Stories To Tell To Children
S >>
Sara Cone Bryant >> Stories To Tell To Children
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 | 4 |
5 |
6 |
7 |
8 |
9 |
10 |
11 |
12
After a while he came to Madrid and
to the palace of the King. Hoppity-kick,
hoppity-kick, the little Half-Chick skipped
past the sentry at the gate, and hoppity-
kick, hoppity-kick, he crossed the court.
But as he was passing the windows of the
kitchen the Cook looked out and saw him.
"The very thing for the King's dinner!"
she said. "I was needing a chicken!" And
she seized the little Half-Chick by his one
wing and threw him into a kettle of water
on the fire.
The Water came over the little Half-
Chick's feathers, over his head, into his
eye; It was terribly uncomfortable. The
little Half-Chick cried out,--
"Water, don't drown me! Stay down,
don't come so high!"
But the Water said, "Little Half-Chick,
little Half-Chick, when I was in trouble
you would not help me," and came higher
than ever.
Now the Water grew warm, hot, hotter,
frightfully hot; the little Half-Chick cried
out, "Do not burn so hot, Fire! You are
burning me to death! Stop!"
But the Fire said, "Little Half-Chick,
little Half-Chick, when I was in trouble
you would not help me," and burned hotter
than ever.
Just as the little Half-Chick thought he
must suffocate, the Cook took the cover
off, to look at the dinner. "Dear me,"
she said, "this chicken is no good; it is
burned to a cinder." And she picked the
little Half-Chick up by one leg and threw
him out of the window.
In the air he was caught by a breeze
and taken up higher than the trees. Round
and round he was twirled till he was so
dizzy he thought he must perish. "Don't
blow me so? Wind," he cried, "let me
down!"
"Little Half-Chick, little Half-Chick,"
said the Wind, "when I was in trouble
you would not help me!" And the Wind
blew him straight up to the top of the
church steeple, and stuck him there, fast!
There he stands to this day, with his one
eye, his one wing, and his one leg. He
cannot hoppity-kick any more, but he turns
slowly round when the wind blows, and
keeps his head toward it, to hear what it
says.
THE LAMBIKIN[1]
[1] From Indian Fairy Tales. By Joseph Jacobs (David Nutt).
Once upon a time there was a wee, wee
Lambikin, who frolicked about on his
little tottery legs, and enjoyed himself
amazingly.
Now one day he set off to visit his
Granny, and was jumping with joy to
think of all the good things he should get
from her, when whom should he meet but
a Jackal, who looked at the tender young
morsel and said, "Lambikin! Lambikin!
I'll EAT YOU!"
But Lambikin only gave a little frisk
and said,--
"To Granny's house I go,
Where I shall fatter grow;
Then you can eat me so."
The Jackal thought this reasonable,
and let Lambikin pass.
By and by he met a Vulture, and the
Vulture, looking hungrily at the tender
morsel before him, said, "Lambikin!
Lambikin! I'll EAT YOU!"
But Lambikin only gave a little frisk,
and said,--
"To Granny's house I go,
Where I shall fatter grow;
Then you can eat me so."
The Vulture thought this reasonable,
and let Lambikin pass.
And by and by he met a Tiger, and
then a Wolf and a Dog and an Eagle,
and all these, when they saw the tender
little morsel, said, "Lambikin! Lambikin!
I'll EAT YOU!"
But to all of them Lambikin replied,
with a little frisk,--
"To Granny's house I go,
Where I shall fatter grow;
Then you can eat me so."
At last he reached his Granny's house,
and said, all in a great hurry, "Granny,
dear, I've promised to get very fat; so, as
people ought to keep their promises, please
put me into the corn-bin AT ONCE."
So his Granny said he was a good boy,
and put him into the corn-bin, and there
the greedy little Lambikin stayed for seven
days, and ate, and ate, and ate, until he
could scarcely waddle, and his Granny
said he was fat enough for anything,
and must go home. But cunning little
Lambikin said that would never do, for
some animal would be sure to eat him
on the way back, he was so plump and
tender.
