داستان های کوتاه انگلیسی(بخش دوم
شماره 11
THE BLACKBERRY-BUSH 1
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, honeycolored
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.
[1] From Celia Thaxter's Stories and Poems for Children.
شماره 12
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 is '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, did '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 did 't
want to go without the pretty, shiny acorn. Where it was he did 't know, so he looked
everywhere. He opened every little drawer and looked in, but it was 't in any of the
drawers; he peeped on every shelf, but it was 't on a shelf; he hunted in every closet, but it
was '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 was '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 did 't know
where the little Field Mouse lived.
شماره 13
ANOTHER LITTLE RED HEN1
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 could
'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 could '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
did '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.
[1] Adapted from the verse version, which is given here as all alternative.
شماره 14
THE STORY OF EPAMINONDAS AND HIS AUNTIE1
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 was '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.
Epaminondas wrapped it up in leaves and put it in his hat, and put his hat on his head,
and came along home. It was a very hot day. Pretty soon the butter began to melt. It
melted, and melted, and as it melted it ran down Epaminondas' forehead; then it ran over
his face, and in his ears, and down his neck. When he got home, all the butter
Epaminondas had was on him. His Mammy looked at him, and then she said, --
``Law's sake! Epaminondas, what you got in your hat?''
``Butter, Mammy,'' said Epaminondas; ``Auntie gave it to me.''
``Butter!'' said his Mammy. ``Epaminondas, you ain't got the sense you was born with!
Don't you know that's no way to carry butter? The way to carry butter is to wrap it up in
some leaves and take it down to the brook, and cool it in the water, and cool it in the
water, and cool it in the water, and then take it on your hands, careful, and bring it along
home.''
``Yes, Mammy,'' said Epaminondas.
By and by, another day, Epaminondas went to see his Auntie again, and this time she
gave him a little new puppy-dog to take home.
Epaminondas put it in some leaves and took it down to the brook; and there he cooled it
in the water, and cooled it in the water, and cooled it in the water; then he took it in his
hands and came along home. When he got home, the puppy-dog was dead. His Mammy
looked at it, and she said, --
``Law's sake! Epaminondas, what you got there?''
``A puppy-dog, Mammy,'' said Epaminondas.
``A puppy-dog!'' said his Mammy. ``My gracious sakes alive, Epaminondas, you ain't
got the sense you was born with! That ain't the way to carry a puppy-dog! The way to
carry a puppy-dog is to take a long piece of string and tie one end of it round the puppydog's
neck and put the puppy-dog on the ground, and take hold of the other end of the
string and come along home, like this.''
``All right, Mammy,'' said Epaminondas.
Next day, Epaminondas went to see his Auntie again, and when he came to go home
she gave him a loaf of bread to carry to his Mammy; a brown, fresh, crusty loaf of bread.
So Epaminondas tied a string around the end of the loaf and took hold of the end of the
string and came along home, like this. (Imitate dragging something along the ground.)
When he got home his Mammy looked at the thing on the end of the string, and she said,
--
``My laws a-massy! Epaminondas, what you got on the end of that string?''
``Bread, Mammy,'' said Epaminondas; ``Auntie gave it to me.''
``Bread!!!'' said his Mammy. ``O Epaminondas, Epaminondas, you ain't got the sense
you was born with; you never did have the sense you was born with; you never will have
the sense you was born with! Now I ain't gwine tell you any more ways to bring truck
home. And don't you go see your Auntie, neither. I'll go see her my own self. But I'll just
tell you one thing, Epaminondas! You see these here six mince pies I done make? You
see how I done set 'em on the doorstep to cool? Well, now, you hear me, Epaminondas,
you be careful how you step on those pies!''
``Yes, Mammy,'' said Epaminondas.
Then Epaminondas' Mammy put on her bonnet and her shawl and took a basket in her
hand and went away to see Auntie. The six mince pies sat cooling in a row on the
doorstep.
And then, -- and then, -- Epaminondas was careful how he stepped on those pies!
-68-
He stepped (imitate) -- right -- in -- the -- middle -- of -- every -- one. . . . . . . . . And, do
you know, children, nobody knows what happened next! The person who told me the
story did 't know; nobody knows. But you can guess.
[1] A Southern nonsense tale.
شماره 15
THE BOY WHO CRIED ``WOLF!''
There was once a shepherd-boy who kept his flock at a little distance from the village.
Once he thought he would play a trick on the villagers and have some fun at their
expense. So he ran toward the village crying out, with all his might, --
``Wolf! Wolf! Come and help! The wolves are at my lambs!''
The kind villagers left their work and ran to the field to help him. But when they got
there the boy laughed at them for their pains; there was no wolf there.
Still another day the boy tried the same trick, and the villagers came running to help
and got laughed at again. Then one day a wolf did break into the
fold and began killing the lambs. In great fright, the boy ran for help. ``Wolf! Wolf!'' he
screamed. ``There is a wolf in the flock! Help!''
The villagers heard him, but they thought it was another mean trick; no one paid the
least attention, or went near him. And the shepherd-boy lost all his sheep.
That is the kind of thing that happens to people who lie: even when they tell the truth
no one believes them.
THE FROG KING
Did you ever hear the old story about the foolish Frogs? The Frogs in a certain swamp
decided that they needed a king; they had always got along perfectly well without one,
but they suddenly made up their minds that a king they must have. They sent a messenger
to Jove and begged him to send a king to rule over them.
Jove saw how stupid they were, and sent a king who could not harm them: he tossed a
big log into the middle of the pond.
At the splash the Frogs were terribly
frightened, and dove into their holes to hide from King Log. But after a while, when they
saw that the king never moved, they got over their fright and went and sat on him. And as
soon as they found he really could not hurt them they began to despise him; and finally
they sent another messenger to Jove to ask for a new king.
Jove sent an eel.
The Frogs were much pleased and a good deal frightened when King Eel came
wriggling and swimming among them. But as the days went on, and the eel was perfectly
harmless, they stopped being afraid; and as soon as they stopped fearing King Eel they
stopped respecting him.
