children of the town came running, tripping, skipping, shouting merrily after the Piper and his wonderful music. When they reached the mountainside a great door suddenly opened and all the children went in with the Piper—all except one poor little lame boy who could not keep up, and came too late. And the door was shut. No one ever heard of the Piper or the children again. But the Mayor and Council agreed that when they owed any one anything after that they would pay it. And these words were kept in the town where all could see them: “Always keep your promise!”
Once there was a little boy named Dick Whittington, whose father and mother died and the people who took care of him were very poor. Often he had no breakfast or dinner. In the town where he lived Dick often heard about London, the great city, where people said nobody was ever hungry, nobody had to work, and the streets were paved with gold. Dick longed to go there. So one day when a big wagon, drawn by eight horses, all with bells on their heads, was going to London, Dick went along. But he was disappointed to find the streets covered with dirt instead of gold, and none would give the hungry boy even a crust of dry bread. At night he was so cold and tired he sat down on the stone steps of a great house and longed to be back in the town where hewas born. Next day Dick found some work to do in the kitchen of this great house. He would have been happy there, but the cook beat him, and the rats and mice in the garret where he slept kept him awake at night, often running over his face. One day a gentleman gave him a penny. Dick bought a cat, which soon drove away all the rats and mice, and then the poor boy slept soundly every night.
Dick’s master was a rich merchant with great ships that he used to fill with all kinds of things to send to foreign lands. Whenever a ship was ready to sail it was his custom to call together all his servants and ask them to send something in the ship to trade for profit. So one day when the ship was ready, all the servants had something to send, except Dick, who said he had nothing in the world but a cat. “Send your cat, my lad,” said the master; “perhaps you will get something of profit for her.” Dick, with tears in his eyes, carried poor puss down to the ship and gave her to the captain. After the cat was gone the rats and mice came back and the cook treated Dick so cruelly that early one morning he ran away. He had not gone very far when he sat down on a stone to rest, and listened to the ringing of a merry chime of bells, which seemed to him to say:
Turn again, Whittington!Turn again, Whittington!Thrice Lord Mayor of London!
Turn again, Whittington!Turn again, Whittington!Thrice Lord Mayor of London!
Turn again, Whittington!
Turn again, Whittington!
Thrice Lord Mayor of London!
“If I am to be Lord Mayor of London,” said Dick, “I will go back and let the cook scold me as much as she pleases.” Then Dick turned back and reached the kitchen before any one missed him. Some time after that the ship came back, and the captain said Dick’s cat had won him a great fortune, for an African chief had bought the cat at a great price to drive away the rats and micefrom the dining-table of his palace. Dick was cleaning pots in the kitchen when his master called him into his office. “Mr. Whittington,” he said, “your cat has brought you more money than I have in the whole world.” Dick was too kind to keep all for himself. He gave presents to his master’s daughter Alice, and to the captain, and to the sailors, and even to the cross old cook. When he was dressed in a nice suit of clothes he looked as handsome as any young man in London. So Dick Whittington, through his cat, became a rich merchant, married his master’s daughter, and became three times Lord Mayor of London.
One night Dick was told by his father to rise early the next morning and help set out some new trees. “I hate trees,” said Dick, “I want to go fishing. I wish I lived in a land where there were no trees!” Then Dick fell asleep, and in his dream he heard the queerest rustling noise, and then a voice called out, “Here is a boy who hates trees!” A procession of trees came toward him. The willow was weeping; the poplar was trembling; the aspen was quaking; the pine and elm and maple and oak were followed by the fruit trees, like the apple and pear and cherry, while the walnut and birch and palm slowly brought up the rear. When all was quiet the Pine began: “Here is a boy that hates trees, and says we are of no use!” “Yes,” said the Maple, “and this morning he ate some of my sugar.” “Yes,” said the Willow, “and he made a whistle out of me.” “Yes,” said the Palm, “and he fanned himself with one of my leaves.” “And he got his bicycle tire out of me, and his rubber boots too,” said another tree. The Elm said: “I have a plan. The wind will help us. The wind is our friend.”So the wind took Dick and hurled him off to a great desert and dropped him down in a land where there were no trees. Dick felt very lonely and was full of fright when he saw a bear coming toward him in the distance, and there was no tree to climb. How glad he was that he was mistaken and that it was not a bear coming, but camels, with men on them. The men beckoned him to get up and ride, which he was glad to do. Soon he saw the men bowing down and thanking God and then waving their hands. Dick looked and saw a spot of green grass, a spring of cool water, and one of the things he hated—a tree. He thought he had never seen anything so beautiful in all his life. He tumbled off the camel, ran toward the tree, and threw his arms about it, saying, “Dear tree, dear tree!”
The next morning Dick was glad to help his father plant the trees, and the school-teacher on Arbor Day said, “I think if good care will help the trees, they will get it from Dick.”