"I'll tell you what you must do," said
Master Lambikin; "you must make a little
drumikin out of the skin of my little brother
who died, and then I can sit inside and
trundle along nicely, for I'm as tight as a
drum myself."
So his Granny made a nice little drumikin
out of his brother's skin, with the wool
inside, and Lambikin curled himself up
snug and warm in the middle and trundled
away gayly. Soon he met with the
Eagle, who called out,--
"Drumikin! Drumikin!
Have you seen Lambikin?"
And Mr. Lambikin, curled up in his soft,
warm nest, replied,--
"Fallen into the fire, and so will you
On little Drumikin! Tum-pa, tum-too!"
"How very annoying!" sighed the Eagle,
thinking regretfully of the tender morsel
he had let slip.
Meanwhile Lambikin trundled along,
laughing to himself, and singing,--
"Tum-pa, tum-too;
Tum-pa, tum-too!"
Every animal and bird he met asked him
the same question,--
"Drumikin! Drumikin!
Have you seen Lambikin?"
And to each of them the little slyboots
replied,--
"Fallen into the fire, and so will you
On little Drumikin! Tum-pa, tum-too!"
Tum-pa, tum-too! tum-pa, tum-too!"
Then they all sighed to think of the tender
little morsel they had let slip.
At last the Jackal came limping along,
for all his sorry looks as sharp as a needle,
and he, too, called out,--
"Drumikin! Drumikin!
Have you seen Lambikin?"
And Lambikin, curled up in his snug
little nest, replied gayly,--
"Fallen into the fire, and so will you
On little Drumikin! Tum-pa--"
But he never got any further, for the
Jackal recognized his voice at once, and
cried, "Hullo! you've turned yourself
inside out, have you? Just you come out
of that!"
Whereupon he tore open Drumikin and
gobbled up Lambikin.
THE BLACKBERRY-BUSH[1]
[1] From Celia Thaxter's Stories and Poems for Children.
A little boy sat at his mother's knees, by
the long western window, looking out into
the garden. It was autumn, and the wind
was sad; and the golden elm leaves lay
scattered about among the grass, and on
the gravel path. The mother was knitting
a little stocking; her fingers moved the
bright needles; but her eyes were fixed on
the clear evening sky.
As the darkness gathered, the wee boy
laid his head on her lap and kept so still
that, at last, she leaned forward to look
into his dear round face. He was not
asleep, but was watching very earnestly a
blackberry-bush, that waved its one tall,
dark-red spray in the wind outside the
fence.
"What are you thinking about, my
darling?" she said, smoothing his soft,
honey-colored hair.
"The blackberry-bush, mamma; what
does it say? It keeps nodding, nodding to
me behind the fence; what does it say,
mamma?"
"It says," she answered, `I see a happy
little boy in the warm, fire-lighted room.
The wind blows cold, and here it is dark
and lonely; but that little boy is warm
and happy and safe at his mother's knees.
I nod to him, and he looks at me. I
wonder if he knows how happy he is!
"`See, all my leaves are dark crimson.
Every day they dry and wither more and
more; by and by they will be so weak they
can scarcely cling to my branches, and the
north wind will tear them all away, and
nobody will remember them any more.
Then the snow will sink down and wrap
me close. Then the snow will melt again
and icy rain will clothe me, and the bitter
wind will rattle my bare twigs up and
down.
"`I nod my head to all who pass, and
dreary nights and dreary days go by; but
in the happy house, so warm and bright,
the little boy plays all day with books and
toys. His mother and his father cherish
him; he nestles on their knees in the red
firelight at night, while they read to him
lovely stories, or sing sweet old songs to
him,--the happy little boy! And outside
I peep over the snow and see a stream of
ruddy light from a crack in the window-
shutter, and I nod out here alone in the
dark, thinking how beautiful it is.