Soon they sent a third messenger to Jove, and begged that they might have a better
king, -- a king who was worth while.
It was too much; Jove was angry at their stupidity at last. ``I will give you a king such
as you deserve!'' he said; and he sent them a Stork.
As soon as the Frogs came to the surface to greet the new king, King Stork caught them
in his long bill and gobbled them up.
One after another they came bobbing up, and one after another the stork ate them. He was
indeed a king worthy of them!
شماره 16
The Star-Child
Once upon a time two poor Woodcutters were making their way home through a great pine-forest. It was winter, and a night of bitter cold. The snow lay thick upon the ground, and upon the branches of the trees: the frost kept snapping the little twigs on either side of them, as they passed: and when they came to the Mountain-Torrent she was hanging motionless in air, for the Ice-King had kissed her.
So cold was it that even the animals and the birds did not know what to make of it.
'Ugh!' snarled the Wolf as he limped through the brushwood with his tail between his legs, 'this is perfectly monstrous weather. Why doesn't the Government look to it?'
'Weet! weet! weet! twittered the green Linnets, 'the old Earth is dead, and they have laid her out in her white shroud.'
'The Earth is going to be married, and this is her bridal dress,' whispered the Turtle-doves to each other. Their little pink feet were quite frost-bitten, but they felt that it was their duty to take a romantic view of the situation.
'Nonsense!' growled the Wolf. 'I tell you that it is all the fault of the Government, and if you don't believe me I shall eat you.' The Wolf had a thoroughly practical mind, and was never at a loss for a good argument.
'Well, for my own part, said the Woodpecker, who was a born philosopher, 'I don't care an atomic theory for explanations. If a thing is so, it is so, and at present it is terribly cold.'
Terribly cold it certainly was. The little Squirrels, who lived inside the tall fir-tree, kept rubbing each other's noses to keep themselves warm, and the Rabbits curled themselves up in their holes, and did not venture even to look out of doors. The only people who seemed to enjoy it were the great horned Owls. Their feathers were quite stiff with rime, but they did not mind, and they rolled their large yellow eyes, and called out to each other across the forest, 'Tu-whit! Tu-whoo! Tu-whit! Tu-whoo! what delightful weather we are having!'
On and on went the two Woodcutters, blowing lustily upon their fingers, and stamping with their huge iron-shod boots upon the caked snow. Once they sank into a deep drift, and came out as white as millers are, when the stones are grinding; and once they slipped on the hard smooth ice where the marsh-water was frozen, and their faggots tell out of their bundles, and they had to pick them up and bind them together again; and once they thought that they had lost their way, and a great terror seized on them, for they knew that the Snow is cruel to those who sleep in her arms. But they put their trust in the good Saint Martin, who watches over all travellers, and retraced their steps, and went warily, and at last they reached the outskirts of the forest, and saw, far down in the valley beneath them, the lights of the village in which they dwelt.
So overjoyed were they at their deliverance that they laughed aloud, and the Earth seemed to them like a flower of silver, and the Moon like a flower of gold.
Yet, after that they had laughed they became sad, for they remembered their poverty, and one of them said to the other, 'Why did we make merry, seeing that life is for the rich, and not for such as we are? Better that we had died of cold in the forest, or that some wild beast had fallen upon us and slain us.'
'Truly,' answered his companion, much is given to some, and little is given to others. Injustice has parcelled out the world, nor is there equal division of aught save of sorrow.'
But as they were bewailing their misery to each other this strange thing happened. There fell from heaven a very bright and beautiful star. It slipped down the side of the sky, passing by the other stars in its course, and, as they watched it wondering, it seemed to them to sink behind a clump of willow-trees that stood hard by a little sheep-fold no more than a stone's throw away.
'Why! there is a crock of gold for whoever finds it,' they cried, and they set to and ran, so eager were they for the gold.
And one of them ran taster than his mate, and outstripped him, and forced his way through the willows, and came out on the other side, and lo! there was indeed a thing of gold lying on the white snow. So he hastened towards it, and stooping down placed his hands upon it, and it was a cloak of golden tissue, curiously wrought with stars, and wrapped in many folds. And he cried out to his comrade that he had found the treasure that had fallen from the sky, and when his comrade had come up, they sat them down in the snow, and loosened the folds of the cloak that they might divide the pieces of gold. But, alas! no gold was in it, nor silver, nor, indeed, treasure of any kind, but only a little child who was asleep.
And one of them said to the other: 'This is a bitter ending to our hope, nor have we any good fortune, for what doth a child profit to a man? Let us leave it here, and go our way, seeing that we are poor men, and have children of our own whose bread we may not give to another.'
But his companion answered him: 'Nay, but it were an evil thing to leave the child to perish here in the snow, and though I am as poor as thou art, and have many mouths to feed, and but little in the pot, yet will I bring it home with me, and my wife shall have care of it.'
So very tenderly he took up the child, and wrapped the cloak around it to shield it from the harsh cold, and made his way down the hill to the village, his comrade marvelling much at his foolishness and softness of heart.
And when they came to the village, his comrade said to him, 'Thou hast the child, therefore give me the cloak, for it is meet that we should share.'
But he answered him: 'Nay, for the cloak is neither mine nor thine, but the child's only,' and he bade him Godspeed, and went to his own house and knocked.
And when his wife opened the door and saw that her husband had returned safe to her, she put her arms round his neck and kissed him, and took front his back the bundle of faggots, and brushed the snow off his boots, and bade him come in.
But he said to her, 'I have found something in the forest, and I have brought it to thee to have care of it,' and he stirred not from the threshold.
'What is it?' she cried. 'Show it to me, for the house is bare, and we have need of many things.' And he drew the cloak back, and showed her the sleeping child.
'Alack, goodman!' she murmured, 'have we not children enough of our own, that thou must needs bring a changeling to sit by the hearth? And who knows if it will not bring us bad fortune? And how shall we tend it?' And she was wroth against him.
