آموزش کامپیوتر و زبان انگلیسی

شماره31
THE TALKATIVE TORTOISE1
Once upon a time, a Tortoise lived in a pond with two Ducks, who were her very good
friends. She enjoyed the company of the Ducks, because she could talk with them to her
heart's content; the Tortoise liked to talk. She always had something to say, and she liked
to hear herself say it.
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After many years of this pleasant living, the pond became very low, in a dry season;
and finally it dried up. The two Ducks saw that they could no longer live there, so they
decided to fly to another region, where there was more water. They went to the Tortoise
to bid her good-by.
``Oh, don't leave me behind!'' begged the Tortoise. ``Take me with you; I must die if I
am left here.''
``But you cannot fly!'' said the Ducks. ``How can we take you with us?''
``Take me with you! take me with you!'' said the Tortoise.
The Ducks felt so sorry for her that at last they thought of a way to take her. ``We have
thought of a way which will be possible,'' they said, ``if only you can manage to keep still
long enough. We will each take hold of one end of a stout stick, and do you take the
middle in your mouth; then we will fly up in the air with you and carry you with us. But
remember not to talk! If you open your mouth, you are lost.''
The Tortoise said she would not say a word; she would not so much as move her

mouth; and she was very grateful. So the Ducks brought a strong little stick and took hold
of the ends, while the Tortoise bit firmly on the middle. Then the two Ducks rose slowly
in the air and flew away with their burden.
When they were above the treetops, the Tortoise wanted to say, ``How high we are!''
But she remembered, and kept still. When they passed the church steeple she wanted to
say, ``What is that which shines?'' But she remembered, and held her peace. Then they
came over the village square, and the people looked up and saw them. ``Look at the
Ducks carrying a Tortoise!'' they shouted; and every one ran to look. The Tortoise wanted
to say, ``What business is it of yours?'' But she did 't. Then she heard the people shout,
``Is 't it strange! Look at it! Look!''
The Tortoise forgot everything except that she wanted to say, ``Hush, you foolish
people!'' She opened her mouth, -- and fell to the ground. And that was the end of the
Tortoise.
It is a very good thing to be able to hold one's tongue!
[1] Very freely adapted from one of the Fables of Bidpai.
شماره32
ROBERT OF SICILY
An old legend says that there was once a king named Robert of Sicily, who was brother
to the great Pope of Rome and to the Emperor of Allemaine. He was a very selfish king,
and very proud; he cared more for his pleasures than for the needs of his people, and his
heart was so filled with his own greatness that he had no thought for God.
One day, this proud king was sitting in his place at church, at vesper service; his
courtiers were about him, in their bright garments, and he himself was dressed in his
royal robes. The choir was chanting the Latin service, and as the beautiful voices swelled
louder, the king noticed one particular verse which seemed to be repeated again and
again. He turned to a learned clerk at his side and asked what those words meant, for he
knew no Latin.
``They mean, `He hath put down the mighty from their seats, and hath exalted them of
low degree,' '' answered the clerk.

``It is well the words are in Latin, then,'' said the king angrily, ``for they are a lie. There
is no power on earth or in heaven which can put me down from my seat!'' And he sneered
at the beautiful singing, as he leaned back in his place.
Presently the king fell asleep, while the service went on. He slept deeply and long.
When he awoke the church was dark and still, and he was all alone. He, the king, had
been left alone in the church, to awake in the dark! He was furious with rage and surprise,
and, stumbling through the dim aisles, he reached the great doors and beat at them,
madly, shouting for his servants.
The old sexton heard some one shouting and pounding in the church, and thought it was
some drunken vagabond who had stolen in during the service. He came to the door with
his keys and called out, ``Who is there?''
``Open! open! It is I, the king!'' came a hoarse, angry voice from within.
``It is a crazy man,'' thought the sexton; and he was frightened. He opened the doors
carefully and stood back, peering into the darkness. Out past him rushed

the figure of a man in tattered, scanty clothes, with unkempt hair and white, wild face.
The sexton did not know that he had ever seen him before, but he looked long after him,
wondering at his wildness and his haste.
In his fluttering rags, without hat or cloak, not knowing what strange thing had
happened to him, King Robert rushed to his palace gates, pushed aside the startled
servants, and hurried, blind with rage, up the wide stair and through the great corridors,
toward the room where he could hear the sound of his courtiers' voices. Men and women
servants tried to stop the ragged man, who had somehow got into the palace, but Robert
did not even see them as he fled along. Straight to the open doors of the big banquet hall
he made his way, and into the midst of the grand feast there.
The great hall was filled with lights and flowers; the tables were set with everything
that is delicate and rich to eat; the courtiers, in their gay clothes, were laughing and
talking; and at the head of the feast, on the king's own throne, sat a king. His

face, his figure, his voice were exactly like Robert of Sicily; no human being could have
told the difference; no one dreamed that he was not the king. He was dressed in the king's
royal robes, he wore the royal crown, and on his hand was the king's own ring. Robert of
Sicily, half naked, ragged, without a sign of his kingship on him, stood before the throne
and stared with fury at this figure of himself.
The king on the throne looked at him. ``Who art thou, and what dost thou here?'' he
asked. And though his voice was just like Robert's own, it had something in it sweet and
deep, like the sound of bells.
``I am the king!'' cried Robert of Sicily. ``I am the king, and you are an impostor!''
The courtiers started from their seats, and drew their swords. They would have killed
the crazy man who insulted their king; but he raised his hand and stopped them, and with
his eyes looking into Robert's eyes he said, ``Not the king; you shall be the king's jester!
You shall wear the cap and bells, and make laughter for my court. You shall be the
servant of

the servants, and your companion shall be the jester's ape.''
With shouts of laughter, the courtiers drove Robert of Sicily from the banquet hall; the
waiting-men, with laughter, too, pushed him into the soldiers' hall; and there the pages
brought the jester's wretched ape, and put a fool's cap and bells on Robert's head. It was
like a terrible dream; he could not believe it true, he could not understand what had
happened to him. And when he woke next morning, he believed it was a dream, and that
he was king again. But as he turned his head, he felt the coarse straw under his cheek
instead of the soft pillow, and he saw that he was in the stable, with the shivering ape by
his side. Robert of Sicily was a jester, and no one knew him for the king.
Three long years passed. Sicily was happy and all things went well under the king, who
was not Robert. Robert was still the jester, and his heart was harder and bitterer with
every year. Many times, during the three years, the king, who had his face and voice, had
called him to himself, when none else could hear, and had

asked him the one question, ``Who art thou?'' And each time that he asked it his eyes
looked into Robert's eyes, to find his heart. But each time Robert threw back his head and
answered, proudly, ``I am the king!'' And the king's eyes grew sad and stern.
At the end of three years, the Pope bade the Emperor of Allemaine and the King of
Sicily, his brothers, to a great meeting in his city of Rome. The King of Sicily went, with
all his soldiers and courtiers and servants, -- a great procession of horsemen and footmen.
Never had been a gayer sight than the grand train, men in bright armor, riders in
wonderful cloaks of velvet and silk, servants, carrying marvelous presents to the Pope.
And at the very end rode Robert, the jester. His horse was a poor old thing, manycolored,
and the ape rode with him. Every one in the villages through which they passed
ran after the jester, and pointed and laughed.
The Pope received his brothers and their trains in the square before Saint Peter's. With
music and flags and flow-