"`And here I wait patiently. I take the
snow and the rain and the cold, and I am
not sorry, but glad; for in my roots I feel
warmth and life, and I know that a store
of greenness and beauty is shut up safe in
my small brown buds. Day and night go
again and again; little by little the snow
melts all away; the ground grows soft;
the sky is blue; the little birds fly over
crying, "It is spring! it is spring!" Ah!
then through all my twigs I feel the slow
sap stirring.
"`Warmer grow the sunbeams, and
softer the air. The small blades of grass
creep thick about my feet; the sweet rain
helps swell my shining buds. More and
more I push forth my leaves, till out I burst
in a gay green dress, and nod in joy and
pride. The little boy comes running to
look at me, and cries, "Oh, mamma! the
little blackberry-bush is alive and beautiful
and green. Oh, come and see!" And
I hear; and I bow my head in the summer
wind; and every day they watch me grow
more beautiful, till at last I shake out
blossoms, fair and fragrant.
"`A few days more, and I drop the white
petals down among the grass, and, lo! the
green tiny berries! Carefully I hold them
up to the sun; carefully I gather the dew
in the summer nights; slowly they ripen;
they grow larger and redder and darker,
and at last they are black, shining,
delicious. I hold them as high as I can for
the little boy, who comes dancing out. He
shouts with joy, and gathers them in his
dear hand; and he runs to share them with
his mother, saying, "Here is what the
patient blackberry-bush bore for us: see how
nice, mamma!"
"`Ah! then indeed I am glad, and would
say, if I could, "Yes, take them, dear little
boy; I kept them for you, held them long
up to sun and rain to make them sweet and
ripe for you;" and I nod and nod in full
content, for my work is done. From the
window he watches me and thinks, "There
is the little blackberry-bush that was so
kind to me. I see it and I love it. I know
it is safe out there nodding all alone, and
next summer it will hold ripe berries up
for me to gather again." '"
Then the wee boy smiled, and liked the
little story. His mother took him up in her
arms, and they went out to supper and left
the blackberry-bush nodding up and down
in the wind; and there it is nodding yet.
THE FAIRIES[1]
[1] By William Allingham.
Up the airy mountain,
Down the rushy glen,
We daren't go a-hunting
For fear of little men.
Wee folk, good folk,
Trooping all together;
Green jacket, red cap,
And white owl's feather!
Down along the rocky shore
Some make their home--
They live on crispy pancakes
Of yellow tide-foam;
Some in the reeds
Of the black mountain-lake,
With frogs for their watch-dogs,
All night awake.
High on the hilltop
The old King sits;
He is now so old and gray,
He's nigh lost his wits.
With a bridge of white mist
Columbkill he crosses,
On his stately journeys
From Slieveleague to Rosses;
Or going up with music
On cold starry nights,
To sup with the Queen
Of the gay Northern Lights.
They stole little Bridget
For seven years long;
When she came down again
Her friends were all gone.
They took her lightly back,
Between the night and morrow;
They thought that she was fast
asleep,
But she was dead with sorrow.
They have kept her ever since
Deep within the lake,
On a bed of flag-leaves,
Watching till she wake.
By the craggy hillside,
Through the mosses bare,
They have planted thorn-trees,
For pleasure here and there.
Is any man so daring
As dig them up in spite,
He shall find their sharpest thorns
In his bed at night.
Up the airy mountain,
Down the rushy glen,
We daren't go a-hunting
For fear of little men.
Wee folk, good folk,
Trooping all together;
Green jacket, red cap,
And white owl's feather!
THE ADVENTURES OF THE LITTLE FIELD MOUSE
Once upon a time, there was a little brown
Field Mouse; and one day he was out in
the fields to see what he could see. He was
running along in the grass, poking his nose
into everything and looking with his two
eyes all about, when he saw a smooth,
shiny acorn, lying in the grass. It was such
a fine shiny little acorn that he thought
he would take it home with him; so he put
out his paw to touch it, but the little acorn
rolled away from him. He ran after it, but
it kept rolling on, just ahead of him, till it
came to a place where a big oak-tree had
its roots spread all over the ground. Then
it rolled under a big round root.
