Stories To Tell To Children
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Sara Cone Bryant >> Stories To Tell To Children
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"Because, your Majesty," said the
Crayfish, "I saw the Otter coming down to the
river to kill my children."
"Oh," said King Solomon, "if that is
the case, the Otter killed the Otter's children.
And the Mouse-deer cannot be
held, by the law of the land!"
EARLY[1]
[1] From The singing Leaves, by Josephine Preston Peabody
(Houghton, Mifflin and Co.).
I like to lie and wait to see
My mother braid her hair.
It is as long as it can be,
And yet she doesn't care.
I love my mother's hair.
And then the way her fingers go;
They look so quick and white,--
In and out, and to and fro,
And braiding in the light,
And it is always right.
So then she winds it, shiny brown,
Around her head into a crown,
Just like the day before.
And then she looks and pats it down,
And looks a minute more;
While I stay here all still and cool.
Oh, isn't morning beautiful?
THE BRAHMIN, THE TIGER, AND THE JACKAL
Do you know what a Brahmin is? A
Brahmin is a very good and gentle kind of
man who lives in India, and who treats all
the beasts as if they were his brothers.
There is a great deal more to know about
Brahmins, but that is enough for the story.
One day a Brahmin was walking along
a country road when he came upon a
Tiger, shut up in a strong iron cage. The
villagers had caught him and shut him up
there for his wickedness.
"Oh, Brother Brahmin, Brother Brahmin,"
said the Tiger, "please let me out,
to get a little drink! I am so thirsty, and
there is no water here."
"But Brother Tiger," said the Brahmin,
"you know if I should let you out, you
would spring on me and eat me up."
"Never, Brother Brahmin!" said the
Tiger. "Never in the world would I do
such an ungrateful thing! Just let me out
a little minute, to get a little, little drink
of water, Brother Brahmin!"
So the Brahmin unlocked the door and
let the Tiger out. The moment he was
out he sprang on the Brahmin, and was
about to eat him up.
"But, Brother Tiger," said the Brahmin,
"you promised you would not. It is not
fair or just that you should eat me, when
I set you free."
"It is perfectly right and just," said the
Tiger, "and I shall eat you up."
However, the Brahmin argued so hard
that at last the Tiger agreed to wait and
ask the first five whom they should meet,
whether it was fair for him to eat the
Brahmin, and to abide by their decision.
The first thing they came to, to ask,
was an old Banyan Tree, by the wayside.
(A banyan tree is a kind of fruit tree.)
"Brother Banyan," said the Brahmin,
eagerly, "does it seem to you right or just
that this Tiger should eat me, when I set
him free from his cage?"
The Banyan Tree looked down at them
and spoke in a tired voice.
"In the summer," he said, "when the
sun is hot, men come and sit in the cool of
my shade and refresh themselves with the
fruit of my branches. But when evening
falls, and they are rested, they break my
twigs and scatter my leaves, and stone
my boughs for more fruit. Men are an
ungrateful race. Let the Tiger eat the
Brahmin."
The Tiger sprang to eat the Brahmin,
but the Brahmin said,--
"Wait, wait; we have asked only one.
We have still four to ask."
Presently they came to a place where an
old Bullock was lying by the road. The
Brahmin went up to him and said,--
"Brother Bullock, oh, Brother Bullock,
does it seem to you a fair thing that this
Tiger should eat me up, after I have just
freed him from a cage?"
The Bullock looked up, and answered
in a deep, grumbling voice,--
"When I was young and strong my
master used me hard, and I served him
well. I carried heavy loads and carried
them far. Now that I am old and weak
and cannot work, he leaves me without
food or water, to die by the wayside. Men
are a thankless lot. Let the Tiger eat the
Brahmin."
The Tiger sprang, but the Brahmin
spoke very quickly:--
"Oh, but this is only the second, Brother
Tiger; you promised to ask five."
The Tiger grumbled a good deal, but at
last he went on again with the Brahmin.