'Nay, but it is a Star-Child,' he answered; and he told her the strange manner of the finding of it.
But she would not be appeased, but mocked at him, and spoke angrily, and cried: 'Our children lack bread, and shall we feed the child of another? Who is there who careth for us? And who giveth us food?'
'Nay, but God careth for the sparrows even, and feedeth them,' he answered.
'Do not the sparrows die of hunger in the winter?' she asked. And is it not winter now?' And the man answered nothing, but stirred not from the threshold.
And a bitter wind from the forest came in through the open door, and made her tremble, and she shivered, and said to him: 'Wilt thou not close the door? There cometh a bitter wind into the house, and I am cold.'
'Into a house where a heart is hard cometh there not always a bitter wind?' he asked. And the woman answered him nothing, but crept closer to the fire.
And after a time she turned round and looked at him, and her eyes were full of tears. And he came in swiftly, and placed the child in her arms, and she kissed it, and laid it in a little bed where the youngest of their own children was lying. And on the morrow the Woodcutter took the curious cloak of gold and placed it in a great chest, and a chain of amber that was round the child's neck his wife took and set it in the chest also.
So the Star-Child was brought up with the children of the Woodcutter, and sat at the same board with them, and was their playmate. And every year he became more beautiful to look at, so that all those who dwelt in the village were filled with wonder, for, while they were swarthy and black-haired, he was white and delicate as sawn ivory, and his curls were like the rings of the daffodil. His lips, also, were like the petals of a red flower, and his eyes were like violets by a river of pure water, and his body like the narcissus of a field where the mower comes not.
Yet did his beauty work him evil. For he grew proud, and cruel, and selfish. The children of the Woodcutter, and the other children of the village, he despised, saying that they were of mean parentage, while he was noble, being sprung from a Star, and he made himself master over them, and called them his servants. No pity had he for the poor, or for those who were blind or maimed or in any way afflicted, but would cast stones at them and drive them forth on to the highway, and bid them beg their bread elsewhere, so that none save the outlaws came twice to that village to ask for aims. Indeed, he was as one enamoured of beauty, and would mock at the weakly and ill-favoured, and make jest of them; and himself he loved, and in summer, when the winds were still, he would lie by the well in the priest's orchard and look down at the marvel of his own face, and laugh for the pleasure he had in his fairness.
Often did the Woodcutter and his wife chide him, and say: 'We did not deal with thee as thou dealest with those who are left desolate, and have none to succour them. Wherefore art thou so cruel to all who need pity?'
Often did the old priest send for him, and seek to teach him the love of living things, saying to him: 'The fly is thy brother. Do it no harm. The wild birds that roam through the forest have their freedom. Snare them not for thy pleasure. God made the blind-worm and the mole, and each has its place. Who art thou to bring pain into God's world? Even the cattle of the field praise Him.'
But the Star-Child heeded not their words, but would frown and flout, and go back to his companions, and lead them. And his companions followed him, for he was fair, and fleet of foot, and could dance, and pipe, and make music. And wherever the Star-Child led them they followed, and whatever the Star-Child bade them do, that did they. And when he pierced with a sharp reed the dim eyes of the mole, they laughed, and when he cast stones at the leper they laughed also. And in all things he ruled them, and they became hard of heart, even as he was.
Now there passed one day through the village a poor beggar-woman. Her garments were torn and ragged, and her feet were bleeding from the rough road on which she had travelled, and she was in very evil plight. And being weary she sat her down under a chestnut-tree to rest.
But when the Star-Child saw her, he said to his companions, 'See! There sitteth a foul beggar-woman under that fair and green-leaved tree. Come, let us drive her hence, for she is ugly and ill-favoured.'
So he came near and threw stones at her, and mocked her, and she looked at him with terror in her eyes, nor did she move her gaze from him. And when the Woodcutter, who was cleaving logs in a haggard hard by, saw what the Star-Child was doing, he ran up and rebuked him, and said to him: 'Surely thou art hard of heart and knowest not mercy, for what evil has this poor woman done to thee that thou should'st treat her in this wise?'
And the Star-Child grew red with anger, and stamped his foot upon the ground, and said, 'Who art thou to question me what I do? I am no son of thine to do thy bidding.'
'Thou speakest truly,' answered the Woodcutter, 'yet did I show thee pity when I found thee in the forest.'
And when the woman heard these words she gave a loud cry, and fell into a swoon. And the Woodcutter carried her to his own house, and his wife had care of her, and when she rose up from the swoon into which she had fallen, they set meat and drink before her, and bade her have comfort.
But she would neither eat nor drink, but said to the Woodcutter, 'Didst thou not say that the child was found in the forest? And was it not ten years from this day?'
And the Woodcutter answered, 'Yea, it was in the forest that I found him, and it is ten years from this day.'
'And what signs didst thou find with him?' she cried. 'Bare he not upon his neck a chain of amber? Was not round him a cloak of gold tissue broidered with stars?'
'Truly,' answered the Woodcutter, 'it was even as thou sayest.' And he took the cloak and the amber chain from the chest where they lay, and showed them to her.
And when she saw them she wept for joy, and said, 'He is my little son whom I lost in the forest. I pray thee send for him quickly, for in search of him have I wandered over the whole world.'
So the Woodcutter and his wife went out and called to the Star-Child, and said to him, 'Go into the house, and there shalt thou find thy mother, who is waiting for thee.'
So he ran in, filled with wonder and great gladness. But when he saw her who was waiting there, he laughed scornfully and said, 'Why, where is my mother? For I see none here but this vile beggar-woman.'
And the woman answered him, 'I am thy mother.'
'Thou art mad to say so,' cried the Star-Child angrily. 'I am no son of thine, for thou art a beggar, and ugly, and in rags. Therefore get thee hence, and let me see thy foul face no more.'