Little Mr. Field Mouse ran to the root
and poked his nose under after the acorn,
and there he saw a small round hole in
the ground. He slipped through and saw
some stairs going down into the earth.
The acorn was rolling down, with a soft
tapping sound, ahead of him, so down he
went too. Down, down, down, rolled the
acorn, and down, down, down, went the
Field Mouse, until suddenly he saw a tiny
door at the foot of the stairs.
The shiny acorn rolled to the door and
struck against it with a tap. Quickly the
little door opened and the acorn rolled
inside. The Field Mouse hurried as fast as
he could down the last stairs, and pushed
through just as the door was closing. It
shut behind him, and he was in a little
room. And there, before him, stood a
queer little Red Man! He had a little red
cap, and a little red jacket, and odd little
red shoes with points at the toes.
"You are my prisoner," he said to the
Field Mouse.
"What for?" said the Field Mouse.
"Because you tried to steal my acorn,"
said the little Red Man.
"It is my acorn," said the Field Mouse;
"I found it."
"No, it isn't," said the little Red Man,
"I have it; you will never see it again."
The little Field Mouse looked all about
the room as fast as he could, but he could
not see any acorn. Then he thought he
would go back up the tiny stairs to his own
home. But the little door was locked, and
the little Red Man had the key. And he
said to the poor mouse,--
"You shall be my servant; you shall
make my bed and sweep my room and
cook my broth."
So the little brown Mouse was the little
Red Man's servant, and every day he made
the little Red Man's bed and swept the
little Red Man's room and cooked the little
Red Man's broth. And every day the
little Red Man went away through the tiny
door, and did not come back till afternoon.
But he always locked the door after him,
and carried away the key.
At last, one day he was in such a hurry
that he turned the key before the door was
quite latched, which, of course, didn't lock
it at all. He went away without noticing,
--he was in such a hurry.
The little Field Mouse knew that his
chance had come to run away home. But
he didn't want to go without the pretty,
shiny acorn. Where it was he didn't know,
so he looked everywhere. He opened every
little drawer and looked in, but it wasn't
in any of the drawers; he peeped on every
shelf, but it wasn't on a shelf; he hunted
in every closet, but it wasn't in there.
Finally, he climbed up on a chair and
opened a wee, wee door in the chimney-
piece,--and there it was!
He took it quickly in his forepaws, and
then he took it in his mouth, and then he
ran away. He pushed open the little door;
he climbed up, up, up the little stairs; he
came out through the hole under the root;
he ran and ran through the fields; and at
last he came to his own house.
When he was in his own house he set
the shiny acorn on the table. I guess he
set it down hard, for all at once, with a little
snap, it opened!--exactly like a little box.
And what do you think! There was a
tiny necklace inside! It was a most beautiful
tiny necklace, all made of jewels, and
it was just big enough for a lady mouse.
So the little Field Mouse gave the tiny
necklace to his little Mouse-sister. She
thought it was perfectly lovely. And when
she wasn't wearing it she kept it in the
shiny acorn box.
And the little Red Man never knew what
had become of it, because he didn't know
where the little Field Mouse lived.
ANOTHER LITTLE RED HEN[1]
[1] Adapted from the verse version, which is given here as an
alternative.
Once upon a time there was a little Red
Hen, who lived on a farm all by herself.
An old Fox, crafty and sly, had a den in the
rocks, on a hill near her house. Many and
many a night this old Fox used to lie awake
and think to himself how good that little
Red Hen would taste if he could once get
her in his big kettle and boil her for dinner.
But he couldn't catch the little Red Hen,
because she was too wise for him. Every
time she went out to market she locked the
door of the house behind her, and as soon
as she came in again she locked the door
behind her and put the key in her apron
pocket, where she kept her scissors and a
sugar cooky.
At last the old Fox thought up a way
to catch the little Red Hen. Early in the
morning he said to his old mother, "Have
the kettle boiling when I come home to-
night, for I'll be bringing the little Red
Hen for supper." Then he took a big bag
and slung it over his shoulder, and walked
till he came to the little Red Hen's house.