And after a time they saw an Eagle, high
overhead. The Brahmin called up to him
imploringly,--
"Oh, Brother Eagle, Brother Eagle!
Tell us if it seems to you fair that this
Tiger should eat me up, when I have just
saved him from a frightful cage?"
The Eagle soared slowly overhead a
moment, then he came lower, and spoke
in a thin, clear voice.
"I live high in the air," he said, "and I
do no man any harm. Yet as often as they
find my eyrie, men stone my young and rob
my nest and shoot at me with arrows.
Men are a cruel breed. Let the Tiger eat
the Brahmin!"
The Tiger sprang upon the Brahmin,
to eat him up; and this time the Brahmin
had very hard work to persuade him to
wait. At last he did persuade him,
however, and they walked on together. And
in a little while they saw an old Alligator,
lying half buried in mud and slime, at the
river's edge.
"Brother Alligator, oh, Brother Alligator!"
said the Brahmin, "does it seem
at all right or fair to you that this Tiger
should eat me up, when I have just now
let him out of a cage?"
The old Alligator turned in the mud,
and grunted, and snorted; then he said,
"I lie here in the mud all day, as
harmless as a pigeon; I hunt no man, yet every
time a man sees me, he throws stones at
me, and pokes me with sharp sticks, and
jeers at me. Men are a worthless lot. Let
the Tiger eat the Brahmin!"
At this the Tiger was bound to eat the
Brahmin at once. The poor Brahmin
had to remind him, again and again, that
they had asked only four.
"Wait till we've asked one more! Wait
until we see a fifth!" he begged.
Finally, the Tiger walked on with him.
After a time, they met the little Jackal,
coming gayly down the road toward them.
"Oh, Brother Jackal, dear Brother
Jackal," said the Brahmin, "give us your
opinion! Do you think it right or fair that
this Tiger should eat me, when I set him
free from a terrible cage?"
"Beg pardon?" said the little Jackal.
"I said," said the Brahmin, raising his
voice, "do you think it is fair that the
Tiger should eat me, when I set him free
from his cage?"
"Cage?" said the little Jackal, vacantly.
"Yes, yes, his cage," said the Brahmin.
"We want your opinion. Do you think--"
"Oh," said the little Jackal, "you want
my opinion? Then may I beg you to speak
a little more loudly, and make the matter
quite clear? I am a little slow of
understanding. Now what was it?"
"Do you think," said the Brahmin, "it
is right for this Tiger to eat me, when I
set him free from his cage?"
"What cage?" said the little Jackal.
"Why, the cage he was in," said the
Brahmin. "You see--"
"But I don't altogether understand,"
said the little Jackal, "You `set him free,'
you say?"
"Yes, yes, yes!" said the Brahmin.
"It was this way: I was walking along,
and I saw the Tiger--"
"Oh, dear, dear!" interrupted the little
Jackal; "I never can see through it, if you
go on like that, with a long story. If you
really want my opinion you must make the
matter clear. What sort of cage was it?"
"Why, a big, ordinary cage, an iron
cage," said the Brahmin.
"That gives me no idea at all," said the
little Jackal. "See here, my friends, if we
are to get on with this matter you'd best
show me the spot. Then I can understand
in a jiffy. Show me the cage."
So the Brahmin, the Tiger, and the little
Jackal walked back together to the spot
where the cage was.
"Now, let us understand the situation,"
said the little Jackal. "Brahmin, where
were you?"
"I stood here by the roadside," said the
Brahmin.
"Tiger, where were you?" said the little
Jackal.
"Why, in the cage, of course," roared
the Tiger.
"Oh, I beg your pardon, Father Tiger,"
said the little Jackal, "I really am SO stupid;
I cannot QUITE understand what happened.
If you will have a little patience,--HOW
were you in the cage? What position
were you in?"
"I stood here," said the Tiger, leaping
into the cage, "with my head over my
shoulder, so."