ers he made the King of Sicily welcome, and greeted him as his brother. In the midst of
it, the jester broke through the crowd and threw himself before the Pope. ``Look at me!''
he cried; ``I am your brother, Robert of Sicily! This man is an impostor, who has stolen
my throne. I am Robert, the king!''
The Pope looked at the poor jester with pity, but the Emperor of Allemaine turned to
the King of Sicily, and said, ``Is it not rather dangerous, brother, to keep a madman as
jester?'' And again Robert was pushed back among the serving-men.
It was Holy Week, and the king and the emperor, with all their trains, went every day to
the great services in the cathedral. Something wonderful and holy seemed to make all
these services more beautiful than ever before. All the people of Rome felt it: it was as if
the presence of an angel were there. Men thought of God, and felt his blessing on them.
But no one knew who it was that brought the beautiful feeling. And when Easter Day
came, never had there been so lovely, so holy a day: in the great churches, filled

with flowers, and sweet with incense, the kneeling people listened to the choirs singing,
and it was like the voices of angels; their prayers were more earnest than ever before,
their praise more glad; there was something heavenly in Rome.
Robert of Sicily went to the services with the rest, and sat in the humblest place with
the servants. Over and over again he heard the sweet voices of the choirs chant the Latin
words he had heard long ago: ``He hath put down the mighty from their seat, and hath
exalted them of low degree.'' And at last, as he listened, his heart was softened. He, too,
felt the strange blessed presence of a heavenly power. He thought of God, and of his own
wickedness; he remembered how happy he had been, and how little good he had done; he
realized, that his power had not been from himself, at all. On Easter night, as he crept to
his bed of straw, he wept, not because he was so wretched, but because he had not been a
better king when power was his.
At last all the festivities were over, and the King of Sicily went home to his own

land again, with his people. Robert the jester came home too.
On the day of their home-coming, there was a special service in the royal church, and
even after the service was over for the people, the monks held prayers of thanksgiving
and praise. The sound of their singing came softly in at the palace windows. In the great
banquet room, the king sat, wearing his royal robes and his crown, while many subjects
came to greet him. At last, he sent them all away, saying he wanted to be alone; but he
commanded the jester to stay. And when they were alone together the king looked into
Robert's eyes, as he had done before, and said, softly, ``Who art thou?''
Robert of Sicily bowed his head. ``Thou knowest best,'' he said, ``I only know that I
have sinned.''
As he spoke, he heard the voices of the monks singing, ``He hath put down the mighty
from their seat,'' -- and his head sank lower. But suddenly the music seemed to change; a
wonderful light shone all about. As Robert raised his eyes, he saw the face of the king
smiling at him

with a radiance like nothing on earth, and as he sank to his knees before the glory of that
smile, a voice sounded with the music, like a melody throbbing on a single string: --
``I am an angel, and thou art the king!''
Then Robert of Sicily was alone. His royal robes were upon him once more; he wore
his crown and his royal ring. He was king. And when the courtiers came back they found
their king kneeling by his throne, absorbed in silent prayer.
[1] Adapted from Longfellow's poem.
شماره33
THE JEALOUS COURTIERS1
I wonder if you have ever heard the anecdote about the artist of Düsseldorf and the
jealous courtiers. This is it. It seems there was once a very famous artist who lived in the
little town of Düsseldorf. He did such fine work that the Elector, Prince Johann Wilhelm,
ordered a portrait statue of himself, on horseback, to be done in bronze. The artist was
overjoyed at the

commission, and worked early and late at the statue.
At last the work was done, and the artist had the great statue set up in the public square
of Düsseldorf, ready for the opening view. The Elector came on the appointed day, and
with him came his favorite courtiers from the castle. Then the statue was unveiled. It was
very beautiful, -- so beautiful that the prince exclaimed in surprise. He could not look
enough, and presently he turned to the artist and shook hands with him, like an old friend.
``Herr Grupello,'' he said, ``you are a great artist, and this statue will make your fame
even greater than it is; the portrait of me is perfect!''
When the courtiers heard this, and saw the friendly hand-grasp, their jealousy of the
artist was beyond bounds. Their one thought was, how could they safely do something to
humiliate him. They dared not pick flaws in the portrait statue, for the prince had
declared it perfect. But at last one of them said, with an air of great frankness, ``Indeed,
Herr Grupello, the portrait of his Royal Highness is perfect;

but permit me to say that the statue of the horse is not quite so successful: the head is too
large; it is out of proportion.''
``No,'' said another, ``the horse is really not so successful; the turn of the neck, there, is
awkward.''
``If you would change the right hind-foot, Herr Grupello,'' said a third, ``it would be an
improvement.''
Still another found fault with the horse's tail.
The artist listened, quietly. When they had all finished, he turned to the prince and said,
``Your courtiers, Prince, find a good many flaws in the statue of the horse; will you
permit me to keep it a few days more, to do what I can with it?''
The Elector assented, and the artist ordered a temporary screen built around the statue,
so that his assistants could work undisturbed. For several days the sound of hammering
came steadily from behind the enclosure. The courtiers, who took care to pass that way,
often, were delighted. Each one said to himself, ``I must have been right, really; the artist
himself sees that something was wrong;

now I shall have credit for saving the prince's portrait by my artistic taste!''
Once more the artist summoned the prince and his courtiers, and once more the statue
was unveiled. Again the Elector exclaimed at its beauty, and then he turned to his
courtiers, one after another, to see what they had to say.
``Perfect!'' said the first. ``Now that the horse's head is in proportion, there is not a
flaw.''
``The change in the neck was just what was needed,'' said the second; ``it is very
graceful now.''
``The rear right foot is as it should be, now,'' said a third, ``and it adds so much to the
beauty of the whole!''
The fourth said that he considered the tail greatly improved.
``My courtiers are much pleased now,'' said the prince to Herr Grupello; ``they think
the statue much improved by the changes you have made.''
Herr Grupello smiled a little. ``I am glad they are pleased,'' he said, ``but the fact is, I
have changed nothing!''
``What do you mean?'' said the prince