The little Red Hen was just coming out of
her door to pick up a few sticks for kindling
wood. So the old Fox hid behind the wood-
pile, and as soon as she bent down to get a
stick, into the house he slipped, and scurried
behind the door.
In a minute the little Red Hen came
quickly in, and shut the door and locked
it. "I'm glad I'm safely in," she said.
Just as she said it, she turned round, and
there stood the ugly old Fox, with his big
bag over his shoulder. Whiff! how scared
the little Red Hen was! She dropped her
apronful of sticks, and flew up to the big
beam across the ceiling. There she perched,
and she said to the old Fox, down below,
"You may as well go home, for you can't
get me."
"Can't I, though!" said the Fox. And
what do you think he did? He stood on
the floor underneath the little Red Hen
and twirled round in a circle after his own
tail. And as he spun, and spun, and spun,
faster, and faster, and faster, the poor little
Red Hen got so dizzy watching him that
she couldn't hold on to the perch. She
dropped off, and the old Fox picked her up
and put her in his bag, slung the bag over
his shoulder, and started for home, where
the kettle was boiling.
He had a very long way to go, up hill,
and the little Red Hen was still so dizzy
that she didn't know where she was. But
when the dizziness began to go off, she
whisked her little scissors out of her apron
pocket, and snip! she cut a little hole in the
bag; then she poked her head out and saw
where she was, and as soon as they came
to a good spot she cut the hole bigger and
jumped out herself. There was a great big
stone lying there, and the little Red Hen
picked it up and put it in the bag as quick
as a wink. Then she ran as fast as she
could till she came to her own little farm-
house, and she went in and locked the door
with the big key.
The old Fox went on carrying the stone
and never knew the difference. My, but it
bumped him well! He was pretty tired
when he got home. But he was so pleased
to think of the supper he was going to have
that he did not mind that at all. As soon
as his mother opened the door he said, "Is
the kettle boiling?"
"Yes," said his mother; "have you got
the little Red Hen?"
"I have," said the old Fox. "When I
open the bag you hold the cover off the kettle
and I'll shake the bag so that the Hen
will fall in, and then you pop the cover on,
before she can jump out."
"All right," said his mean old mother;
and she stood close by the boiling kettle,
ready to put the cover on.
The Fox lifted the big, heavy bag up
till it was over the open kettle, and gave
it a shake. Splash! thump! splash! In
went the stone and out came the boiling
water, all over the old Fox and the old
Fox's mother!
And they were scalded to death.
But the little Red Hen lived happily ever
after, in her own little farmhouse.
THE STORY OF THE LITTLE RID HIN[1]
[1] From Horace E. Scudder's Doings of the Bodley Family in
Town and Country (Houghton, Mifflin & Co.).
There was once't upon a time
A little small Rid Hin,
Off in the good ould country
Where yees ha' nivir bin.
Nice and quiet shure she was,
And nivir did any harrum;
She lived alane all be herself,
And worked upon her farrum.
There lived out o'er the hill,
In a great din o' rocks,
A crafty, shly, and wicked
Ould folly iv a Fox.
This rashkill iv a Fox,
He tuk it in his head
He'd have the little Rid Hin:
So, whin he wint to bed,
He laid awake and thaught
What a foine thing 'twad be
To fetch her home and bile her up
For his ould marm and he.
And so he thaught and thaught,
Until he grew so thin
That there was nothin' left of him
But jist his bones and shkin.
But the small Rid Hin was wise,
She always locked her door,
And in her pocket pit the key,
To keep the Fox out shure.
But at last there came a schame
Intil his wicked head,
And he tuk a great big bag
And to his mither said,--
"Now have the pot all bilin'
Agin the time I come;
We'll ate the small Rid Hin to-night,
For shure I'll bring her home."
And so away he wint
Wid the bag upon his back,
An' up the hill and through the woods
Saftly he made his track.
An' thin he came alang,
Craping as shtill's a mouse,
To where the little small Rid Hin
Lived in her shnug ould house.