"Oh, thank you, thank you," said the
little Jackal, "that makes it MUCH clearer;
but I still don't QUITE understand--forgive
my slow mind--why did you not come
out, by yourself?"
"Can't you see that the door shut me
in?" said the Tiger.
"Oh, I do beg your pardon," said the
little Jackal. "I know I am very slow; I
can never understand things well unless I
see just how they were if you could show
me now exactly how that door works I am
sure I could understand. How does it
shut?"
"It shuts like this," said the Brahmin,
pushing it to.
"Yes; but I don't see any lock," said
the little Jackal, "does it lock on the
outside?"
"It locks like this," said the Brahmin.
And he shut and bolted the door!
"Oh, does it, indeed?" said the little
Jackal. "Does it, INDEED! Well, Brother
Brahmin, now that it is locked, I should
advise you to let it stay locked! As for
you, my friend," he said to the Tiger, "I
think you will wait a good while before
you'll find any one to let you out again!"
Then he made a very low bow to the Brahmin.
"Good-by, Brother," he said. "Your
way lies that way, and mine lies this;
good-by!"
THE LITTLE JACKAL AND THE CAMEL
All these stories about the little Jackal
that I have told you, show how clever the
little Jackal was. But you know--if you
don't, you will when you are grown up--
that no matter how clever you are, sooner
or later you surely meet some one who is
cleverer. It is always so in life. And it
was so with the little Jackal. This is what
happened.
The little Jackal was, as you know,
exceedingly fond of shell-fish, especially of
river crabs. Now there came a time when
he had eaten all the crabs to be found on
his own side of the river. He knew there
must be plenty on the other side, if he
could only get to them, but he could not
swim.
One day he thought of a plan. He went
to his friend the Camel, and said,--
"Friend Camel, I know a spot where the
sugar-cane grows thick; I'll show you the
way, if you will take me there."
"Indeed I will," said the Camel, who
was very fond of sugar-cane. "Where is
it?"
"It is on the other side of the river,"
said the little Jackal; "but we can manage
it nicely, if you will take me on your back
and swim over."
The Camel was perfectly willing, so the
little Jackal jumped on his back, and the
Camel swam across the river, carrying him.
When they were safely over, the little Jackal
jumped down and showed the Camel the
sugar-cane field; then he ran swiftly
along the river bank, to hunt for crabs;
the Camel began to eat sugar-cane. He ate
happily, and noticed nothing around him.
Now, you know, a Camel is very big,
and a Jackal is very little. Consequently,
the little Jackal had eaten his fill by the
time the Camel had barely taken a mouthful.
The little Jackal had no mind to wait
for his slow friend; he wanted to be off
home again, about his business. So he ran
round and round the sugar-cane field, and
as he ran he sang and shouted, and made
a great hullabaloo.
Of course, the villagers heard him at
once.
"There is a Jackal in the sugar-cane,"
they said; "he will dig holes and destroy
the roots; we must go down and drive him
out." So they came down, with sticks and
stones. When they got there, there was no
Jackal to be seen; but they saw the great
Camel, eating away at the juicy sugar-
cane. They ran at him and beat him, and
stoned him, and drove him away half
dead.
When they had gone, leaving the poor
Camel half killed, the little Jackal came
dancing back from somewhere or other.
"I think it's time to go home, now," he
said; "don't you?"
"Well, you ARE a pretty friend!" said the
Camel. "The idea of your making such
a noise, with your shouting and singing!
You brought this upon me. What in the
world made you do it? Why did you shout
and sing?"
"Oh, I don't know WHY," said the little
Jackal,--"I always sing after dinner!"
"So?" said the Camel, "Ah, very well,
let us go home now."
He took the little Jackal kindly on his
back and started into the water. When
he began to swim he swam out to where
the river was the very deepest. There he
stopped, and said,--
"Oh, Jackal!"
"Yes," said the little Jackal.
"I have the strangest feeling," said the
Camel,--"I feel as if I must roll over."