A young Prince in a rage once said, “I wish all the spiders and flies were driven out of the world!” Not long after that he had to hide at the close of a great battle in a wood, where he fell asleep under a tree. A soldier found him there, and was about to kill him, when a fly tickled the Prince’s face, which awoke him, and made the soldier run away. That same night the Prince hid himself in a cave across the mouth of which a spider wove a web. Next morning two soldiers seeking him were about to enter the cave when they saw the spider’s web. “He can’t be in there,” they said, and passed on. So a hated fly and a spider, after all, saved the Prince’s life!
“Oh, dear me,” sighed a little girl one fine morning, “I wish I could be something else!” “What would you like to be?” said a little voice. “I would like to be a rosebud,” she said. In a moment she felt her skirts twisting about her body, and when she touched her pink dress it was not calico but rose-leaves. She looked at her feet and they had turned green. So she knew she was a rosebud, growing on a bush in a garden. The wind swung her back and forth. It was so nice to be a rosebud. Suddenly a beautiful Fairy bent over and said, “I will drink the dew and eat the tender leaves of the rosebud for dinner.” “Don’t, don’t,” cried the little girl, “if you do you will eat my head.” The Fairy began to laugh. “Please, make me something else, quick,” cried the little girl; “make me into a bird.” In a minute she was a real, live bird hopping around among the daisies. “This is great fun,” she cried, “but I begin to feel hungry.” “Do you?” said a little voice; “then I’ll feed you.” In front of her stood the ugliest little man, holding in his hand a slimy worm, which he wanted to put into her mouth. She screamed out, “I won’t eat that worm! I’m not a real bird! I’m a—I’m a——” Just then she awoke and found she had been dreaming under the apple tree. Then she ran as fast as she could into the house, and cried, “O mamma, I’d rather be a little girl than anything else.”
One day a tailor was sitting with his feet crossed by an open window, making some fine clothes, when an elephant, passing down to the river, playfully put his trunk in at the window. The tailor, out of meanness, pricked the elephant’s trunk with his sharp needle. Theelephant in pain quickly drew it back and jogged on his way to the riverside, where, after quenching his thirst, he filled his trunk and mouth with the muddiest water he could find, and went back to the tailor’s window and squirted it all over him and his fine clothes, making him a laughing-stock to all his neighbors.
A wise man of the East once met a company of merchants who had lost their camel in the desert. “Was the camel blind in his right eye, and lame in his left foot?” asked the man. “Yes,” they said. “Had he lost a front tooth?” “He had.” “And was he loaded with wheat on one side and with honey on the other?” “Yes, yes.” “Then,” said the man, “I haven’t seen your camel.” The merchants were angry and said: “You must have seen him, because you know all about him. You have taken our jewels and money from his load.” They seized the man and brought him to the judge, who heard the story. The judge, as well as the merchants, thought the man knew more about the camel than he wished to tell. “How did you know the camel was blind in one eye?” asked the judge. “I knew the camel was blind in one eye because it had eaten the grass on only one side of the path.” “How did you know it was lame in its left leg?” “Because I saw that the print of that foot was fainter.” “How did you know he had lost a tooth?” “Because wherever it had grazed a small tuft of grass was left untouched in the center of the bunch.” “But how could you tell what its load was?” cried the merchants; “tell us that.” “The busy ants on one side and the flies on the other showed me the camel was loaded with wheat and honey, and I knew it had strayed because there were no footprints before or behind.” “Go,”said the judge, “look for your camel.” The merchants did so, and found the beast not far away.
Once a King who never tired of hearing stories said: “If any one can tell me a story that will last forever, I will give him my daughter and half my kingdom, but if he fails he shall have his head cut off.” The King’s daughter was very pretty, so many young men tried; but a week, a month, two or three months was all they could spin out their story, and off came their heads. At last a young man came who said, “I can tell a story that will last forever.” The King and his daughter begged him not to try, for they did not want to see another fine fellow lose his head. But he insisted that he would not fail, and so began his story: “Once upon a time a king built a high granary, and filled it with wheat to the very top. But in building it the workmen had left a very little hole near the ground, just large enough to let one little ant through. So a little ant went in and carried off a grain of wheat, then another little ant went in and carried off another grain of wheat, then another little ant went in and carried off another grain of wheat.” Day after day, week after week, the story-teller kept saying, “Then another little ant went in and carried off another grain of wheat.” “Tell us what happened after that?” pleaded the King. “O King, I must first tell you this,” he said; and so he continued several weeks longer. At last the King cried; “Man! Man! you will drive me wild with your ants. Take my daughter; be my heir; rule my kingdom; but let me hear no more of your abominable ants.” So the man married the King’s daughter, and they lived happily. But the King never cared to hear any more stories.