in surprise. ``Have we not heard the sound of hammering every day? What were you
hammering at then?''
``I was hammering at the reputation of your courtiers, who found fault simply because
they were jealous,'' said the artist. ``And I rather think that their reputation is pretty well
hammered to pieces!''
It was, indeed. The Elector laughed heartily, but the courtiers slunk away, one after
another, without a word.
[1] Adapted from the facts given in the German of H. A. Guerber's Märchen und
Erzählungen (D. C. Heath & Co.).
شماره34
PRINCE CHERRY1
There was once an old king, so wise and kind and true that the most powerful good
fairy of his land visited him and asked him to name the dearest wish of his heart, that she
might grant it.
``Surely you know it,'' said the good king; ``it is for my only son, Prince Cherry; do for
him whatever you would have done for me.''
``Gladly,'' said the great fairy; ``choose what I shall give him. I can make him the
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richest, the most beautiful, or the most powerful prince in the world; choose.''
``None of those things are what I want,'' said the king. ``I want only that he shall be
good. Of what use will it be to him to be beautiful, rich, or powerful, if he grows into a
bad man? Make him the best prince in the world, I beg you!''
``Alas, I cannot make him good,'' said the fairy; ``he must do that for himself. I can give
him good advice, reprove him when he does wrong, and punish him if he will not punish
himself; I can and will be his best friend, but I cannot make him good unless he wills it.''
The king was sad to hear this, but he rejoiced in the friendship of the fairy for his son.
And when he died, soon after, he was happy to know that he left Prince Cherry in her
hands.
Prince Cherry grieved for his fathers and often lay awake at night, thinking of him. One
night, when he was all alone in his room, a soft and lovely light suddenly shone before
him, and a beautiful vision stood at his side. It was the good fairy. She was clad in robes
of dazzling

white, and on her shining hair she wore a wreath of white roses.
``I am the Fairy Candide,'' she said to the prince. ``I promised your father that I would
be your best friend, and as long as you live I shall watch over your happiness. I have
brought you a gift; it is not wonderful to look at, but it has a wonderful power for your
welfare; wear it, and let it help you.''
As she spoke, she placed a small gold ring on the prince's little finger. ``This ring,'' she
said, ``will help you to be good; when you do evil, it will prick you, to remind you. If you
do not heed its warnings a worse thing will happen to you, for I shall become your
enemy.'' Then she vanished.
Prince Cherry wore his ring, and said nothing to any one of the fairy's gift. It did not
prick him for a long time, because he was good and merry and happy. But Prince Cherry
had been rather spoiled by his nurse when he was a child; she had always said to him that
when he should become king he could do exactly as he pleased. Now, after a while, he
began to

find out that this was not true, and it made him angry.
The first time that he noticed that even a king could not always have his own way was
on a day when he went hunting. It happened that he got no game. This put him in such a
bad temper that he grumbled and scolded all the way home. The little gold ring began to
feel tight and uncomfortable. When he reached the palace his pet dog ran to meet him.
``Go away!'' said the prince, crossly.
But the little dog was so used to being petted that he only jumped up on his master, and
tried to kiss his hand. The prince turned and kicked the little creature. At the instant, he
felt a sharp prick in his little finger, like a pin prick.
``What nonsense!'' said the prince to himself. ``Am I not king of the whole land? May I
not kick my own dog, if I choose? What evil is there in that?''
A silver voice spoke in his ear: ``The king of the land has a right to do good, but not
evil; you have been guilty of bad temper and of cruelty to-day; see that you do better tomorrow.''

The prince turned sharply, but no one was to be seen; yet he recognized the voice as
that of Fairy Candide.
He followed her advice for a little, but presently he forgot, and the ring pricked him so
sharply that his finger had a drop of blood on it. This happened again and again, for the
prince grew more self-willed and headstrong every day; he had some bad friends, too,
who urged him on, in the hope that he would ruin himself and give them a chance to seize
the throne. He treated his people carelessly and his servants cruelly, and everything he
wanted he felt that he must have.
The ring annoyed him terribly; it was embarrassing for a king to have a drop of blood
on his finger all the time! At last he took the ring off and put it out of sight. Then he
thought he should be perfectly happy, having his own way; but instead, he grew more
unhappy as he grew less good. Whenever he was crossed, or could not have his own way
instantly, he flew into a passion,
Finally, he wanted something that he really could not have. This time it was a

most beautiful young girl, named Zelia; the prince saw her, and loved her so much that he
wanted at once to make her his queen. To his great astonishment, she refused.
``Am I not pleasing to you?'' asked the prince in surprise.
``You are very handsome, very charming, Prince,'' said Zelia; ``but you are not like the
good king, your father; I fear you would make me very miserable if I were your queen.''
In a great rage, Prince Cherry ordered the young girl put in prison; and the key of her
dungeon he kept. He told one of his friends, a wicked man who flattered him for his own
purposes, about the thing, and asked his advice.
``Are you not king?'' said the bad friend, ``May you not do as you will? Keep the girl in
a dungeon till she does as you command, and if she will not, sell her as a slave.''
``But would it not be a disgrace for me to harm an innocent creature?'' said the prince.
``It would be a disgrace to you to have

it said that one of your subjects dared disobey you!'' said the courtier.
He had cleverly touched the Prince's worst trait, his pride. Prince Cherry went at once
to Zelia's dungeon, prepared to do this cruel thing.
Zelia was gone. No one had the key save the prince himself; yet she was gone. The only
person who could have dared to help her, thought the prince, was his old tutor, Suliman,
the only man left who ever rebuked him for anything. In fury, he ordered Suliman to be
put in fetters and brought before him.
As his servants left him, to carry out the wicked order, there was a clash, as of thunder,
in the room, and then a blinding light. Fairy Candide stood before him. Her beautiful face
was stern, and her silver voice rang like a trumpet, as she said, ``Wicked and selfish
prince, you have become baser than the beasts you hunt; you are furious as a lion,
revengeful as a serpent, greedy as a wolf, and brutal as a bull; take, therefore, the shape
of those beasts whom you resemble!''
With horror, the prince felt himself be-

ing transformed into a monster. He tried to rush upon the fairy and kill her, but she had
vanished with her words. As he stood, her voice came from the air, saying, sadly, ``Learn
to conquer your pride by being in submission to your own subjects.'' At the same
moment, Prince Cherry felt himself being transported to a distant forest, where he was set
down by a clear stream. In the water he saw his own terrible image; he had the head of a
lion, with bull's horns, the feet of a wolf, and a tail like a serpent. And as he gazed in
horror, the fairy's voice whispered, ``Your soul has become more ugly than your shape is;
you yourself have deformed it.''
The poor beast rushed away from the sound of her words, but in a moment he stumbled
into a trap, set by bear-catchers. When the trappers found him they were delighted to
have caught a curiosity, and they immediately dragged him to the palace courtyard. There
he heard the whole court buzzing with gossip. Prince Cherry had been struck by lightning
and killed, was the news, and the five favorite courtiers had struggled to make themselves

rulers, but the people had refused them, and offered the crown to Suliman, the good old
tutor.
Even as he heard this, the prince saw Suliman on the steps of the palace, speaking to the
people. ``I will take the crown to keep in trust,'' he said. ``Perhaps the prince is not dead.''
``He was a bad king; we do not want him back,'' said the people.
``I know his heart,'' said Suliman, ``it is not all bad; it is tainted, but not corrupt;
perhaps he will repent and come back to us a good king.''
When the beast heard this, it touched him so much that he stopped tearing at his chains,
and became gentle. He let his keepers lead him away to the royal menagerie without
hurting them.
Life was very terrible to the prince, now, but he began to see that he had brought all his
sorrow on himself, and he tried to bear it patiently. The worst to bear was the cruelty of
the keeper. At last, one night, this keeper was in great danger; a tiger got loose, and
attacked him. ``Good enough! Let him die!'' thought Prince

Cherry. But when he saw how helpless the keeper was, he repented, and sprang to help.
He killed the tiger and saved the keeper's life.
As he crouched at the keeper's feet, a voice said, ``Good actions never go unrewarded!''
And the terrible monster was changed into a pretty little white dog.
The keeper carried the beautiful little dog to the court and told the story, and from then
on, Cherry was carefully treated, and had the best of everything. But in order to keep the
little dog from growing, the queen ordered that he should be fed very little, and that was
pretty hard for the poor prince. He was often half starved, although so much petted.
One day he had carried his crust of bread to a retired spot in the palace woods, where he
loved to be, when he saw a poor old woman hunting for roots, and seeming almost
starved.
``Poor thing,'' he thought, ``she is even hungrier than I;'' and he ran up and dropped the
crust at her feet.
The woman ate it, and seemed greatly refreshed.

