Stories To Tell To Children
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Sara Cone Bryant >> Stories To Tell To Children
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PICCOLA[1]
[1] From Celia Thaxter's Stories and Poems for Children
(Houghton, Mifflin & Co.).
Poor, sweet Piccola! Did you hear
What happened to Piccola, children dear?
'T is seldom Fortune such favor grants
As fell to this little maid of France.
'Twas Christmas-time, and her parents poor
Could hardly drive the wolf from the door,
Striving with poverty's patient pain
Only to live till summer again.
No gifts for Piccola! Sad were they
When dawned the morning of Christmas-day;
Their little darling no joy might stir,
St. Nicholas nothing would bring to her!
But Piccola never doubted at all
That something beautiful must befall
Every child upon Christmas-day,
And so she slept till the dawn was gray.
And full of faith, when at last she woke,
She stole to her shoe as the morning broke;
Such sounds of gladness filled all the air,
'T was plain St. Nicholas had been there!
In rushed Piccola sweet, half wild:
Never was seen such a joyful child.
"See what the good saint brought!" she cried,
And mother and father must peep inside.
Now such a story who ever heard?
There was a little shivering bird!
A sparrow, that in at the window flew,
Had crept into Piccola's tiny shoe!
"How good poor Piccola must have been!"
She cried, as happy as any queen,
While the starving sparrow she fed and
warmed,
And danced with rapture, she was so
charmed.
Children, this story I tell to you,
Of Piccola sweet and her bird, is true.
In the far-off land of France, they say,
Still do they live to this very day.
THE LITTLE FIR TREE
[When I was a very little girl some one,
probably my mother, read to me Hans
Christian Andersen's story of the Little Fir
Tree. It happened that I did not read it
for myself or hear it again during my
childhood. One Christmas day, when I was
grown up, I found myself at a loss for the
"one more" story called for by some little
children with whom I was spending the holiday.
In the mental search for buried treasure
which ensued, I came upon one or
two word-impressions of the experiences
of the Little Fir Tree, and forthwith wove
them into what I supposed to be something
of a reproduction of the original. The latter
part of the story had wholly faded from my
memory, so that I "made up" to suit the
tastes of my audience. Afterward I told the
story to a good many children, at one time
or another, and it gradually took the shape
it has here. It was not until several years
later that, in re-reading Andersen for other
purposes, I came upon the real story of
the Little Fir Tree, and read it for
myself. Then indeed I was amused, and
somewhat distressed, to find how far I had
wandered from the text.
I give this explanation that the reader
may know I do not presume to offer the
little tale which follows as an "adaptation"
of Andersen's famous story. I offer it
plainly as a story which children have
liked, and which grew out of my early
memories of Andersen's "The Little Fir
Tree"].
Once there was a Little Fir Tree, slim
and pointed, and shiny, which stood in the
great forest in the midst of some big fir
trees, broad, and tall, and shadowy green.
The Little Fir Tree was very unhappy
because he was not big like the others. When
the birds came flying into the woods and
lit on the branches of the big trees and
built their nests there, he used to call up
to them,--
"Come down, come down, rest in my
branches!" But they always said,--
"Oh, no, no; you are too little!"
And when the splendid wind came blowing
and singing through the forest, it bent
and rocked and swung the tops of the big
trees, and murmured to them. Then the
Little Fir Tree looked up, and called,--
"Oh, please, dear wind, come down and
play with me!" But he always said,--
"Oh, no; you are too little, you are too
little!"
And in the winter the white snow fell
softly, softly, and covered the great trees
all over with wonderful caps and coats of
white. The Little Fir Tree, close down in
the cover of the others, would call up,--
"Oh, please, dear snow, give me a cap,
too! I want to play, too!" But the snow
always said,--
"Oh no, no, no; you are too little, you
are too little!"
The worst of all was when men came
into the wood, with sledges and teams of
horses. They came to cut the big trees
down and carry them away. And when one
had been cut down and carried away the
others talked about it, and nodded their
heads. And the Little Fir Tree listened,
and heard them say that when you were
carried away so, you might become the
mast of a mighty ship, and go far away over
the ocean, and see many wonderful things;
or you might be part of a fine house in a
great city, and see much of life. The Little
Fir Tree wanted greatly to see life, but he
was always too little; the men passed him by.
But by and by, one cold winter's morning,
men came with a sledge and horses,
and after they had cut here and there they
came to the circle of trees round the Little
Fir Tree, and looked all about.