'Nay, but thou art indeed my little son, whom I bare in the forest,' she cried, and she fell on her knees, and held out her arms to him. 'The robbers stole thee from me, and left thee to die,' she murmured, 'but I recognized thee when I saw thee, and the signs also have I recognized, the cloak of golden tissue and the amber-chain. Therefore I pray thee come with me, for over the whole world have I wandered in search of thee. Come with me, my son, for I have need of thy love.'
But the Star-Child stirred not from his place, but shut the doors of his heart against her, nor was there any sound heard save the sound of the woman weeping for pain.
And at last he spoke to her, and his voice was hard and bitter. 'If in very truth thou art my mother,' he said, 'it had been better hadst thou stayed away, and not come here to bring me to shame, seeing that I thought I was the child of some Star and not a beggar's child, as thou tellest me that I am. Therefore get thee hence, and let me see thee no more.'
'Alas! my son,' she cried, 'wilt thou not kiss me before I go? For I have suffered much to find thee.'
'Nay,' said the Star-Child, 'but thou art too foul to look at and rather would I kiss the adder or the toad than thee.'
So the woman rose up, and went away into the forest weeping bitterly, and when the Star-Child saw that she had gone, he was glad, and ran back to his playmates that he might play with them.
But when they beheld him coming, they mocked him and said, 'Why, thou art as foul as the toad, and as loathsome as the adder. Get thee hence, for we will not suffer thee to play with us,' and they drave him out of the garden.
And the Star-Child frowned and said to himself, 'What is this that they say to me? I will go to the well of water and look into it, and it shall tell me of my beauty.'
So he went to the well of water and looked into it, and lo! his face was as the face of a toad, and his body was scaled like an adder. And he flung himself down on the grass and wept, and said to himself, 'Surely this has come upon me by reason of my sin. For I have denied my mother, and driven her away, and been proud, and cruel to her. Wherefore I will go and seek her through the whole world, nor will I rest till I have found her.'
And there came to him the little daughter of the Woodcutter, and she put her hand upon his shoulder and said, 'What doth it matter if thou hast lost thy comeliness? Stay with us, and I will not mock at thee.'
And he said to her, 'Nay, but I have been cruel to my mother, and as a punishment has this evil been sent to me. Wherefore I must go hence, and wander through the world till I find her, and she give me her forgiveness.'
So he ran away into the forest and called out to his mother to come to him, but there was no answer. All day long he called to her, and when the sun set he lay down to sleep on a bed of leaves, and the birds and the animals fled from him, as they remembered his cruelty, and he was alone save for the toad that watched him, and the slow adder that crawled past.
And in the morning he rose up, and plucked some bitter berries from the trees and ate them, and took his way through the great wood, weeping sorely. And of everything that he met he made enquiry if perchance they had seen his mother.
He said to the Mole, 'Thou canst go beneath the earth. Tell me, is my mother there?'
And the Mole answered, 'Thou hast blinded mine eyes. How should I know?'
He said to the Linnet, 'Thou canst fly over the tops of the tall trees, and canst see the whole world. Tell me, canst thou see my mother?'
And the Linnet answered, 'Thou hast clipt my wings for thy pleasure. How should I fly?'
And to the little Squirrel who lived in the fir-tree, and was lonely, he said, 'Where is my mother?'
And the Squirrel answered, 'Thou hast slain mine. Dost thou seek to slay thine also?'
And the Star-Child wept and bowed his head, and prayed forgiveness of God's things, and went on through the forest, seeking for the beggar-woman. And on the third day he came to the other side of the forest and went down into the plain.
And when he passed through the villages the children mocked him, and threw stones at him, and the carlots would not suffer him even to sleep in the byres lest he might bring mildew on the stored corn, so foul was he to look at, and their hired men drave him away, and there was none who had pity on him. Nor could he hear anywhere of the beggar-woman who was his mother, though for the space of three years he wandered over the world, and often seemed to see her on the road in front of him, and would call to her, and run after her till the sharp flints made his feet to bleed. But overtake her he could not, and those who dwelt by the way did ever deny that they had seen her, or any like to her, and they made sport of his sorrow.
For the space of three years he wandered over the world, and in the world there was neither love nor loving-kindness nor charity for him, but it was even such a world as he had made for himself in the days of his great pride.
And one evening he came to the gate of a strong-walled city that stood by a river, and, weary and footsore though he was, he made to enter in. But the soldiers who stood on guard dropped their halberts across the entrance, and said roughly to him, 'What is thy business in the city?'
'I am seeking for my mother,' he answered, 'and I pray ye to suffer me to pass, for it may be that she is in this city.'
But they mocked at him, and one of them wagged a black beard, and set down his shield and cried, 'Of a truth, thy mother will not be merry when she sees thee, for thou art more ill-favoured than the toad of the marsh, or the adder that crawls in the fen. Get thee gone. Get thee gone. Thy mother dwells not in this city.'
And another, who held a yellow banner in his hand, said to him, 'Who is thy mother, and wherefore art thou seeking for her?'
And he answered, 'My mother is a beggar even as I am, and I have treated her evilly, and I pray ye to suffer me to pass that she may give me her forgiveness, if it be that she tarrieth in this city.' But they would not, and pricked him with their spears.
And, as he turned away weeping, one whose armour was inlaid with gilt flowers, and on whose helmet couched a lion that had wings, came up and made enquiry of the soldiers who it was who had sought entrance. And they said to him, 'It is a beggar and the child of a beggar, and we have driven him away.'
'Nay,' he cried, laughing, 'but we will sell the foul thing for a slave, and his price shall be the price of a bowl of sweet wine.'
And an old and evil-visaged man who was passing by called out, and said, 'I will buy him for that price,' and, when he had paid the price, he took the Star-Child by the hand and led him into the city.
And after that they had gone through many streets they came to a little door that was set in a wall that was covered with a pomegranate tree. And the old man touched the door with a ring of graved jasper and it opened, and they went down five steps of brass into a garden filled with black poppies and green jars of burnt clay. And the old man took then from his turban a scarf of figured silk, and bound with it the eyes of the Star-Child, and drave him in front of him. And when the scarf was taken off his eyes, the Star-Child found himself in a dungeon, that was lit by a lantern of horn.