Cherry was glad of that, and he was running happily back to his kennel when he heard
cries of distress, and suddenly he saw some rough men dragging along a young girl, who
was weeping and crying for help. What was his horror to see that the young girl was
Zelia! Oh, how he wished he were the monster once more, so that he could kill the men
and rescue her! But he could do nothing except bark, and bite at the heels of the wicked
men. That could not stop them; they drove him off, with blows, and carried Zelia into a
palace in the wood.
Poor Cherry crouched by the steps, and watched. His heart was full of pity and rage.
But suddenly he thought, ``I was as bad as these men; I myself put Zelia in prison, and
would have treated her worse still, if I had not been prevented.'' The thought made him so
sorry and ashamed that he repented bitterly the evil he had done.
Presently a window opened, and Cherry saw Zelia lean out and throw down a piece of
meat. He seized it and was just going to devour it, when the old woman to whom

he had given his crust snatched it away and took him in her arms. ``No, you shall not eat
it, you poor little thing,'' she said, ``for every bit of food in that house is poisoned.''
At the same moment, a voice said, ``Good actions never go unrewarded!'' And instantly
Prince Cherry was transformed into a little white dove.
With great joy, he flew to the open palace window to seek out his Zelia, to try to help
her. But though he hunted in every room, no Zelia was to be found. He had to fly away,
without seeing her. He wanted more than anything else to find her, and stay near her, so
he flew out into the world, to seek her.
He sought her in many lands, until one day, in a far eastern country, he found her sitting
in a tent, by the side of an old, white-haired hermit. Cherry was wild with delight. He
flew to her shoulder, caressed her hair with his beak, and cooed in her ear.
``You dear, lovely little thing!'' said Zelia. ``Will you stay with me? If you will, I will
love you always.''

``Ah, Zelia, see what you have done!'' laughed the hermit. At that instant, the white
dove vanished, and Prince Cherry stood there, as handsome and charming as ever, and
with a look of kindness and modesty in his eyes which had never been there before. At
the same time, the hermit stood up, his flowing hair changed to shining gold, and his face
became a lovely woman's face; it was the Fairy Candide. ``Zelia has broken your spell,''
she said to the Prince, ``as I meant she should, when you were worthy of her love.''
Zelia and Prince Cherry fell at the fairy's feet. But with a beautiful smile she bade them
come to their kingdom. In a trice, they were transported to the Prince's palace, where
King Suliman greeted them with tears of joy. He gave back the throne, with all his heart,
and King Cherry ruled again, with Zelia for his queen.
He wore the little gold ring all the rest of his life, but never once did it have to prick
him hard enough to make his finger bleed.
[1] A shortened version of the familiar tale.
شماره35
THE GOLD IN THE ORCHARD1
There was once a farmer who had a fine olive orchard. He was very industrious, and the
farm always prospered under his care. But he knew that his three sons despised the farm
work, and were eager to make wealth fast, through adventure.
When the farmer was old, and felt that his time had come to die, he called the three
sons to him and said, ``My sons, there is a pot of gold hidden in the olive orchard. Dig for
it, if you wish it.''
The sons tried to get him to tell them in what part of the orchard the gold was hidden;
but he would tell them nothing more.
After the farmer was dead, the sons went to work to find the pot of gold; since they did
not know where the hiding-place was, they agreed to begin in a line, at one end of the
orchard, and to dig until one of them should find the money.
They dug until they had turned up the
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soil from one end of the orchard to the other, round the tree-roots and between them. But
no pot of gold was to be found. It seemed as if some one must have stolen it, or as if the
farmer had been wandering in his wits. The three sons were bitterly disappointed to have
all their work for nothing.
The next olive season, the olive trees in the orchard bore more fruit than they had ever
given; the fine cultivating they had had from the digging brought so much fruit, and of so
fine a quality, that when it was sold it gave the sons a whole pot of gold!
And when they saw how much money had come from the orchard, they suddenly
understood what the wise father had meant when he said, ``There is gold hidden in the
orchard; dig for it.''
[1] An Italian folk tale.
شماره36
MARGARET OF NEW ORLEANS
If you ever go to the beautiful city of New Orleans, somebody will be sure to take you
down into the old business part of the city, where there are banks
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and shops and hotels, and show you a statue which stands in a little square there. It is the
statue of a woman, sitting in a low chair, with her arms around a child, who leans against
her. The woman is not at all pretty: she wears thick, common shoes, a plain dress, with a
little shawl, and a sun-bonnet; she is stout and short, and her face is a square-chinned
Irish face; but her eyes look at you like your mother's.
Now there is something very surprising about this statue: it was the first one that was
ever made in this country in honor of a woman. Even in old Europe there are not many
monuments to women, and most of the few are to great queens or princesses, very
beautiful and very richly dressed. You see, this statue in New Orleans is not quite like
anything else.
It is the statue of a woman named Margaret. Her whole name was Margaret Haughery,
but no one in New Orleans remembers her by it, any more than you think of your dearest
sister by her full name; she is just Margaret. This is her story, and it tells why people
made a monument for her.

When Margaret was a tiny baby, her father and mother died, and she was adopted by
two young people as poor and as kind as her own parents. She lived with them until she
grew up. Then she married, and had a little baby of her own. But very soon her husband
died, and then the baby died, too, and Margaret was all alone in the world. She was poor,
but she was strong, and knew how to work.
All day, from morning until evening, she ironed clothes in a laundry. And every day, as
she worked by the window, she saw the little motherless children from the orphan
asylum, near by, working and playing about. After a while, there came a great sickness
upon the city, and so many mothers and fathers died that there were more orphans than
the asylum could possibly take care of. They needed a good friend, now. You would
hardly think, would you, that a poor woman who worked in a laundry could be much of a
friend to them? But Margaret was. She went straight to the kind Sisters who had the
asylum and told them she was going to give them part of her wages and was going