"There are none little enough," they
said.
Oh! how the Little Fir Tree pricked
up his needles!
"Here is one," said one of the men,
"it is just little enough." And he touched
the Little Fir Tree.
The Little Fir Tree was happy as a bird,
because he knew they were about to cut
him down. And when he was being carried
away on the sledge he lay wondering,
SO contentedly, whether he should be the
mast of a ship or part of a fine city house.
But when they came to the town he was
taken out and set upright in a tub and
placed on the edge of a sidewalk in a row
of other fir trees, all small, but none so little
as he. And then the Little Fir Tree began
to see life.
People kept coming to look at the trees
and to take them away. But always when
they saw the Little Fir Tree they shook
their heads and said,--
"It is too little, too little."
Until, finally, two children came along,
hand in hand, looking carefully at all the
small trees. When they saw the Little Fir
Tree they cried out,--
"We'll take this one; it is just little
enough!"
They took him out of his tub and carried
him away, between them. And the
happy Little Fir Tree spent all his time
wondering what it could be that he was just
little enough for; he knew it could hardly
be a mast or a house, since he was going
away with children.
He kept wondering, while they took him
in through some big doors, and set him up
in another tub, on the table, in a bare little
room. Pretty soon they went away, and
came back again with a big basket, carried
between them. Then some pretty ladies,
with white caps on their heads and white
aprons over their blue dresses, came bringing
little parcels. The children took things
out of the basket and began to play with
the Little Fir Tree, just as he had often
begged the wind and the snow and the
birds to do. He felt their soft little touches
on his head and his twigs and his branches.
And when he looked down at himself, as
far as he could look, he saw that he was
all hung with gold and silver chains! There
were strings of white fluffy stuff drooping
around him; his twigs held little gold nuts
and pink, rosy balls and silver stars; he
had pretty little pink and white candles in
his arms; but last, and most wonderful of
all, the children hung a beautiful white,
floating doll-angel over his head! The
Little Fir Tree could not breathe, for joy
and wonder. What was it that he was,
now? Why was this glory for him?
After a time every one went away and
left him. It grew dusk, and the Little Fir
Tree began to hear strange sounds through
the closed doors. Sometimes he heard a
child crying. He was beginning to be lonely.
It grew more and more shadowy.
All at once, the doors opened and the
two children came in. Two of the pretty
ladies were with them. They came up to
the Little Fir Tree and quickly lighted all
the little pink and white candles. Then
the two pretty ladies took hold of the table
with the Little Fir Tree on it and pushed
it, very smoothly and quickly, out of the
doors, across a hall, and in at another door.
The Little Fir Tree had a sudden sight
of a long room with many little white beds
in it, of children propped up on pillows in the
beds, and of other children in great wheeled
chairs, and others hobbling about or sitting
in little chairs. He wondered why all the
little children looked so white and tired;
he did not know that he was in a hospital.
But before he could wonder any more his
breath was quite taken away by the shout
those little white children gave.
"Oh! oh! m-m! m-m!" they cried.
"How pretty! How beautiful! Oh,
isn't it lovely!"
He knew they must mean him, for all
their shining eyes were looking straight at
him. He stood as straight as a mast, and
quivered in every needle, for joy. Presently
one little weak child-voice called out,--
"It's the nicest Christmas tree I ever
saw!"
And then, at last, the Little Fir Tree
knew what he was; he was a Christmas
tree! And from his shiny head to his feet
he was glad, through and through, because
he was just little enough to be the nicest
kind of tree in the world!
HOW MOSES WAS SAVED
Thousands of years ago, many years
before David lived, there was a very wise
and good man of his people who was a
friend and adviser of the king of Egypt.
And for love of this friend, the king of
Egypt had let numbers of the Israelites
settle in his land. But after the king and
his Israelitish friend were dead, there was a
new king, who hated the Israelites. When
he saw how strong they were, and how
many there were of them, he began to be
afraid that some day they might number
more than the Egyptians, and might take
his land from him.
Then he and his rulers did a wicked
thing. They made the Israelites slaves.
And they gave them terrible tasks to do,
without proper rest, or food, or clothes.
For they hoped that the hardship would
kill off the Israelites. They thought the
old men would die and the young men
be so ill and weary that they could not
bring up families, and so the race would
vanish away.
But in spite of the work and suffering,
the Israelites remained strong, and more
and more boys grew up, to make the king
afraid.
