The following stories are selected with a view to fulfilling various purposes, to meeting varied needs. Though not all are great stories, yet the object to be attained by telling them is great; for the work of molding the mind of a child can be nothing less. Each story is worth while: most of them lie outside the beaten path.
Once upon a time, little Brother Rabbit lived, quite sober and industrious, in the woods, and just close by lived a big, brown Bear.
Now little Brother Rabbit never troubled his neighbors in those days, nor meddled with their housekeeping, nor played any tricks the way he does now. In the fall, he gathered his acorns, and his pignuts, and his rabbit tobacco. On a frosty morning, he would set out with Brother Fox for the farmer’s; and while Brother Fox looked after the chicken yards, little Brother Rabbit picked cabbage, and pulled turnips, and gathered carrots and parsnips for his cellar. When the winter came, he never failed to share his store with a wandering chipmunk.
Now, in those days, old Bear was not content to do his own housekeeping, and doze in the sun, and gather wild honey in the summer, and fish through the ice in the winter. He was full of mischief, and was always playing tricks. Of all the beasts of the wood, the one he loved best to trouble was sober little Brother Rabbit.
Just as soon as Brother Rabbit moved to a new tree stump, and filled his bins with vegetables, and his pantry with salad, along came old Bear and carried off all his stores.
Just as soon as Brother Rabbit filled his house with dry, warm leaves for a bed, along came old Bear, and tried to squeeze himself into the bed, too, and of course he was too big.
At last, Brother Rabbit could stand it no longer, and he went to all the beasts in the wood to ask their advice.
The first one he met was Brother Frog, sitting on the edge of the pond, and sticking his feet in the nice, cool mud.
“What shall I do, Brother Frog?” asked Brother Rabbit; “Brother Bear will not leave me alone.”
“Let us ask Brother Squirrel,” said Brother Frog.
So the two went to Brother Squirrel, cracking nuts in the hickory tree.
“What shall we do, Brother Squirrel?” asked Brother Frog; “Brother Bear will not leave Brother Rabbit alone.”
“Let us ask Brother Mole,” said Brother Squirrel, dropping his nuts.
So the three went to where Brother Mole was digging the cellar for a new house, and they said:
“What shall we do, Brother Mole? Brother Bear will not leave Brother Rabbit alone.”
“Let us ask Brother Fox,” said Brother Mole.
So Brother Mole, Brother Squirrel, Brother Frog, and Brother Rabbit went to where Brother Fox was combing his brush behind a bush, and they said to him:
“What shall we do, Brother Fox? Brother Bear will not leave Brother Rabbit alone.”
“Let us go to Brother Bear,” said Brother Fox.
So they all went along with little Brother Rabbit, and they hunted and hunted for old Bear, but they could not find him anywhere. They hunted and hunted some more, and at last they peeped into a hollow tree. There lay old Bear, fast asleep.
“Hush,” said Brother Fox.
Then he whispered to Brother Frog, “Bring a little mud.”
And he whispered to Brother Squirrel, “Bring some leaves.”
And he whispered to Brother Mole, “Bring some dirt, little brother.”
And to Brother Rabbit he said, “Stand ready to do what I tell you.”
So Brother Frog brought mud, Brother Squirrel brought leaves, Brother Mole brought dirt, and Brother Rabbit stood ready to do what Brother Fox told him.
Then Brother Fox said to Brother Rabbit, “Stop up the ends of Brother Bear’s log.”
So Brother Rabbit took the mud and the leaves and the dirt, and he stopped up the ends of the log. Then he hammered hard with his two back feet, which are good for hammering. And they all went home, for they thought that old Bear would never, never get out of the log.
Well, old Bear slept and slept, but after a while he awoke, and he opened one eye. He saw no sunshine, so he thought it was still night, and he went to sleep again.
After another while, he awoke again, but he heard the rain and sleet beating outside, and it was very warm and dry inside.
“What a very long night,” said old Bear, and he curled up his paws, and he went to sleep again.
This time, he just slept, and slept, until it began to be very warm inside the log, and he heard in his dreams the footsteps of birds outside.
Then he awoke, and he stretched himself, and he shook himself. He rubbed his eyes with his paws, and he poked away the mud, and the leaves, and the dirt, and he went outside.
But was he not surprised?
It had been a frosty night when he had gone to sleep, and now the woods were green. Old Bear had slept all winter.