And the old man set before him some mouldy bread on a trencher and said, 'Eat,' and some brackish water in a cup and said, 'Drink,' and when he had eaten and drunk, the old man went out, locking the door behind him and fastening it with an iron chain.
And on the morrow the old man, who was indeed the subtlest of the magicians of Libya and had learned his art from one who dwelt in the tombs of the Nile, came in to him and frowned at him, and said, 'In a wood that is nigh to the gate of this city of Giaours there are three pieces of gold. One is of white gold, and another is of yellow gold, and the gold of the third one is red. To-day thou shalt bring me the piece of white gold, and if thou bringest it not back, I will beat thee with a hundred stripes. Get thee away quickly, and at sunset I will be waiting for thee at the door of the garden. See that thou bringest the white gold, or it shall go in with thee, for thou art my slave, and I have bought thee for the price of a bowl of sweet wine.' And he bound the eyes of the Star-Child with the scarf of figured silk, and led him through the house, and through the garden of poppies, and up the five steps of brass. And having opened the little door with his ring he set him in the street.
And the Star-Child went out of the gate of the city, and came to the wood of which the Magician had spoken to him.
Now this wood was very fair to look at from without, and seemed full of singing birds and of sweet-scented flowers, and the Star-Child entered it gladly. Yet did its beauty profit him little, for wherever he went harsh briars and thorns shot up from the ground and encompassed him, and evil nettles stung him, and the thistle pierced him with her daggers, so that he was in sore distress. Nor could he anywhere find the piece of white gold of which the Magician had spoken, though he sought for it from morn to noon, and from noon to sunset. And at sunset he set his face towards home, weeping bitterly, for he knew what fate was in store for him.
But when he had reached the outskirts of the wood, he heard front a thicket a cry as of someone in pain. And forgetting his own sorrow he ran back to the place, and saw there a little Hare caught in a trap that some hunter had set for it.
And the Star-Child had pity on it, and released it, and said to it, 'I am myself but a slave, yet may I give thee thy freedom.'
And the Hare answered him, and said: 'Surely thou hast given me freedom, and what shall I give thee in return?'
And the Star-Child said to it, 'I am seeking for a piece of white gold, nor can I anywhere find it, and if I bring it not to my master he will beat me.'
'Come thou with me,' said the Hare, 'and I will lead thee to it, for I know where it is hidden, and for what purpose.'
So the Star-Child went with the Hare, and lo! in the cleft of a great oak-tree he saw the piece of white gold that he was seeking. And he was filled with joy, and seized it, and said to the Hare, 'The service that I did to thee thou hast rendered back again many times over and the kindness that I showed thee thou hast repaid a hundredfold.'
'Nay,' answered the Hare, 'but as thou dealt with me, so I did deal with thee,' and it ran away swiftly, and the Star-Child went towards the city.
Now at the gate of the city there was seated one who was a leper. Over his face hung a cowl of grey linen, and through the eyelets his eyes gleamed like red coals. And when he saw the Star-Child coming, he struck upon a wooden bowl, and clattered his bell, and called out to him, and said, 'Give me a piece of money, or I must die of hunger. For they have thrust me out of the city, and there is no one who has pity on rite.'
'Alas! cried the Star-Child, 'I have but one piece of money in my wallet, and if I bring it not to my master he will beat me for I am his slave.'
But the leper entreated him, and prayed of him, till the Star-Child had pity, and gave him the piece of white gold.
And when he came to the Magician's house, the Magician opened to him, and brought him in, and said to him, 'Hast thou the piece of white gold?' And the Star-Child answered, 'I have it not.' So the Magician fell upon him, and beat him, and set before him an empty trencher, and said 'Eat,' and an empty cup, and said, 'Drink,' and flung him again into the dungeon.
And on the morrow the Magician came to him, and said, 'If to-day thou bringest me not the piece of yellow gold, I will surely keep thee as my slave, and give thee three hundred stripes.'
So the Star-Child went to the wood, and all day long he searched for the piece of yellow gold, but nowhere could he find it. And at sunset he sat him down and began to weep, and as he was weeping there came to him the little Hare that he had rescued from the trap.
And the Hare said to him, 'Why art thou weeping? And what dost thou seek in the wood?'
And the Star-Child answered, 'I am seeking for a piece of yellow gold that is hidden here, and if I find it not my master will beat me, and keep me as a slave.'
'Follow me,' cried the Hare, and it ran through the wood till it came to a pool of water. And at the bottom of the pool the piece of yellow gold was lying.
'How shall I thank thee?' said the Star-Child, 'for lo! this is the second time that you have succoured me.'
'Nay, but thou hadst pity on me first,' said the Hare, and it ran away swiftly.
And the Star-Child took the piece of yellow gold, and put it in his wallet, and hurried to the city. But the leper saw him coming, and ran to meet him and knelt down and cried, 'Give me a piece of money or I shall die of hunger.'
And the Star-Child said to him, 'I have in my wallet but one piece of yellow gold, and if I bring it not to my master he will beat me and keep me as his slave.'
But the leper entreated him sore, so that the Star-Child had pity on him, and gave him the piece of yellow gold.
And when he came to the Magician's house, the Magician opened to him, and brought him in, and said to him, 'Hast thou the piece of yellow gold?' And the Star-Child said to him, 'I have it not.' So the Magician fell upon him, and beat him, and loaded him with chains, and cast him again into the dungeon.
And on the morrow the Magician came to him, and said, 'If to-day thou bringest me the piece of red gold I will set thee free, but if thou bringest it not I will surely slay thee.'
So the Star-Child went to the wood, and all day long he searched for the piece of red gold, but nowhere could he find it. And at evening he sat him down, and wept, and as he was weeping there came to him the little Hare.