An' out she comes hersel',
Jist as he got in sight,
To pick up shticks to make her fire:
"Aha!" says Fox, "all right.
"Begorra, now, I'll have yees
Widout much throuble more;"
An' in he shlips quite unbeknownst,
An' hides be'ind the door.
An' thin, a minute afther,
In comes the small Rid Hin,
An' shuts the door, and locks it, too,
An' thinks, "I'm safely in."
An' thin she tarns around
An' looks be'ind the door;
There shtands the Fox wid his big tail
Shpread out upon the floor.
Dear me! she was so schared
Wid such a wondrous sight,
She dropped her apronful of shticks,
An' flew up in a fright,
An' lighted on the bame
Across on top the room;
"Aha!" says she, "ye don't have me;
Ye may as well go home."
"Aha!" says Fox, "we'll see;
I'll bring yees down from that."
So out he marched upon the floor
Right under where she sat.
An' thin he whiruled around,
An' round an' round an' round,
Fashter an' fashter an' fashter,
Afther his tail on the ground.
Until the small Rid Hin
She got so dizzy, shure,
Wid lookin' at the Fox's tail,
She jist dropped on the floor.
An' Fox he whipped her up,
An' pit her in his bag,
An' off he started all alone,
Him and his little dag.
All day he tracked the wood
Up hill an' down again;
An' wid him, shmotherin' in the bag,
The little small Rid Hin.
Sorra a know she knowed
Awhere she was that day;
Says she, "I'm biled an' ate up, shure,
An' what'll be to pay?"
Thin she betho't hersel',
An' tuk her schissors out,
An' shnipped a big hole in the bag,
So she could look about.
An' 'fore ould Fox could think
She lept right out--she did,
An' thin picked up a great big shtone,
An' popped it in instid.
An' thin she rins off home,
Her outside door she locks;
Thinks she, "You see you don't have me,
You crafty, shly ould Fox."
An' Fox, he tugged away
Wid the great big hivy shtone,
Thimpin' his shoulders very bad
As he wint in alone.
An' whin he came in sight
O' his great din o' rocks,
Jist watchin' for him at the door
He shpied ould mither Fox.
"Have ye the pot a-bilin'?"
Says he to ould Fox thin;
"Shure an' it is, me child," says she;
"Have ye the small Rid Hin?"
"Yes, jist here in me bag,
As shure as I shtand here;
Open the lid till I pit her in:
Open it--niver fear."
So the rashkill cut the sthring,
An' hild the big bag over;
"Now when I shake it in," says he,
"Do ye pit on the cover."
"Yis, that I will;" an' thin
The shtone wint in wid a dash,
An' the pot oy bilin' wather
Came over them ker-splash.
An' schalted 'em both to death,
So they couldn't brathe no more;
An' the little small Rid Hin lived safe,
Jist where she lived before.
THE STORY OF EPAMINONDAS AND HIS AUNTIE[1]
[1] A Southern nonsense tale.
Epaminondas used to go to see his Auntie
'most every day, and she nearly always
gave him something to take home to his
Mammy.
One day she gave him a big piece of cake;
nice, yellow, rich gold-cake.
Epaminondas took it in his fist and held
it all scrunched up tight, like this, and
came along home. By the time he got home
there wasn't anything left but a fistful of
crumbs. His Mammy said,--
"What you got there, Epaminondas?"
"Cake, Mammy," said Epaminondas.
"Cake!" said his Mammy. "Epaminondas,
you ain't got the sense you was born
with! That's no way to carry cake. The
way to carry cake is to wrap it all up nice
in some leaves and put it in your hat, and
put your hat on your head, and come along
home. You hear me, Epaminondas?"
"Yes, Mammy," said Epaminondas.
Next day Epaminondas went to see his
Auntie, and she gave him a pound of
butter for his Mammy; fine, fresh, sweet
butter.
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 | 4 |
5 |
6 |
7 |
8 |
9 |
10 |
11 |
12