"`Roll over'!" cried the Jackal. "My
goodness, don't do that! If you do that,
you'll drown me! What in the world makes
you want to do such a crazy thing? Why
should you want to roll over?"
"Oh, I don't know WHY," said the Camel
slowly, "but I always roll over after dinner!"
So he rolled over.
And the little Jackal was drowned, for
his sins, but the Camel came safely home.
THE GULLS OF SALT LAKE
The story I am going to tell you is about
something that really happened, many
years ago, when most of the mothers and
fathers of the children here were not born,
themselves. At that time, nearly all the
people in the United States lived between
the Atlantic Ocean and the Mississippi
River. Beyond were plains, reaching to the
foot of the mighty Rocky Mountains, where
Indians and wild beasts roamed. The only
white men there were a few hunters and
trappers.
One year a brave little company of people
traveled across the plains in big covered
wagons with many horses, and finally
succeeded in climbing to the top of the
great Rockies and down again into a valley
in the very midst of the mountains. It
was a valley of brown, bare, desert soil,
in a climate where almost no rain falls;
but the snows on the mountain-tops sent
down little streams of pure water, the winds
were gentle, and lying like a blue jewel at
the foot of the western hills was a marvelous
lake of salt water,--an inland sea.
So the pioneers settled there and built them
huts and cabins for the first winter.
It had taken them many months to make
the terrible journey; many had died of
weariness and illness on the way; many
died of hardship during the winter; and the
provisions they had brought in their wagons
were so nearly gone that, by spring, they
were living partly on roots, dug from the
ground. All their lives now depended on
the crops of grain and vegetables which
they could raise in the valley. They made
the barren land good by spreading water
from the little streams over it,--what we
call "irrigating;" and they planted enough
corn and grain and vegetables for all the
people. Every one helped, and every one
watched for the sprouting, with hopes, and
prayers, and careful eyes.
In good time the seeds sprouted, and
the dry, brown earth was covered with a
carpet of tender, green, growing things.
No farmer's garden at home in the East
could have looked better than the great
garden of the desert valley. And from day
to day the little shoots grew and flourished
till they were all well above the ground.
Then a terrible thing happened. One
day the men who were watering the crops
saw a great number of crickets swarming
over the ground at the edge of the gardens
nearest the mountains. They were hopping
from the barren places into the young,
green crops, and as they settled down they
ate the tiny shoots and leaves to the ground.
More came, and more, and ever more, and
as they came they spread out till they
covered a big corner of the grain field. And
still more and more, till it was like an
army of black, hopping, crawling crickets,
streaming down the side of the mountain
to kill the crops.
The men tried to kill the crickets by
beating the ground, but the numbers were
so great that it was like beating at the sea.
Then they ran and told the terrible news,
and all the village came to help. They
started fires; they dug trenches and filled
them with water; they ran wildly about in
the fields, killing what they could. But
while they fought in one place new armies
of crickets marched down the mountain-
sides and attacked the fields in other places.
And at last the people fell on their knees
and wept and cried in despair, for they saw
starvation and death in the fields.
A few knelt to pray. Others gathered
round and joined them, weeping. More
left their useless struggles and knelt
beside their neighbors. At last nearly all the
people were kneeling on the desolate fields
praying for deliverance from the plague of
crickets.
Suddenly, from far off in the air toward
the great salt lake, there was the sound
of flapping wings. It grew louder. Some
of the people looked up, startled. They
saw, like a white cloud rising from the lake,
a flock of sea gulls flying toward them.
Snow-white in the sun, with great wings
beating and soaring, in hundreds and
hundreds, they rose and circled and came on.
"The gulls! the gulls!" was the cry.
"What does it mean?"
The gulls flew overhead, with a shrill
chorus of whimpering cries, and then, in
a marvelous white cloud of spread wings
and hovering breasts, they settled down
over the seeded ground.
"Oh! woe! woe!" cried the people.
"The gulls are eating what the crickets
have left! they will strip root and branch!"