“That was a fine long sleep,” said old Bear, as he set out for little Brother Rabbit’s house to see if he had anything good for breakfast; “and I shall go to sleep again, next fall.”
So every summer, old Bear plays tricks on little Brother Rabbit, but when fall comes, he creeps away to a warm, dark place to sleep until spring.
And so have his grandchildren, and his great-grandchildren, and his great-great-grandchildren ever since.
Once upon a time, so very long ago that of course there are no children like that now, there was a little boy who almost never washed his hands. He wrote with ink and got ink on his fat little fore-finger; he made pictures with his paints and daubed his thumbs with red and yellow and blue color; he made mud pies and splashed mud all over his chubby palms and he never washed off the ink or the paint or the mud.
And when anyone spoke of his dirty hands, Bobby—that was the little boy’s name—would say, “Oh, I forgot.” And then he would keep right on forgetting all about nice warm soap and soft dry towels, and pretty, clean, pink hands.
One day, Bobby decided that he wanted to play, very hard. The sun was up, there was a soft, singing wind out in the garden, and the whole world looked clean and happy. So Bobby put on his cap, and because it is always better to play with someone than to play alone, Bobby called his big white pussy cat who often loved to chase up and down the path that ran between the hedges.
“Come, pussy, pussy dear!” called Bobby, “come and play with me.”
Then, because the white cat did not seem to hear, Bobby stooped over and picked her up in his arms. But the white cat wriggled and scratched and spit at Bobby and jumped out of his arms. She ran away from him and hid beneath a chair.
“I wonder why she will not play with me,” Bobby said as he went out into the garden. There, on the door-step, stood Bobby’s white dove with the pink, pink toes. Bobby loved the white dove, who was very tame and often flew to his shoulder, cooing gently in his ear. He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a handful of grain which he scattered on the door-step for the dove—pretty yellow grain it was. But the white dove would not eat it, and when Bobby called her, she flew away from him, as far as the green gables at the very top of the house.
“I wonder why she will not play with me,” said Bobby, as he ran down the garden path to the little round pond where his six yellow gold fish lived. The six yellow gold fish were Bobby’s friends and they often played with him as well as they knew how. When he threw crumbs into the pond they would come to the top with their little mouths wide open, and would dart about in the shining water as if they wanted Bobby to jump in and swim about and enjoy the feast with them.
But today, when Bobby gave them some crumbs which he had in his pocket, they did not come up to eat them. They stayed deep, deep down in the pond.
“I wonder why—” Bobby began, and then he happened to look down at the water. The top of the pond was a shining mirror and in it Bobby saw a picture of two little black hands.
The crumbs that he had thrown to the six yellow gold fish were black, too. The pretty yellow grain that he gave the dove had been black, and when he had lifted the white pussy cat, his hands had left two big, black smudges upon her beautiful white fur.
“Why, my hands are dirty,” exclaimed Bobby.
You see, he had never really thought about his hands before. So he went right into the house to wash them and he never, never forgot to wash them again.
Once upon a time a poor woodman lived with his family near a great forest. Every week day he shouldered his ax very early in the morning, and bidding his wife and children good-by, went out to cut wood for his master.
One day when he was chopping at the trunk of a great tree growing near a stream, his ax suddenly slipped out of his hands and dropped with a splash into the water.
Oh, how troubled the poor man was! He couldn’t earn a penny without an ax, and he was too poor to buy one. He sat down on the bank and wept as though his heart would break.
“What is the trouble, my good man?” asked a voice at his side. It was a fairy! And such a jolly-looking fairy, too. He had wings on his cap, and wings on his shoes, and even on his staff!
“I dropped my ax in the stream, and I can’t chop wood any more, and my family will starve,” sobbed the man.
Instantly Mercury, for that was the fairy’s name, dived down into the water, and came up, dripping wet, holding a beautiful golden ax in his hand.
“Is this your ax?” he asked.
“No, that is not mine.”
The good fairy dived into the stream again, and this time brought up a silver ax.
“Is this yours?”
“No, that isn’t mine, either.” The poor man needed an ax very much, but he would not claim one that did not belong to him, of course.
Once more Mercury plunged into the water, but this time he came up with a common ax in his hand.
“Is this your ax?” he asked.
“Yes! Oh, yes! that is mine!” cried the man, joyfully. “Thank you so much for your kindness. I am sorry you are so wet.”
“I don’t mind that,” said Mercury. “It is indeed a pleasure to meet such an honest man. I will give you both the gold and the silver axes as well as your own, and you can sell them for much gold, and you shall never be poor again.” And he was gone before the woodcutter had time to thank him.