And the Hare said to him, 'The piece of red gold that thou seekest is in the cavern that is behind thee. Therefore weep no more but be glad.'
'How shall I reward thee,' cried the Star-Child, 'for lo! this is the third time thou hast succoured me.'
'Nay, but thou hadst pity on me first,' said the Hare, and it ran away swiftly.
And the Star-Child entered the cavern, and in its farthest corner he found the piece of red gold. So he put it in his wallet, and hurried to the city. And the leper seeing him coming, stood in the centre of the road, and cried out, and said to him, 'Give me the piece of red money, or I must die,' and the Star-Child had pity on him again, and gave him the piece of red gold, saying, 'Thy need is greater than mine.' Yet was his heart heavy, for he knew what evil fate awaited him.
But lo! as he passed through the gate of the city, the guards bowed down and made obeisance to him, saying, 'How beautiful is our lord!' and a crowd of citizens followed him, and cried out, 'Surely there is none so beautiful in the whole world!' so that the Star-Child wept, and said to himself, 'They are mocking me, and making light of my misery.' And so large was the concourse of the people, that he lost the threads of his way, and found himself at last in a great square, in which there was a palace of a King.
And the gate of the palace opened, and the priests and the high officers of the city ran forth to meet him, and they abased themselves before him, and said, 'Thou art our lord for whom we have been waiting, and the sort of our King.'
And the Star-Child answered them and said, 'I am no king's son, but the child of a poor beggar-woman. And how say ye that I am beautiful, for I know that I am evil to look at?'
Then he, whose armour was inlaid with gilt flowers, and on whose helmet couched a lion that had wings, held up a shield, and cried, 'How saith my lord that he is not beautiful?'
And the Star-Child looked, and lo! his face was even as it had been, and his comeliness had come back to him, and he saw that in his eyes which he had not seen there before.
And the priests and the high officers knelt down and said to him, 'It was prophesied of old that on this day should come he who was to rule over us. Therefore, let our lord take this crown and this sceptre, and be in his justice and mercy our King over us.'
But he said to them, 'I am not worthy, for I have denied the mother who bare me, nor may I rest till I have found her, and known her forgiveness. Therefore, let me go, for I must wander again over the world, and may not tarry here, though ye bring me the crown and the sceptre.' And as he spake he turned his face from them towards the street that led to the gate of the city, and lo! amongst the crowd that pressed round the soldiers, he saw the beggar-woman who wqs his mother, and at her side stood the leper, who had sat by the road.
And a cry of joy broke from his lips, and he ran over, and kneeling down he kissed the wounds on his mother's feet, and wet them with his tears. He bowed his head in the dust, and sobbing, as one whose heart might break, he said to her: 'Mother, I denied thee in the hour of my pride. Accept me in the hour of my humility. Mother, I gave thee hatred. Do thou give me love. Mother, I rejected thee. Receive thy child now.' But the beggar-woman answered him not a word.
And he reached out his hands, and clasped the white feet of the leper, and said to him: 'Thrice did I give thee of my mercy. Bid my mother speak to me once.' But the leper answered him not a word.
And he sobbed again, and said: 'Mother, my suffering is greater than I can bear. Give me thy forgiveness, and let me go back to the forest.' And the beggar-woman put her hand on his head, and said to him, 'Rise,' and the leper put his hand on his head, and said to him 'Rise,' also.
And he rose up from his feet, and looked at them, and lo! they were a King and a Queen.
And the Queen said to him, 'This is thy father whom thou hast succoured.'
And the King said, 'This is thy mother, whose feet thou hast washed with thy tears.'
And they fell on his neck and kissed him, and brought him into the palace, and clothed him in fair raiment, and set the crown upon his head, and the sceptre in his hand, and over the city that stood by the river he ruled, and was its lord. 'Much justice and mercy did he show to all, and the evil Magician he banished, and to the Woodcutter and his wife he sent many rich gifts, and to their children he gave high honour. Nor would he suffer any to be cruel to bird or beast, but taught love and loving-kindness and charity, and to the poor he gave bread, and to the naked he gave raiment, and there was peace and plenty in the land.
Yet ruled he not long, so great had been his suffering, and so bitter the fire of his testing, for after the space of three years he died. And he who came after him ruled evilly.
شماره 17
THE LITTLE JACKAL AND THE ALLIGATOR
The little Jackal was very fond of shell-fish. He used to go down by the river and hunt
along the edges for crabs and such things. And once, when he was hunting for crabs, he
was so hungry that he put his paw into the water after a crab without looking first, --
which you never should do! The minute he put in his paw, snap! -- the big Alligator who
lives in the mud down there had it in his jaws.
``Oh, dear!'' thought the little Jackal; ``the big Alligator has my paw in his mouth! In
another minute he will pull me down and gobble me up! What shall I do? what shall I
do?'' Then he thought, suddenly, ``I'll deceive him!''
So he put on a very cheerful voice, as if nothing at all were the matter, and he said, --
``Ho! ho! Clever Mr. Alligator! Smart Mr. Alligator, to take that old bulrush root for
my paw! I'll hope you'll find it very tender!''
The old Alligator was hidden away beneath the mud and bulrush leaves, and he could 't
see anything. He thought, ``Pshaw! I've made a mistake.'' So he opened his mouth and let
the little Jackal go.
The little Jackal ran away as fast as he could, and as he ran he called out, --
``Thank you, Mr. Alligator! Kind Mr. Alligator! So kind of you to let me go!''
The old Alligator lashed with his tail and snapped with his jaws, but it was too late; the
little Jackal was out of reach.
After this the little Jackal kept away from the river, out of danger. But after about a
week he got such an appetite for crabs that nothing else would do at all; he felt that he
must have a crab. So he went down by the river and looked all around, very carefully. He
did 't see the old Alligator, but he thought to himself, ``I think I'll not take any chances.''
So
he stood still and began to talk out loud to himself. He said, --
``When I don't see any little crabs on the land I most generally see them sticking out of
the water, and then I put my paw in and catch them. I wonder if there are any fat little
crabs in the water today?''