Then he did the wickedest thing of all.
He ordered his soldiers to kill every boy
baby that should be born in an Israelitish
family; he did not care about the girls,
because they could not grow up to fight.
Very soon after this evil order, a boy
baby was born in a certain Israelitish
family. When his mother first looked at
him her heart was nearly broken, for he
was even more beautiful than most babies
are,--so strong and fair and sweet. But
he was a boy! How could she save him
from death?
Somehow, she contrived to keep him
hidden for three whole months. But at
the end of that time, she saw that it was
not going to be possible to keep him safe
any longer. She had been thinking all this
time about what she should do, and now
she carried out her plan.
First, she took a basket made of
bulrushes and daubed it all over with pitch
so that it was water-tight, and then she laid
the baby in it; then she carried it to the
edge of the river and laid it in the flags by
the river's brink. It did not show at all,
unless one were quite near it. Then she
kissed her little son and left him there.
But his sister stood far off, not seeming to
watch, but really watching carefully to see
what would happen to the baby.
Soon there was the sound of talk and
laughter, and a train of beautiful women
came down to the water's edge. It was the
king's daughter, come down to bathe in
the river, with her maidens. The maidens
walked along by the river's side.
As the king's daughter came near to the
water, she saw the strange little basket
lying in the flags, and she sent her maid to
bring it to her. And when she had opened
it, she saw the child; the poor baby was
crying. When she saw him, so helpless
and so beautiful, crying for his mother,
the king's daughter pitied him and loved
him. She knew the cruel order of her
father, and she said at once, "This is one
of the Hebrews' children."
At that moment the baby's sister came
to the princess and said, "Shall I go and
find thee a nurse from the Hebrew women,
so that she may nurse the child for thee?"
Not a word did she say about whose child
it was, but perhaps the princess guessed;
I don't know. At all events, she told the
little girl to go.
So the maiden went, and brought her
mother!
Then the king's daughter said to the
baby's mother, "Take this child away and
nurse it for me, and I will give thee wages."
Was not that a strange thing? And can
you think how happy the baby's mother
was? For now the baby would be known
only as the princess's adopted child, and
would be safe.
And it was so. The mother kept him
until he was old enough to be taken to the
princess's palace. Then he was brought
and given to the king's daughter, and he
became her son. And she named him Moses.
But the strangest part of the whole story
is, that when Moses grew to be a man he
became so strong and wise that it was he
who at last saved his people from the king
and conquered the Egyptians. The one
child saved by the king's own daughter
was the very one the king would most have
wanted to kill, if he had known.
THE TEN FAIRIES[1]
[1] Adapted from the facts given in the German of Die Zehn
{Feeen?}, by H. A. Guerber.
Once upon a time there was a dear little
girl, whose name was Elsa. Elsa's father
and mother worked very hard and became
rich. But they loved Elsa so much that
they did not like to have her do any work;
very foolishly, they let her play all the
time. So when Elsa grew up, she did not
know how to do anything; she could not
make bread, she could not sweep a room,
she could not sew a seam; she could only
laugh and sing. But she was so sweet and
merry that everybody loved her. And by
and by, she married one of the people who
loved her, and had a house of her own to
take care of.
Then, then, my dears, came hard times
for Elsa! There were so many things to
be done in the house, and she did not know
how to do any of them! And because she
had never worked at all it made her very
tired even to try; she was tired before
the morning was over, every day. The
maid would come and say, "How shall I
do this?" or "How shall I do that?"
And Elsa would have to say, "I don't
know." Then the maid would pretend
that she did not know, either; and when
she saw her mistress sitting about doing
nothing, she, too, sat about, idle.
Elsa's husband had a hard time of it;
he did not have good things to eat, and they
were not ready at the right time, and the
house looked all in a clutter. It made him
sad, and that made Elsa sad, for she wanted
to do everything just right.
At last, one day, Elsa's husband went
away quite cross; he said to her, as he
went out the door, "It is no wonder that
the house looks so, when you sit all day
with your hands in your lap!"
Little Elsa cried bitterly when he was
gone, for she did not want to make her
husband unhappy and cross, and she
wanted the house to look nice. "Oh, dear,"
she sobbed, "I wish I could do things
right! I wish I could work! I wish--I
wish I had ten good fairies to work for me!
Then I could keep the house!"
As she said the words, a great gray man
stood before her; he was wrapped in a
strange gray cloak that covered him from
head to foot; and he smiled at Elsa.