The woodcutter went home a very happy man, for now he would always have plenty for his family. When his neighbors heard about his good fortune, one of them who was a lazy, good-for-nothing fellow decided to try his luck in the same way. He went to the stream, threw his ax in, and sitting down on the bank, wept aloud as the honest woodman had done.
Suddenly Mercury appeared to him.
“What is the trouble, my good man?” he asked, as before.
“I dropped my ax in the river,” sobbed the man.
Instantly the fairy dived into the water, and in a moment came up with a golden ax in his hand.
“Is this your ax?”
“Yes! Oh, yes! that is mine,” the dishonest man cried, reaching out eagerly for the beautiful golden tool.
But Mercury knew he was not speaking the truth, and was very angry with him. Instead of giving him the golden ax, he dropped it into the stream and disappeared without trying to find the man’s own ax. So, instead of going home a rich man, as he had expected, he went home poorer than he had come.
Three little mice once lived in an old box.
“I am going to make a new house,” said the largest mouse, whose name was Rus.
“I am going to make a new house,” said the next mouse, whose name was Fus.
“I am going to make a new house,” said the third mouse, who name was Mus.
“My house shall be made of hay,” said Rus, who did not like to be cold.
“My house shall be made of paper,” said Fus, who was fond of books.
“My house shall be made of bricks,” said Mus, who was as wise as he could be.
So the three little mice made their homes.
One day Tabby Cat came along. She saw the three houses that the little mice had made.
She was a very polite old cat, so she knocked at the door of the first house.
“Come, Mr. Rus; please let me in!” said she.
“Oh, no,” said Rus; “you can’t come in.”
Tabby was a wise old cat. She put her soft paw into the hay and caught poor Rus.
Then she went to the next house. “Come, Mr. Fus; let me in,” she said.
“Oh, no!” said Fus, “you can’t come in.”
But Tabby knew better than that. She put her paw through the paper door and caught poor Fus. Then she went to the next house.
“Come, Mr. Mus; let me in!” said she.
“Oh, yes!” said Mus; “when I am ready.”
So Tabby sat down to wait. She laughed when she thought what a nice supper Mus would make.
When she had waited a long time, she grew tired.
“Are you ready now, Mr. Mus?” she asked.
“Not yet,” said Mus.
By and by Tabby knocked loudly on the door.
“I am coming in now, Mr. Mus,” said she.
“Very well; come in if you like,” said Mus; but he did not open the door.
So Tabby tried and tried to open the door.
Then she tried to push down the house. Then she tried to make Mus come out. At last she told Mus just what she thought of him.
This did not trouble Mus at all. He had curled himself up in a snug corner of his house and was fast asleep.
Once upon a time there were two green and glittering gold bugs, and one said to the other:
“The day is warm and sunny; let us go out and play.”
“We will,” said the second gold bug, and they decided to play at dancing.
So the two green, glittering gold bugs went down to a brook near by, and there, shining and floating above the water, they saw two glorious dragon flies, one green, and one blue.
“We will dance with these dragon flies,” said one gold bug. “I choose the blue one.”
“You cannot have her,” said the other gold bug, “I choose her.”
“I will dance with the blue dragon fly,” said the second gold bug.
So they quarreled until two other gold bugs came along, and asked the dragon flies to dance with them, so that was an end of the matter.
The two green and glittering gold bugs then said they would play at something else.
“We will play hide and seek,” said the first gold bug.
“No, we will play tag,” said the second gold bug.
“I will play nothing but hide and seek,” said the first gold bug.
“And I will play nothing but tag,” said the second gold bug.
“I am going to hide,” said the first gold bug; so he went away and hid himself beneath a clover leaf, but, ah, there was no one to blind, and then go and look for him.
“I will run,” said the second gold bug; so he ran, but, ah, there was no one to catch him. It was not fun to play that way, and there was an end of the matter.
The two green and glittering gold bugs then said they would play at something else, so they went to a tall bell flower to swing.
“I will sit inside, and you shall rock me,” said the first gold bug.
“No, I will sit inside first, and you shall rock me,” said the second gold bug.
So they quarreled as to which should swing first, and in their quarreling they tore a petal of the beautiful bell flower, so they could not swing at all, and there was an end of the matter.
“Tut, tut, what is the meaning of this?” asked an old gold bug who came crawling along just then. “Why do you two green and glittering young things quarrel this bright morning?”