to work for them, besides. Pretty soon she had worked so hard that she had some money
saved from her wages. With this, she bought two cows and a little delivery cart. Then she
carried her milk to her customers in the little cart every morning; and as she went, she
begged the left-over food from the hotels and rich houses, and brought it back in the cart
to the hungry children in the asylum. In the very hardest times that was often all the food
the children had.
A part of the money Margaret earned went every week to the asylum, and after a few
years that was made very much larger and better. And Margaret was so careful and so
good at business that, in spite of her giving, she bought more cows and earned more
money. With this, she built a home for orphan babies; she called it her baby house.
After a time, Margaret had a chance to get a bakery, and then she became a breadwoman
instead of a milk-woman. She carried the bread just as she had carried the milk,
in her cart. And still she kept giving money to the asylum. Then

the great war came, our Civil War. In all the trouble and sickness and fear of that time,
Margaret drove her cart of bread; and somehow she had always enough to give the
starving soldiers, and for her babies, besides what she sold. And despite all this, she
earned enough so that when the war was over she built a big steam factory for her bread.
By this time everybody in the city knew her. The children all over the city loved her; the
business men were proud of her; the poor people all came to her for advice. She used to
sit at the open door of her office, in a calico gown and a little shawl, and give a good
word to everybody, rich or poor.
Then, by and by, one day, Margaret died. And when it was time to read her will, the
people found that, with all her giving, she had still saved a great deal of money, and that
she had left every cent of it to the different orphan asylums of the city, -- each one of
them was given something. Whether they were for white children or black, for Jews,
Catholics, or Protestants, made no difference; for Margaret always said, ``They are all
orphans

alike.'' And just think, dears, that splendid, wise will was signed with a cross instead of a
name, for Margaret had never learned to read or write!
When the people of New Orleans knew that Margaret was dead, they said, ``She was a
mother to the motherless; she was a friend to those who had no friends; she had wisdom
greater than schools can teach; we will not let her memory go from us.'' So they made a
statue of her, just as she used to look, sitting in her own office door, or driving in her own
little cart. And there it stands to-day, in memory of the great love and the great power of
plain Margaret Haughery, of New Orleans.
شماره37
THE DAGDA'S HARP1
You know, dears, in the old countries there are many fine stories about things which
happened so very long ago that nobody knows exactly how much of them is

true. Ireland is like that. It is so old that even as long ago as four thousand years it had
people who dug in the mines, and knew how to weave cloth and to make beautiful
ornaments out of gold, and who could fight and make laws; but we do not know just
where they came from, nor exactly how they lived. These people left us some splendid
stories about their kings, their fights, and their beautiful women; but it all happened such
a long time ago that the stories are mixtures of things that really happened and what
people said about them, and we don't know just which is which. The stories are called
legends. One of the prettiest legends is the story I am going to tell you about the Dagda's
harp.
It is said that there were two quite different kinds of people in Ireland: one set of people
with long dark hair and dark eyes, called Fomorians -- they carried long slender spears
made of golden bronze when they fought -- and another race of people who were goldenhaired
and blue-eyed, and who carried short, blunt, heavy spears of dull metal.
The golden-haired people had a great

chieftain who was also a kind of high priest, who was called the Dagda. And this Dagda
had a wonderful magic harp. The harp was beautiful to look upon, mighty in size, made
of rare wood, and ornamented with gold and jewels; and it had wonderful music in its
strings, which only the Dagda could call out. When the men were going out to battle, the
Dagda would set up his magic harp and sweep his hand across the strings, and a war song
would ring out which would make every warrior buckle on his armor, brace his knees,
and shout, ``Forth to the fight!'' Then, when the men came back from the battle, weary
and wounded, the Dagda would take his harp and strike a few chords, and as the magic
music stole out upon the air, every man forgot his weariness and the smart of his wounds,
and thought of the honor he had won, and of the comrade who had died beside him, and
of the safety of his wife and children. Then the song would swell out louder, and every
warrior would remember only the glory he had helped win for the king; and each man
would rise at the great tables

his cup in his hand, and shout ``Long live the King!''
There came a time when the Fomorians and the golden-haired men were at war; and in
the midst of a great battle, while the Dagda's hall was not so well guarded as usual, some
of the chieftains of the Fomorians stole the great harp from the wall, where it hung, and
fled away with it. Their wives and children and some few of their soldiers went with
them, and they fled fast and far through the night, until they were a long way from the
battlefield. Then they thought they were safe, and they turned aside into a vacant castle,
by the road, and sat down to a banquet, hanging the stolen harp on the wall.
The Dagda, with two or three of his warriors, had followed hard on their track. And
while they were in the midst of their banqueting, the door was suddenly burst open, and
the Dagda stood there, with his men. Some of the Fomorians sprang to their feet, but
before any of them could grasp a weapon, the Dagda called out to his harp on the wall,
``Come to me, O my harp!''

The great harp recognized its master's voice, and leaped from the wall. Whirling
through the hall, sweeping aside and killing the men who got in its way, it sprang to its
master's hand. And the Dagda took his harp and swept his hand across the strings in three
great, solemn chords. The harp answered with the magic Music of Tears. As the wailing
harmony smote upon the air, the women of the Fomorians bowed their heads and wept
bitterly, the strong men turned their faces aside, and the little children sobbed.
Again the Dagda touched the strings, and this time the magic Music of Mirth leaped
from the harp. And when they heard that Music of Mirth, the young warriors of the
Fomorians began to laugh; they laughed till the cups fell from their grasp, and the spears
dropped from their hands, while the wine flowed from the broken bowls; they laughed
until their limbs were helpless with excess of glee.
Once more the Dagda touched his harp, but very, very softly. And now a music stole
forth as soft as dreams, and as sweet as joy: it was the magic Music of Sleep.

When they heard that, gently, gently, the Fomorian women bowed their heads in slumber;
the little children crept to their mothers' laps; the old men nodded; and the young warriors
drooped in their seats and closed their eyes: one after another all the Fomorians sank into
sleep.
When they were all deep in slumber, the Dagda took his magic harp, and he and his
golden-haired warriors stole softly away, and came in safety to their own homes again.
[1] The facts from which this story was constructed are found in the legend as given in
Ireland's Story, Johnston and Spencer (Houghton, Mifflin, & Co.).
شماره38
THE TAILOR AND THE THREE BEASTS1
There was once a tailor in Galway, and he started out on a journey to go to the king's
court at Dublin.
He had not gone far till he met a white horse, and he saluted him.
``God save you,'' said the tailor.
``God save you,'' said the horse. ``Where are you going?''
``I am going to Dublin,'' said the tailor,

``to build a court for the king and to get a lady for a wife, if I am able to do it.'' For, it
seems the king had promised his daughter and a great lot of money to any one who
should be able to build up his court. The trouble was, that three giants lived in the wood
near the court, and every night they came out of the wood and threw down all that was
built by day. So nobody could get the court built.
``Would you make me a hole,'' said the old white garraun, ``where I could go a-hiding
whenever the people are for bringing me to the mill or the kiln, so that they won't see me;
for they have me perished doing work for them.''
``I'll do that, indeed,'' said the tailor, ``and welcome.''
He brought his spade and shovel, and he made a hole, and he said to the old white horse
to go down into it till he would see if it would fit him. The white horse went down into
the hole, but when he tried to come up again, he was not able.
``Make a place for me now,'' said the white horse, ``by which I'll come up out of the
hole here, whenever I'll be hungry.''