"What is the matter, dear?" he said. "Why
do you cry?"
"Oh, I am crying because I do not know
how to keep the house," said Elsa. "I
cannot make bread, I cannot sweep, I
cannot sew a seam; when I was a little
girl I never learned to work, and now I
cannot do anything right. I wish I had
ten good fairies to help me!"
"You shall have them, dear," said the
gray man, and he shook his strange gray
cloak. Pouf! Out hopped ten tiny fairies,
no bigger than that!
"These shall be your servants, Elsa,"
said the gray man; "they are faithful
and clever, and they will do everything
you want them to, just right. But the
neighbors might stare and ask questions if
they saw these little chaps running about
your house, so I will hide them away for
you. Give me your little useless hands."
Wondering, Elsa stretched out her pretty,
little, white hands.
"Now stretch out your little useless
fingers, dear!"
Elsa stretched out her pretty pink fingers.
The gray man touched each one of the
ten little fingers, and as he touched them
he said their names: "Little Thumb; Fore-
finger; Thimble-finger; Ring-finger;
Little Finger; Little Thumb; Forefinger;
Thimble-finger; Ring-finger; Little Finger!"
And as he named the fingers, one
after another, the tiny fairies bowed their
tiny heads; there was a fairy for every
name.
"Hop! hide yourselves away!" said the
gray man.
Hop, hop! The fairies sprang to Elsa's
knee, then to the palms of her hands, and
then-whisk! they were all hidden away
in her little pink fingers, a fairy in every
finger! And the gray man was gone.
Elsa sat and looked with wonder at her
little white hands and the ten useless
fingers. But suddenly the little fingers
began to stir. The tiny fairies who were
hidden away there weren't used to staying
still, and they were getting restless.
They stirred so that Elsa jumped up and
ran to the cooking table, and took hold
of the bread board. No sooner had she
touched the bread board than the little
fairies began to work: they measured the
flour, mixed the bread, kneaded the loaves,
and set them to rise, quicker than you
could wink; and when the bread was done,
it was the nicest you could wish. Then the
little fairy-fingers seized the broom, and in
a twinkling they were making the house
clean. And so it went, all day. Elsa flew
about from one thing to another, and the
ten fairies did it all, just right.
When the maid saw her mistress working,
she began to work, too; and when she
saw how beautifully everything was done,
she was ashamed to do anything badly
herself. In a little while the housework was
going smoothly, and Elsa could laugh and
sing again.
There was no more crossness in that
house. Elsa's husband grew so proud of
her that he went about saying to everybody,
"My grandmother was a fine housekeeper,
and my mother was a fine housekeeper, but
neither of them could hold a candle to my
wife. She has only one maid, but, to see
the work done, you would think she had
as many servants as she has fingers on her
hands!"
When Elsa heard that, she used to laugh,
but she never, never told.
THE ELVES AND THE SHOEMAKER
Once upon a time there was an honest
shoemaker, who was very poor. He worked
as hard as he could, and still he could not
earn enough to keep himself and his wife.
At last there came a day when he had
nothing left but one piece of leather, big
enough to make one pair of shoes. He
cut out the shoes, ready to stitch, and left
them on the bench; then he said his prayers
and went to bed, trusting that he could
finish the shoes on the next day and sell
them.
Bright and early the next morning, he
rose and went to his work-bench. There
lay a pair of shoes, beautifully made, and
the leather was gone! There was no sign
of any one's having been there. The shoemaker
and his wife did not know what to
make of it. But the first customer who
came was so pleased with the beautiful
shoes that he bought them, and paid so
much that the shoemaker was able to buy
leather enough for two pairs.
Happily, he cut them out, and then, as
it was late, he left the pieces on the bench,
ready to sew in the morning. But when
morning came, two pairs of shoes lay on the
bench, most beautifully made, and no sign
of any one who had been there. The shoemaker
and his wife were quite at a loss.
That day a customer came and bought
both pairs, and paid so much for them that
the shoemaker bought leather for four
pairs, with the money.
Once more he cut out the shoes and left
them on the bench. And in the morning
all four pairs were made.
It went on like this until the shoemaker
and his wife were prosperous people. But
they could not be satisfied to have so much
done for them and not know to whom they
should be grateful. So one night, after the
shoemaker had left the pieces of leather
on the bench, he and his wife hid themselves
behind a curtain, and left a light in
the room.