“We cannot play, and we are very unhappy, grandfather,” said the two gold bugs. “We do not both wish to play at the same games.”
“Silly, silly,” said the old gold bug, and as he crawled away, he turned his head about, and he said, “Take turns, take turns. Turn about is fair play.”
Now it had never occurred to the two green and glittering gold bugs that to take turns is the best way to play, and they decided to try.
They went back to the brook, and there were the two beautiful dragon flies, again floating over the water. So the first gold bug danced with the green dragon fly, and the second gold bug danced with the blue dragon fly; and then they changed about until they could dance no longer.
After that they played tag, and the first gold bug chased the second gold bug until they were tired. Then the first gold bug hid himself, and the second gold bug tried to find him, which was very good fun indeed.
And last of all they found another bell flower, and they rocked each other all the afternoon, until it was time to go home.
So they had a very good day after all, did those green and glittering gold bugs, for they had learned that to take turns is the best way to play.
Under the window of a certain pretty cottage there grew a great old apple tree, which in the spring had thousands and thousands of lovely pink blossoms on it, and in the autumn had many bright red apples.
The nursery of this cottage was a little bower of a room, and here five little children used to come to be dressed and have their hair brushed and curled every morning.
Now it used to happen, every morning, that the five little heads would be peeping out of the window, together, into the flowery boughs of the apple tree; and the reason was this. A pair of robins had built a very pretty, smooth-lined nest directly under the window. The robins, at first, had been rather shy of this inspection; but, as they got better acquainted, they seemed to think no more of the little curly heads in the window than of the pink blossoms about them, or the daisies and buttercups at the foot of the tree.
When the little nest was finished, it was so neat, and workmanlike, that the children all exulted over it, and called it “our nest,” and the two robins they called “our birds.” But wonderful was the joy when the little eyes, opening one morning, saw in the nest a beautiful pale-green egg; and the joy grew from day to day, for every day there came another egg, and so on till there were five little eggs.
After that the mother bird began to sit on the eggs, and then it seemed a very long time for the children to wait. But one morning, when they pushed their five curly heads out of the window, the patient little bird was gone and there seemed to be nothing left in the little nest but a bunch of something hairy.
“O, mamma, do come here!” they cried, “the bird has gone and left her nest!” But at that five little red mouths opened wide, and then they saw that the hairy bunch of stuff was five little birds.
“They are dreadful looking things,” said one of the children; “I didn’t know that little birds began by looking so bad.”
But after this it was great fun to watch the parent birds feed this nestful of little red mouths, until it became a nestful of little, fat, speckled robins.
Then, as there were five children, and five robins, they each chose one bird for his own, and they named them Brown-Eyes, Tip-Top, Singer, Toddy, and Speckle.
Time went on, and as Brown-Eyes, Tip-Top, Singer, Toddy, and Speckle grew bigger, they began to make a very crowded nestful of birds.
Now the children had been taught a little verse which said:
and they thought anything really written and printed must be true; therefore they were very much astonished to see, from day to day, that their little birds in their nest did not agree.
Tip-Top was the biggest and strongest bird, and he was always shuffling and crowding the others, and clamoring for the most food. Speckle was a bird of spirit, and he used to peck at Tip-Top, while Brown-Eyes was a meek, tender little fellow. As for Toddy and Singer, they turned out to be sister birds, and showed quite a feminine talent for chattering.
“I say,” said Tip-Top one day, “this old nest is a dull, crowded hole, and it’s quite time some of us were out of it.”
“My dear boy,” said Mother Robin, “we shall teach you to fly as soon as your wings are strong enough.”
“Humbug!” cried Tip-Top, balancing with his short little tail on the edge of the nest. “Look at those swallows, skimming and diving through the blue air! That’s the way I want to do.”
“My dear boy,” said his mother, “do go into the nest and be a good little bird, and then you will be happy.”
“I’m too big for the nest,” said Tip-Top, “and I want to see the world. It’s full of beautiful things, I know. Now there’s the most lovely creature with bright eyes, that comes under the tree every day, and wants me to come down in the grass and play with her.”
“My son, my son, beware!” said the frightened mother; “that seemingly lovely creature is our dreadful enemy, the cat—a horrid monster, with teeth and claws.”
At this all the little birds shuddered and cuddled deeper into the nest—all but Tip-Top, who didn’t believe it.