But all at once, some one called out,--
"No, no! See! they are eating the
crickets! They are eating only the crickets!"
It was true. The gulls devoured the
crickets in dozens, in hundreds, in swarms.
They ate until they were gorged, and then
they flew heavily back to the lake, only to
come again with new appetite. And when
at last they finished, they had stripped the
fields of the cricket army; and the people
were saved.
To this day, in the beautiful city of Salt
Lake, which grew out of that pioneer village,
the little children are taught to love
the sea gulls. And when they learn drawing
and weaving in the schools, their first
design is often a picture of a cricket and a
gull.
THE NIGHTINGALE[1]
[1] Adapted from Hans Christian Andersen.
A long, long time ago, as long ago as when
there were fairies, there lived an emperor
in China, who had a most beautiful palace,
all made of crystal. Outside the palace
was the loveliest garden in the whole world,
and farther away was a forest where the
trees were taller than any other trees in the
world, and farther away, still, was a deep
wood. And in this wood lived a little
Nightingale. The Nightingale sang so
beautifully that everybody who heard her
remembered her song better than anything
else that he heard or saw. People came
from all over the world to see the crystal
palace and the wonderful garden and the
great forest; but when they went home
and wrote books about these things they
always wrote, "But the Nightingale is the
best of all."
At last it happened that the Emperor
came upon a book which said this, and he
at once sent for his Chamberlain.
"Who is this Nightingale?" said the
Emperor. "Why have I never heard him
sing?"
The Chamberlain, who was a very
important person, said, "There cannot be
any such person; I have never heard his
name."
"The book says there is a Nightingale,"
said the Emperor. "I command that the
Nightingale be brought here to sing for me
this evening."
The Chamberlain went out and asked
all the great lords and ladies and pages
where the Nightingale could be found, but
not one of them had ever heard of him.
So the Chamberlain went back to the Emperor
and said, "There is no such person."
"The book says there is a Nightingale,"
said the Emperor; "if the Nightingale is
not here to sing for me this evening I will
have the court trampled upon, immediately
after supper."
The Chamberlain did not want to be
trampled upon, so he ran out and asked
everybody in the palace about the Nightingale.
At last, a little girl who worked in
the kitchen to help the cook's helper, said,
"Oh, yes, I know the Nightingale very
well. Every night, when I go to carry
scraps from the kitchen to my mother,
who lives in the wood beyond the forest,
I hear the Nightingale sing."
The Chamberlain asked the little cook-
maid to take him to the Nightingale's
home, and many of the lords and ladies
followed after. When they had gone a
little way, they heard a cow moo.
"Ah!" said the lords and ladies, "that
must be the Nightingale; what a large
voice for so small a creature!"
"Oh, no," said the little girl, "that is
just a cow, mooing."
A little farther on they heard some bull-
frogs, in a swamp. "Surely that is the
Nightingale," said the courtiers; "it really
sounds like church-bells!"
"Oh, no," said the little girl, "those are
bullfrogs, croaking."
At last they came to the wood where the
Nightingale was. "Hush!" said the little
girl, "she is going to sing." And, sure
enough, the little Nightingale began to
sing. She sang so beautifully that you
have never in all your life heard anything
like it.
"Dear, dear," said the courtiers, "that
is very pleasant; does that little gray bird
really make all that noise? She is so pale
that I think she has lost her color for fear
of us."
The Chamberlain asked the little Nightingale
to come and sing for the Emperor.
The little Nightingale said she could sing
better in her own greenwood, but she was
so sweet and kind that she came with them.
That evening the palace was all trimmed
with the most beautiful flowers you can
imagine, and rows and rows of little silver
bells, that tinkled when the wind blew
in, and hundreds and hundreds and hundreds
of wax candles, that shone like tiny
stars. In the great hall there was a gold
perch for the Nightingale, beside the
Emperor's throne.