The old Alligator was hidden down in the mud at the bottom of the river, and when he
heard what the little Jackal said, he thought, ``Aha! I'll pretend to be a little crab, and
when he puts his paw in, I'll make my dinner of him.'' So he stuck the black end of his
snout above the water and waited.
The little Jackal took one look, and then he said, --
``Thank you, Mr. Alligator! Kind Mr. Alligator! You are exceedingly kind to show me
where you are! I will have dinner elsewhere.'' And he ran away like the wind.
The old Alligator foamed at the mouth, he was so angry, but the little Jackal was gone.
For two whole weeks the little Jackal
kept away from the river. Then, one day he got a feeling inside him that nothing but crabs
could satisfy; he felt that he must have at least one crab. Very cautiously, he went down
to the river and looked all around. He saw no sign of the old Alligator. Still, he did not
mean to take any chances. So he stood quite still and began to talk to himself, -- it was a
little way he had. He said, --
``When I don't see any little crabs on the shore, or sticking up out of the water, I usually
see them blowing bubbles from under the water; the little bubbles go puff, puff, puff, and
then they go pop, pop, pop, and they show me where the little juicy crabs are, so I can put
my paw in and catch them. I wonder if I shall see any little bubbles to-day?''
The old Alligator, lying low in the mud and weeds, heard this, and he thought, ``Pooh!
That's easy enough; I'll just blow some little crab-bubbles, and then he will put his paw in
where I can get it.''
So he blew, and he blew, a mighty blast, and the bubbles rose in a perfect whirlpool,
fizzing and swirling.
The little Jackal did 't have to be told who was underneath those bubbles: he took one
quick look, and off he ran. But as he went, he sang, --
``Thank you, Mr. Alligator! Kind Mr. Alligator! You are the kindest Alligator in the
world, to show me where you are, so nicely! I'll breakfast at another part of the river.''
The old Alligator was so furious that he crawled up on the bank and went after the little
Jackal; but, dear, dear, he could 't catch the little Jackal; he ran far too fast.
After this, the little Jackal did not like to risk going near the water, so he ate no more
crabs. But he found a garden of wild figs, which were so good that he went there every
day, and ate them instead of shell-fish.
Now the old Alligator found this out, and he made up his mind to have the little Jackal
for supper, or to die trying. So he crept, and crawled, and dragged himself over the
ground to the garden of wild figs. There he made a huge pile of figs under the biggest of
the wild fig trees, and hid himself in the pile.
After a while the little Jackal came dancing into the garden, very happy and care-free, --
but looking all around. He saw the huge pile of figs under the big fig tree.
``H-m,'' he thought, ``that looks singularly like my friend, the Alligator. I'll investigate
a bit.''
He stood quite still and began to talk to himself, -- it was a little way he had. He said, --
``The little figs I like best are the fat, ripe, juicy ones that drop off when the breeze
blows; and then the wind blows them about on the ground, this way and that; the great
heap of figs over there is so still that I think they must be all bad figs.''
The old Alligator, underneath his fig pile, thought, --
``Bother the suspicious little Jackal, I shall have to make these figs roll about, so that he
will think the wind moves them.'' And straightway he humped himself up and moved, and
sent the little figs flying, -- and his back showed through.
The little Jackal did not wait for a
second look. He ran out of the garden like the wind. But as he ran he called back, --
``Thank you, again, Mr. Alligator; very sweet of you to show me where you are; I can't
stay to thank you as I should like: good-by!''
At this the old Alligator was beside himself with rage. He vowed that he would have
the little Jackal for supper this time, come what might. So he crept and crawled over the
ground till he came to the little Jackal's house. Then he crept and crawled inside, and hid
himself there in the house, to wait till the little Jackal should come home.
By and by the little Jackal came dancing home, happy and care-free, -- but looking all
around. Presently, as he came along, he saw that the ground was all scratched up as if
something very heavy had been dragged over it. The little Jackal stopped and looked.
``What's this? what's this?'' he said.
Then he saw that the door of his house was crushed at the sides and broken, as if
something very big had gone through it.
``What's this? What's this?'' the little Jackal said. ``I think I'll investigate a little!''
So he stood quite still and began to talk to himself (you remember, it was a little way he
had), but loudly. He said, --
``How strange that my little House does 't speak to me! Why don't you speak to me,
little House? You always speak to me, if everything is all right, when I come home. I
wonder if anything is wrong with my little House?''
The old Alligator thought to himself that he must certainly pretend to be the little
House, or the little Jackal would never come in. So he put on as pleasant a voice as he
could (which is not saying much) and said, --
``Hullo, little Jackal!''
Oh! when the little Jackal heard that, he was frightened enough, for once.
``It's the old Alligator,'' he said, ``and if I don't make an end of him this time he will
certainly make an end of me. What shall I do?''
He thought very fast. Then he spoke out pleasantly.
``Thank you, little House,'' he said, ``it's good to hear your pretty voice, dear little
House, and I will be in with you in a minute; only first I must gather some firewood for
dinner.''
Then he went and gathered firewood, and more firewood, and more firewood; and he
piled it all up solid against the door and round the house; and then he set fire to it!
And it smoked and burned till it smoked that old Alligator to smoked herring!
شماره18
A TRUE STORY ABOUT A GIRL
Once there were four little girls who lived in a big, bare house, in the country. They
were very poor, but they had the hap-
piest times you ever heard of, because they were very rich in everything except just
money. They had a wonderful, wise father, who knew stories to tell, and who taught them
their lessons in such a beautiful way that it was better than play; they had a lovely, merry,
kind mother, who was never too tired to help them work or watch them play; and they
had all the great green country to play in. There were dark, shadowy woods, and fields of
flowers, and a river. And there was a big barn.
One of the little girls was named Louisa. She was very pretty, and ever so strong; she
could run for miles through the woods and not get tired. And she had a splendid brain in
her little head; it liked study, and it thought interesting thoughts all day long.