``I will not,'' said the tailor; ``remain where you are until I come back, and I'll lift you
up.''
The tailor went forward next day, and the fox met him.
``God save you,'' said the fox.
``God save you,'' said the tailor.
``Where are you going,'' said the fox.
``I'm going to Dublin, to try will I be able to make a court for the king.''
``Would you make a place for me where I'd go hiding?'' said the fox. ``The rest of the
foxes do be beating me, and they don't allow me to eat anything with them.''
``I'll do that for you,'' said the tailor.
He took his axe and his saw, and he made a thing like a crate, and he told the fox to get
into it till he would see whether it would fit him. The fox went into it, and when the tailor
got him down, he shut him in. When the fox was satisfied at last that he had a nice place
of it within, he asked the tailor to let him out, and the tailor answered that he would not.
``Wait there until I come back again,'' says he.

The tailor went forward the next day, and he had not walked very far until he met a
modder-alla; and the lion greeted him.
``God save you,'' said the lion.
``God save you,'' said the tailor.
``Where are you going?'' said the lion.
``I'm going to Dublin till I make a court for the king if I'm able to make it,'' said the
tailor.
``If you were to make a plough for me,'' said the lion, ``I and the other lions could be
ploughing and harrowing until we'd have a bit to eat in the harvest.''
``I'll do that for you,'' said the tailor.
He brought his axe and his saw, and he made a plough. When the plough was made he
put a hole in the beam of it, and he said to the lion to go in under the plough till he'd see
was he any good of a ploughman. He placed the lion's tail in the hole he had made for it,
and then clapped in a peg, and the lion was not able to draw out his tail again.
``Loose me out now,'' said the lion, ``and we'll fix ourselves and go ploughing.''
The tailor said he would not loose him

out until he came back himself. He left him there then, and he came to Dublin.
When he came to Dublin, he got workmen and began to build the court. At the end of
the day he had the workmen put a great stone on top of the work. When the great stone
was raised up, the tailor put some sort of contrivance under it, that he might be able to
throw it down as soon as the giant would come as far as it. The workpeople went home
then, and the tailor went in hiding behind the big stone.
When the darkness of the night was come, he saw the three giants arriving, and they
began throwing down the court until they came as far as the place where the tailor was in
hiding up above, and a man of them struck a blow of his sledge on the place where he
was. The tailor threw down the stone, and it fell on him and killed him. They went home
then and left all of the court that was remaining without throwing it down, since a man of
themselves was dead.
The tradespeople came again the next day, and they were working until night, and as
they were going home the tailor

told them to put up the big stone on the top of the work, as it had been the night before.
They did that for him, went home, and the tailor went in hiding the same as he did the
evening before.
When the people had all gone to rest, the two giants came, and they were throwing
down all that was before them, and as soon as they began, they put two shouts out of
them. The tailor was going on manoeuvring until he threw down the great stone, and it
fell upon the skull of the giant that was under him, and it killed him. There was only the
one giant left in it then, and he never came again until the court was finished.
Then when the work was over, the tailor went to the king and told him to give him his
wife and his money, as he had the court finished; and the king said he would not give him
any wife until he would kill the other giant, for he said that it was not by his strength he
killed the two giants before that, and that he would give him nothing now until he killed
the other one for him. Then the tailor said that he would kill the other giant for him, and

welcome; that there was no delay at all about that.
The tailor went then till he came to the place where the other giant was, and asked did
he want a servant-boy. The giant said he did want one, if he could get one who would do
everything that he would do himself.
``Anything that you will do, I will do it,'' said the tailor.
They went to their dinner then, and when they had it eaten, the giant asked the tailor
``would it come with him to swallow as much broth as himself, up out of its boiling.'' The
tailor said, ``It will come with me to do that, but that you must give me an hour before we
begin on it.'' The tailor went out then, and he got a sheep-skin, and he sewed it up till he
made a bag of it, and he slipped it down under his coat. He came in then and said to the
giant to drink a gallon of the broth himself first. The giant drank that up out of its boiling.
``I'll do that,'' said the tailor. He was going on until he had it all poured into the skin, and
the giant thought he had it drunk. The giant drank another gallon then, and

the tailor let another gallon down into the skin, but the giant thought he was drinking it.
``I'll do a thing now that it won't come with you to do,'' said the tailor.
``You will not,'' said the giant. ``What is it you would do?''
``Make a hole and let out the broth again,'' said the tailor.
``Do it yourself first,'' said the giant.
The tailor gave a prod of the knife, and he let the broth out of the skin.
``Do that you,'' said he.
``I will,'' said the giant, giving such a prod of the knife into his own stomach that he
killed himself. That is the way the tailor killed the third giant.
He went to the king then, and desired him to send him out his wife and his money, for
that he would throw down the court again unless he should get the wife. They were afraid
then that he would throw down the court, and they sent the wife to him.
When the tailor was a day gone, himself and his wife, they repented and followed him
to take his wife off him again. The people who were after him were following

him till they came to the place where the lion was, and the lion said to them: ``The tailor
and his wife were here yesterday. I saw them going by, and if ye loose me now, I am
swifter than ye, and I will follow them till I overtake them.'' When they heard that, they
loosed out the lion.
The lion and the people of Dublin went on, and they were pursuing him, until they
came to the place where the fox was, and the fox greeted them, and said: ``The tailor and
his wife were here this morning, and if ye will loose me out, I am swifter than ye, and I
will follow them, and overtake them.'' They loosed out the fox then.
The lion and the fox and the army of Dublin went on then, trying would they catch the
tailor, and they were going till they came to the place where the old white garraun was,
and the old white garraun said to them that the tailor and his wife were there in the
morning, and ``Loose me out,'' said he; ``I am swifter than ye, and I'll overtake them.''
They loosed out the old white garraun then, and the old white garraun, the fox, the lion,
and the army