When all the people were there, the
Emperor asked the Nightingale to sing. Then
the little gray Nightingale filled her throat
full, and sang. And, my dears, she sang
so beautifully that the Emperor's eyes
filled up with tears! And, you know,
emperors do not cry at all easily. So he asked
her to sing again, and this time she sang
so marvelously that the tears came out of
his eyes and ran down his cheeks. That
was a great success. They asked the little
Nightingale to sing, over and over again,
and when they had listened enough the
Emperor said that she should be made
"Singer in Chief to the Court." She was
to have a golden perch near the Emperor's
bed, and a little gold cage, and was
to be allowed to go out twice every day.
But there were twelve servants appointed
to wait on her, and those twelve servants
went with her every time she went out, and
each of the twelve had hold of the end
of a silken string which was tied to the
little Nightingale's leg! It was not so very
much fun to go out that way!
For a long, long time the Nightingale
sang every evening to the Emperor and his
court, and they liked her so much that
the ladies all tried to sound like her; they
used to put water in their mouths and then
make little sounds like this: glu-glu-glug.
And when the courtiers met each other in
the halls, one would say "Night," and
the other would say "ingale," and that
was conversation.
At last, one day, there came a little package
to the Emperor, on the outside of which
was written, "The Nightingale." Inside
was an artificial bird, something like a
Nightingale, only it was made of gold, and
silver, and rubies, and emeralds, and
diamonds. When it was wound up it played
a waltz tune, and as it played it moved its
little tail up and down. Everybody in the
court was filled with delight at the music
of the new nightingale. They made it sing
that same tune thirty-three times, and still
they had not had enough. They would
have made it sing the tune thirty-four times,
but the Emperor said, "I should like to
hear the real Nightingale sing, now."
But when they looked about for the real
little Nightingale, they could not find her
anywhere! She had taken the chance,
while everybody was listening to the waltz
tunes, to fly away through the window to
her own greenwood.
"What a very ungrateful bird!" said the
lords and ladies. "But it does not matter;
the new nightingale is just as good."
So the artificial nightingale was given
the real Nightingale's little gold perch, and
every night the Emperor wound her up,
and she sang waltz tunes to him. The
people in the court liked her even better
than the old Nightingale, because they
could all whistle her tunes,--which you
can't do with real nightingales.
About a year after the artificial nightingale
came, the Emperor was listening to
her waltz-tune, when there was a SNAP
and WHIR-R-R inside the bird, and the music
stopped. The Emperor ran to his doctor
but he could not do anything. Then he
ran to his clock-maker, but he could not
do much. Nobody could do much. The
best they could do was to patch the gold
nightingale up so that it could sing once
a year; even that was almost too much,
and the tune was pretty shaky. Still, the
Emperor kept the gold nightingale on the
perch in his own room.
A long time went by, and then, at last,
the Emperor grew very ill, and was about
to die. When it was sure that he could
not live much longer, the people chose a
new emperor and waited for the old one
to die. The poor Emperor lay, quite cold
and pale, in his great big bed, with velvet
curtains, and tall candlesticks all about.
He was quite alone, for all the courtiers
had gone to congratulate the new emperor,
and all the servants had gone to talk it
over.
When the Emperor woke up, he felt a
terrible weight on his chest. He opened
his eyes, and there was Death, sitting on
his heart. Death had put on the Emperor's
gold crown, and he had the gold sceptre in
one hand, and the silken banner in the
other; and he looked at the Emperor with
his great hollow eyes. The room was full
of shadows, and the shadows were full of
faces. Everywhere the Emperor looked,
there were faces. Some were very, very
ugly, and some were sweet and lovely;
they were all the things the Emperor had
done in his life, good and bad. And as he
looked at them they began to whisper.
They whispered, "DO YOU REMEMBER THIS?"
"DO YOU REMEMBER THAT?" The Emperor
remembered so much that he cried out loud,
"Oh, bring the great drum! Make music,
so that I may not hear these dreadful
whispers!" But there was nobody there
to bring the drum.
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