Louisa liked to sit in a corner by herself, sometimes, and write thoughts in her diary; all
the little girls kept diaries. She liked to make up stories out of her own head, and
sometimes she made verses.
When the four little sisters had finished their lessons, and had helped their mother sew
and clean, they used to go to the big barn to play; and the best play of all was
theatricals. Louisa liked theatricals better than anything.
They made the barn into a theatre, and the grown people came to see the plays they
acted. They used to climb up on the hay-mow for a stage, and the grown people sat in
chairs on the floor. It was great fun. One of the plays they acted was Jack and the Bean-
Stalk. They had a ladder from the floor to the loft, and on the ladder they tied a squash
vine all the way up to the loft, to look like the wonderful bean-stalk. One of the little girls
was dressed up to look like Jack, and she acted that part. When it came to the place in the
story where the giant tried to follow Jack, the little girl cut down the bean-stalk, and
down came the giant tumbling from the loft. The giant was made out of pillows, with a
great, fierce head of paper, and funny clothes.
Another story that they acted was Cinderella. They made a wonderful big pumpkin out
of the wheelbarrow, trimmed with yellow paper, and Cinderella rolled away in it, when
the fairy godmother waved her wand.
One other beautiful story they used to play. It was the story of Pilgrim's Progress; if you
have never heard it, you must be sure to read it as soon as you can read well enough to
understand the old-fashioned words. The little girls used to put shells in their hats for a
sign they were on a pilgrimage, as the old pilgrims used to do; then they made journeys
over the hill behind the house, and through the woods, and down the lanes; and when the
pilgrimage was over they had apples and nuts to eat, in the happy land of home.
Louisa loved all these plays, and she made some of her own and wrote them down so
that the children could act them.
But better than fun or writing Louisa loved her mother, and by and by, as the little girl
began to grow into a big girl, she felt very sad to see her dear mother work so hard. She
helped all she could with the housework, but nothing could really help the tired mother
except money; she needed money for food and clothes, and some one grown up, to help
in the house. But there never was enough money for these things, and Louisa's mother
grew more and more
weary, and sometimes ill. I cannot tell you how much Louisa suffered over this.
At last, as Louisa thought about it, she came to care more about helping her mother and
her father and her sisters than about anything else in all the world. And she began to work
very hard to earn money. She sewed for people, and when she was a little older she
taught some little girls their lessons, and then she wrote stories for the papers. Every bit
of money she earned, except what she had to use, she gave to her dear family. It helped
very much, but it was so little that Louisa never felt as if she were doing anything.
Every year she grew more unselfish, and every year she worked harder. She liked
writing stories best of all her work, but she did not get much money for them, and some
people told her she was wasting her time.
At last, one day, a publisher asked Louisa, who was now a woman, to write a book for
girls. Louisa was not very well, and she was very tired, but she always said, ``I'll try,''
when she had a chance to work; so she said, ``I'll try,'' to the pub-
lisher. When she thought about the book she remembered the good times she used to have
with her sisters in the big, bare house in the country. And so she wrote a story and put all
that in it; she put her dear mother and her wise father in it, and all the little sisters, and
besides the jolly times and the plays, she put the sad, hard times in, -- the work and worry
and going without things.
When the book was written, she called it ``Little Women,'' and sent it to the publisher.
And, children, the little book made Louisa famous. It was so sweet and funny and sad
and real, -- like our own lives, -- that everybody wanted to read it. Everybody bought it,
and much money came from it. After so many years, little Louisa's wish came true: she
bought a nice house for her family; she sent one of her sisters to Europe, to study; she
gave her father books; but best of all, she was able to see to it that the beloved mother, so
tired and so ill, could have rest and happiness. Never again did the dear mother have to
do any hard work, and
she had pretty things about her all the rest of her life.
Louisa Alcott, for that was Louisa's name, wrote many beautiful books after this, and
she became one of the most famous women of America. But I think the most beautiful
thing about her is what I have been telling you: that she loved her mother so well that she
gave her whole life to make her happy.
شماره19
THE LARKS IN THE CORNFIELD
There was once a family of little Larks who lived with their mother in a nest in a
cornfield. When the corn was ripe the mother Lark watched very carefully to see if there
were any sign of the reapers' coming, for she knew that when they came their sharp
knives would cut down the nest and hurt the baby Larks. So every day, when she went
out for food, she told the little Larks to look and listen very closely to everything that
went on, and to
tell her all they saw and heard when she came home.
One day when she came home the little Larks were much frightened.
``Oh, Mother, dear Mother,'' they said, ``you must move us away to-night! The farmer
was in the field to-day, and he said, `The corn is ready to cut; we must call in the
neighbors to help.' And then he told his son to go out to-night and ask all the neighbors to
come and reap the corn to-morrow.''
The mother Lark laughed. ``Don't be frightened,'' she said; ``if he waits for his
neighbors to reap the corn we shall have plenty of time to move; tell me what he says tomorrow.''
The next night the little Larks were quite trembling with fear; the moment their mother
got home they cried out, ``Mother, you must surely move us to-night! The farmer came
to-day and said, `The corn is getting too ripe; we cannot wait for our neighbors; we must
ask our relatives to help us.' And then he called his son and told him to ask all the uncles
and cousins to come to-morrow and cut the corn. Shall we not move to-night?''
``Don't worry,'' said the mother Lark; ``the uncles and cousins have plenty of reaping to
do for themselves; we'll not move yet.''
The third night, when the mother Lark came home, the baby Larks said, ``Mother, dear,
the farmer came to the field to-day, and when he looked at the corn he was quite angry;
he said, `This will never do! The corn is getting too ripe; it's no use to wait for our
relatives, we shall have to cut this corn ourselves.' And then he called his son and said,
`Go out to-night and hire reapers, and to-morrow we will begin to cut.' ''
``Well,'' said the mother, ``that is another story; when a man begins to do his own
business, instead of asking somebody else to do it, things get done. I will move you out
to-night.''