Just as the clock struck twelve the door
opened softly, and two tiny elves came
dancing into the room, hopped on to the
bench, and began to put the pieces
together. They were quite naked, but they
had wee little scissors and hammers and
thread. Tap! tap! went the little hammers;
stitch, stitch, went the thread, and
the little elves were hard at work. No one
ever worked so fast as they. In almost no
time all the shoes were stitched and
finished. Then the tiny elves took hold of
each other's hands and danced round the
shoes on the bench, till the shoemaker and
his wife had hard work not to laugh aloud.
But as the clock struck two, the little
creatures whisked away out of the window,
and left the room all as it was before.
The shoemaker and his wife looked at
each other, and said, "How can we thank
the little elves who have made us happy
and prosperous?"
"I should like to make them some pretty
clothes," said the wife, "they are quite
naked."
"I will make the shoes if you will make
the coats," said her husband.
That very day they set about it. The
wife cut out two tiny, tiny coats of green,
two weeny, weeny waistcoats of yellow,
two little pairs of trousers, of white, two
bits of caps, bright red (for every one
knows the elves love bright colors), and
her husband made two little pairs of shoes
with long, pointed toes. They made the
wee clothes as dainty as could be, with
nice little stitches and pretty buttons; and
by Christmas time, they were finished.
On Christmas eve, the shoemaker cleaned
his bench, and on it, instead of leather,
he laid the two sets of gay little fairy-
clothes. Then he and his wife hid away
as before, to watch.
Promptly at midnight, the little naked
elves came in. They hopped upon the
bench; but when they saw the little clothes
there, they laughed and danced for joy.
Each one caught up his little coat and
things and began to put them on. Then
they looked at each other and made all
kinds of funny motions in their delight.
At last they began to dance, and when
the clock struck two, they danced quite
away, out of the window.
They never came back any more, but
from that day they gave the shoemaker
and his wife good luck, so that they never
needed any more help.
WHO KILLED THE OTTER'S BABIES[1]?
[1] Adapted from the story as told in Fables and Folk Tales
From an Eastern Forest, by Walter Skeat.
Once the Otter came to the Mouse-deer
and said, "Friend Mouse-deer, will you
please take care of my babies while I go
to the river, to catch fish?"
"Certainly," said the Mouse-deer, "go
along."
But when the Otter came back from the
river, with a string of fish, he found his
babies crushed flat.
"What does this mean, Friend Mouse-
deer?" he said. "Who killed my children
while you were taking care of them?"
"I am very sorry," said the Mouse-deer,
"but you know I am Chief Dancer of the
War-dance, and the Woodpecker came
and sounded the war-gong, so I danced.
I forgot your children, and trod on them."
"I shall go to King Solomon," said the
Otter, "and you shall be punished."
Soon the Mouse-deer was called before
King Solomon.
"Did you kill the Otter's babies?" said
the king.
"Yes, your Majesty," said the Mouse-
deer, "but I did not mean to."
"How did it happen?" said the king.
"Your Majesty knows," said the Mouse-
deer, "that I am Chief Dancer of the
War-dance. The Woodpecker came and
sounded the war-gong, and I had to dance;
and as I danced I trod on the Otter's
children."
"Send for the Woodpecker," said King
Solomon. And when the Woodpecker
came, he said to him, "Was it you who
sounded the war-gong?"
"Yes, your Majesty," said the Woodpecker,
"but I had to."
"Why?" said the king.
"Your Majesty knows," said the Woodpecker,
"that I am Chief Beater of the
War-gong, and I sounded the gong because
I saw the Great Lizard wearing his
sword."
"Send for the Great Lizard," said King
Solomon. When the Great Lizard came,
he asked him, "Was it you who were wearing
your sword?"
"Yes, your Majesty," said the Great
Lizard; "but I had to."
"Why?" said the king.
"Your Majesty knows," said the Great
Lizard, "that I am Chief Protector of the
Sword. I wore my sword because the
Tortoise came wearing his coat of mail."
So the Tortoise was sent for.
"Why did you wear your coat of mail?"
said the king.
"I put it on, your Majesty," said the
Tortoise, "because I saw the King-crab
trailing his three-edged pike."
Then the King-crab was sent for.
"Why were you trailing your three-
edged pike?" said King Solomon.
"Because, your Majesty," said the
Kingerab, "I saw that the Crayfish had
shouldered his lance."
Immediately the Crayfish was sent for.
"Why did you shoulder your lance?"
said the king.
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