of Dublin pursued the tailor and his wife together, and it was not long till they came up
with him, and saw himself and the wife out before them.
When the tailor saw them coming, he got out of the coach with his wife, and he sat
down on the ground.
When the old white garraun saw the tailor sitting down on the ground, he said, ``That's
the position he had when he made the hole for me, that I could 't come up out of, when I
went down into it. I'll go no nearer to him.''
``No!'' said the fox, ``but that's the way he was when he was making the thing for me,
and I'll go no nearer to him.''
``No!'' says the lion, ``but that's the very way he had, when he was making the plough
that I was caught in. I'll go no nearer to him.''
They all went from him then and returned. The tailor and his wife came home to
Galway.
[1] From Beside the Fire, Douglas Hyde (David Nutt, London).
شماره39
THE CASTLE OF FORTUNE1
One lovely summer morning, just as the sun rose, two travelers started on a journey.
They were both strong young men, but one was a lazy fellow and the other was a worker.
As the first sunbeams came over the hills, they shone on a great castle standing on the
heights, as far away as the eye could see. It was a wonderful and beautiful castle, all
glistening towers that gleamed like marble, and glancing windows that shone like crystal.
The two young men looked at it eagerly, and longed to go nearer.
Suddenly, out of the distance, something like a great butterfly, of white and gold, swept
toward them. And when it came nearer, they saw that it was a most beautiful lady, robed
in floating garments as fine as cobwebs and wearing on her head a crown so bright that
no one could tell whether it was of diamonds or of dew. She stood,
-216-
light as air, on a great, shining, golden ball, which rolled along with her, swifter than the
wind. As she passed the travelers, she turned her face to them and smiled.
``Follow me!'' she said.
The lazy man sat down in the grass with a discontented sigh. ``She has an easy time of
it!'' he said.
But the industrious man ran after the lovely lady and caught the hem of her floating
robe in his grasp. ``Who are you, and whither are you going?'' he asked.
``I am the Fairy of Fortune,'' the beautiful lady said, ``and that is my castle. You may
reach it to-day, if you will; there is time, if you waste none. If you reach it before the last
stroke of midnight, I will receive you there, and will be your friend. But if you come one
second after midnight, it will be too late.''
When she had said this, her robe slipped from the traveler's hand and she was gone.
The industrious man hurried back to his friend, and told him what the fairy had said.
``The idea!'' said the lazy man, and he laughed; ``of course, if a body had a horse
-217-
there would be some chance, but walk all that way? No, thank you!''
``Then good-by,'' said his friend, ``I am off.'' And he set out, down the road toward the
shining castle, with a good steady stride, his eyes straight ahead.
The lazy man lay down in the soft grass, and looked rather wistfully at the faraway
towers. ``If I only had a good horse!'' he sighed.
Just at that moment he felt something warm nosing about at his shoulder, and heard a
little whinny. He turned round, and there stood a little horse! It was a dainty creature,
gentle-looking, and finely built, and it was saddled and bridled.
``Hola!'' said the lazy man. ``Luck often comes when one is 't looking for it!'' And in an
instant he had leaped on the horse, and headed him for the castle of fortune. The little
horse started at a fine pace, and in a very few minutes they overtook the other traveler,
plodding along on foot.
``How do you like shank's mare?'' laughed the lazy man, as he passed his friend.

The industrious man only nodded, and kept on with his steady stride, eyes straight
ahead.
The horse kept his good pace, and by noon the towers of the castle stood out against the
sky, much nearer and more beautiful. Exactly at noon, the horse turned aside from the
road, into a shady grove on a hill, and stopped.
``Wise beast,'' said his rider; `` `haste makes waste,' and all things are better in
moderation. I'll follow your example, and eat and rest a bit.'' He dismounted and sat down
in the cool moss, with his back against a tree. He had a lunch in his traveler's pouch, and
he ate it comfortably. Then he felt drowsy from the heat and the early ride, so he pulled
his hat over his eyes, and settled himself for a nap. ``It will go all the better for a little
rest,'' he said.
That was a sleep! He slept like the seven sleepers, and he dreamed the most beautiful
things you could imagine. At last, he dreamed that he had entered the castle of fortune
and was being received with great festivities. Everything he wanted was

brought to him, and music played while fireworks were set off in his honor. The music
was so loud that he awoke. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, and behold, the fireworks were
the very last rays of the setting sun, and the music was the voice of the other traveler,
passing the grove on foot!
``Time to be off,'' said the lazy man, and looked about him for the pretty horse. No
horse was to be found. The only living thing near was an old, bony, gray donkey. The
man called, and whistled, and looked, but no little horse appeared. After a long while he
gave it up, and, since there was nothing better to do, he mounted the old gray donkey and
set out again.
The donkey was slow, and he was hard to ride, but he was better than nothing; and
gradually the lazy man saw the towers of the castle draw nearer.
Now it began to grow dark; in the castle windows the lights began to show. Then came
trouble! Slower, and slower, went the gray donkey; slower, and slower, till, in the very
middle of a pitch-black wood, he stopped and stood still. Not a step would

he budge for all the coaxing and scolding and beating his rider could give. At last the
rider kicked him, as well as beat him, and at that the donkey felt that he had had enough.
Up went his hind heels, and down went his head, and over it went the lazy man on to the
stony ground.
There he lay groaning for many minutes, for it was not a soft place, I can assure you.
How he wished he were in a soft, warm bed, with his aching bones comfortable in
blankets! The very thought of it made him remember the castle of fortune, for he knew
there must be fine beds there. To get to those beds he was even willing to bestir his
bruised limbs, so he sat up and felt about him for the donkey.
No donkey was to be found.
The lazy man crept round and round the spot where he had fallen, scratched his hands
on the stumps, tore his face in the briers, and bumped his knees on the stones. But no
donkey was there. He would have lain down to sleep again, but he could hear now the
howls of hungry wolves in the woods; that did not sound pleasant. Finally, his hand
struck against something

that felt like a saddle. He grasped it, thankfully, and started to mount his donkey.
The beast he took hold of seemed very small, and, as he mounted, he felt that its sides
were moist and slimy. It gave him a shudder, and he hesitated; but at that moment he
heard a distant clock strike. It was striking eleven! There was still time to reach the castle
of fortune, but no more than enough; so he mounted his new steed and rode on once
more. The animal was easier to sit on than the donkey, and the saddle seemed remarkably
high behind; it was good to lean against. But even the donkey was not so slow as this; the
new steed was slower than he. After a while, however, he pushed his way out of the
woods into the open, and there stood the castle, only a little way ahead! All its windows
were ablaze with lights. A ray from them fell on the lazy man's beast, and he saw what he
was riding: it was a gigantic snail! a snail as large as a calf!
A cold shudder ran over the lazy man's body, and he would have got off his horrid
animal then and there, but just then the

clock struck once more. It was the first of the long, slow strokes that mark mid-night! The
man grew frantic when he heard it. He drove his heels into the snail's sides, to make him
hurry. Instantly, the snail drew in his head, curled up in his shell, and left the lazy man
sitting in a heap on the ground!
The clock struck twice. If the man had run for it, he could still have reached the castle,
but, instead, he sat still and shouted for a horse.
``A beast, a beast!'' he wailed, ``any kind of a beast that will take me to the castle!''
The clock struck three times. And as it struck the third note, something came rustling
and rattling out of the darkness, something that sounded like a horse with harness. The
lazy man jumped on its back, a very queer, low back. As he mounted, he saw the doors of
the castle open, and saw his friend standing on the threshold, waving his cap and
beckoning to him.
The clock struck four times, and the new steed began to stir; as it struck five, he moved
a pace forward; as it struck six, he stopped; as it struck seven, he

turned himself about; as it struck eight, he began to move backward, away from the
castle!
The lazy man shouted, and beat him, but the beast went slowly backward. And the
clock struck nine. The man tried to slide off, then, but from all sides of his strange animal
great arms came reaching up and held him fast. And in the next ray of moonlight that
broke the dark clouds, he saw that he was mounted on a monster crab!
One by one, the lights went out, in the castle windows. The clock struck ten. Backward
went the crab. Eleven! Still the crab went backward. The clock struck twelve! Then the
great doors shut with a clang, and the castle of fortune was closed forever to the lazy
man.
What became of him and his crab no one knows to this day, and no one cares. But the
industrious man was received by the Fairy of Fortune, and made happy in the castle as
long as he wanted to stay. And ever afterward she was his friend, helping him not only to
happiness for himself, but also showing him how to help others, wherever he went.
[1] Adapted from the German of Der Faule und der Fleissige by Robert Reinick.
شماره40
DAVID AND GOLIATH
A long time ago, there was a boy named David, who lived in a country far east of this.
He was good to look upon, for he had fair hair and a ruddy skin; and he was very strong
and brave and modest. He was shepherd-boy for his father, and all day -- often all night --
he was out in the fields, far from home, watching over the sheep. He had to guard them
from wild animals, and lead them to the right pastures, and care for them.
By and by, war broke out between the people of David's country and a people that lived
near at hand; these men were called Philistines, and the people of David's country were
named Israel. All the strong men of Israel went up to the battle, to fight for their king.
David's three older brothers went, but he was only a boy, so he was left behind to care for
the sheep.
After the brothers had been gone some time, David's father longed very much to

hear from them, and to know if they were safe; so he sent for David, from the fields, and
said to him, ``Take now for thy brothers an ephah of this parched corn, and these ten
loaves, and run to the camp, where thy brothers are; and carry these ten cheeses to the
captain of their thousand, and see how thy brothers fare, and bring me word again.'' (An
ephah is about three pecks.)
David rose early in the morning, and left the sheep with a keeper, and took the corn and
the loaves and the cheeses, as his father had commanded him, and went to the camp of
Israel.
The camp was on a mountain; Israel stood on a mountain on the one side, and the
Philistines stood on a mountain on the other side; and there was a valley between them.
David came to the place where the Israelites were, just as the host was going forth to the
fight, shouting for the battle. So he left his gifts in the hands of the keeper of the baggage,
and ran into the army, amongst the soldiers, to find his brothers. When he found them, he
saluted them and began to talk with them.

But while he was asking them the questions his father had commanded, there arose a
great shouting and tumult among the Israelites, and men came running back from the
front line of battle; everything became confusion. David looked to see what the trouble
was, and he saw a strange sight: on the hillside of the Philistines, a warrior was striding
forward, calling out something in a taunting voice; he was a gigantic man, the largest
David had ever seen, and he was all dressed in armor, that shone in the sun: he had a
helmet of brass upon his head, and he was armed with a coat of mail, and he had greaves
of brass upon his legs, and a target of brass between his shoulders; his spear was so
tremendous that the staff of it was like a weaver's beam, and his shield so great that a man
went before him, to carry it.
``Who is that?'' asked David.
``It is Goliath, of Gath, champion of the Philistines,'' said the soldiers about. ``Every
day, for forty days, he has come forth, so, and challenged us to send a man against him,
in single combat; and since no one dares to go out against him alone,

the armies cannot fight.'' (That was one of the laws of warfare in those times.)
``What!'' said David, ``does none dare go out against him?''
As he spoke, the giant stood still, on the hillside opposite the Israelitish host, and
shouted his challenge, scornfully. He said, ``Why are ye come out to set your battle in
array? Am I not a Philistine, and ye servants of Saul? Choose you a man for you, and let
him come down to me. If he be able to fight with me, and to kill me, then will we be your
servants; but if I prevail against him, and kill him, then shall ye be our servants, and serve
us. I defy the armies of Israel this day; give me a man, that we may fight together!''
When King Saul heard these words, he was dismayed, and all the men of Israel, when
they saw the man, fled from him and were sore afraid. David heard them talking among
themselves, whispering and murmuring. They were saying, ``Have ye seen this man that
is come up? Surely if any one killeth him that man will the king make rich; perhaps he
will give him

his daughter in marriage, and make his family free in Israel!''
David heard this, and he asked the men if it were so. It was surely so, they said.
``But,'' said David, ``who is this Philistine, that he should defy the armies of the living
God?'' And he was stirred with anger.
Very soon, some of the officers told the king about the youth who was asking so many
questions, and who said that a mere Philistine should not be let defy the armies of the
living God. Immediately Saul sent for him. When David came before Saul, he said to the
king, ``Let no man's heart fail because of him; thy servant will go and fight with this
Philistine.''
But Saul looked at David, and said, ``Thou art not able to go against this Philistine, to
fight with him, for thou art but a youth, and he has been a man of war from his youth.''
Then David said to Saul, ``Once I was keeping my father's sheep, and there came a lion
and a bear, and took a lamb out of the flock; and I went out after the lion, and struck him,
and delivered the lamb

out of his mouth, and when he arose against me, I caught him by the beard, and struck
him, and slew him! Thy servant slew both the lion and the bear; and this Philistine shall
be as one of them, for he hath defied the armies of the living God. The Lord, who
delivered me out of the paw of the lion and out of the paw of the bear, he will deliver me
out of the hand of this Philistine.''
``Go,'' said Saul, ``and the Lord be with thee!''
And he armed David with his own armor, -- he put a helmet of brass upon his head, and
armed him with a coat of mail. But when David girded his sword upon his armor, and
tried to walk, he said to Saul, ``I cannot go with these, for I am not used to them.'' And he
put them off.
Then he took his staff in his hand and went and chose five smooth stones out of the
brook, and put them in a shepherd's bag which he had; and his sling was in his hand; and
he went out and drew near to the Philistine.
And the Philistine came on and drew near to David; and the man that bore his

shield went before him. And when the Philistine looked about and saw David, he
disdained him, for David was but a boy, and ruddy, and of a fair countenance. And he
said to David, ``Am I a dog, that thou comest to me with a cudgel?'' And with curses he
cried out again, ``Come to me, and I will give thy flesh unto the fowls of the air, and to
the beasts of the field.''
But David looked at him, and answered, ``Thou comest to me with a sword, and with a
spear, and with a shield; but I come to thee in the name of the Lord of hosts, the God of
the armies of Israel, whom thou hast defied. This day will the Lord deliver thee into my
hand; and I will smite thee, and take thy head from thee, and I will give the carcasses of
the host of the Philistines this day unto the fowls of the air, and to the wild beasts of the
earth, that all the earth may know that there is a God in Israel! And all this assembly shall
know that the Lord saveth not with sword and spear; for the battle is the Lord's, and he
will give you into our hands.''
And then, when the Philistine arose, and came, and drew nigh to meet David,

David hasted, and ran toward the army to meet the Philistine. And when he was a little
way from him, he put his hand in his bag, and took thence a stone, and put it in his sling,
and slung it, and smote the Philistine in the forehead, so that the stone sank into his
forehead; and he fell on his face to the earth.
And David ran, and stood upon the Philistine, and took his sword, and drew it out of its
sheath, and slew him with it.
Then, when the Philistines saw that their champion was dead, they fled. But the army of
Israel pursued them, and victory was with the men of Israel.
And after the battle, David was taken to the king's tent, and made a captain over many
men; and he went no more to his father's house, to herd the sheep, but became a man, in
the king's service.
[1] From the text of the King James version of the Old Testament, with introduction and
slight interpolations, changes of order, and omissions.