So the next morning, after the father and mother were gone, Tip-Top got on the edge of the nest again, and looked over and saw lovely Miss Pussy washing her face among the daisies under the tree, and her hair was smooth and white as the daisies, and her eyes were yellow and beautiful to behold, and she looked up to the tree bewitchingly and said, “Little birds, little birds, come down. Pussy wants to play with you.”
“Only look at her!” said Tip-Top; “her eyes are like gold.”
“No, don’t look,” said Singer and Speckle. “She will bewitch you and then eat you up; mother said so.”
“I’d like to see her try to eat me up,” said Tip-Top, again balancing his short tail over the edge of the nest. “Her paws are as white as velvet, and so soft! I don’t believe she has any claws.”
“Don’t go, brother, don’t!” screamed both sisters.
A moment after, a dreadful scream was heard from the nursery window. “O, mamma, mamma, do come here! Tip-Top’s fallen out of the nest, and the cat has got him!”
Poor, foolish Tip-Top!
But in another moment the children were in the yard, and Jamie plunged under a bush and caught the cat, with luckless Tip-Top in her mouth.
Tip-Top was not dead, but some of his pretty feathers were gone, and one of his wings was broken.
“Oh, what shall we do for him!” cried the children. “Poor Tip-Top!”
“We will put him back into the nest, children,” said mamma. “His mother will know best what to do for him.”
So a ladder was brought, and papa climbed up and put poor Tip-Top safely into the nest. The cat had shaken all the nonsense well out of him, and he was a dreadfully humbled young robin.
And when the time came for all the other little birds to learn to fly, poor Tip-Top was still confined to the nest with his broken wing.
Once upon a time there was a King in Spain who had only one leg. He was a Good King, and he had a big Animal Farm where he kept all the animals who had lost one or more of their legs.
In another part of Spain there was a Little Half Chick with only one eye, one wing, and one leg. The other chickens with two eyes and two legs gobbled up the corn so fast that Little Half Chick was nearly starved.
One day a Donkey told Little Half Chick about the Good King and his Animal Farm. Little Half Chick at once started hoppity-hop for Mother Hen and said:
“Mother Hen, I am going to Madrid to see the Good King.”
“All right,” said Mother Hen, “good luck to you.”
So Little Half Chick started off, hoppity-hop, hoppity-hop, along the road to Madrid to see the Good King.
Soon she met a Two-legged Cat going along hippity-hip, hippity-hip, on her leg and crutch. The Cat said:
“Hello, Little Half Chick, where are you going so fast?”
Little Half Chick said, “I am going to Madrid to see the Good King.”
“May I go too?” said the Two-legged Cat.
“Yes,” said Little Half Chick, “fall in behind.”
So the Cat fell in behind. Hoppity-hop, hoppity-hop, went Little Half Chick. Hippity-hip, hippity-hip, went the Two-legged Cat.
Soon they met a Three-legged Dog going along humpity-hump, humpity-hump. The Dog said:
“Hello, Little Half Chick, where are you going so fast?”
Little Half Chick said, “I am going to Madrid to see the Good King.”
“May I go too?” said the Three-legged Dog.
“Yes,” said Little Half Chick, “fall in behind.”
So the Dog fell in behind. Hoppity-hop, hoppity-hop, went Little Half Chick. Hippity-hip, hippity-hip, went the Two-legged Cat.
Humpity-hump, humpity-hump, went the Three-legged Dog.
Soon they met a One-legged Crow going along jumpity-jump, jumpity-jump. The Crow said:
“Hello, Little Half Chick, where are you going so fast?”
Little Half Chick said, “I am going to Madrid to see the Good King.”
“May I go too?” said the One-legged Crow.
“Yes,” said Little Half Chick, “fall in behind.”
So the Crow fell in behind. Hoppity-hop, hoppity-hop, went Little Half Chick. Hippity-hip, hippity-hip, went the Two-legged Cat. Humpity-hump, humpity-hump, went the Three-legged Dog. Jumpity-jump, jumpity-jump, went the One-legged Crow.
Soon they met a Snake with no legs at all. He had caught his tail in his teeth, and was rolling along, loopity-loop, loopity-loop. The Snake said:
“Hello, Little Half Chick, where are you going so fast?”
“I am going to Madrid to see the Good King,” said Little Half Chick.
“May I go too?” said the Snake.
“Yes,” said Little Half Chick, “fall in behind.”
So the Snake fell in behind. Hoppity-hop, hoppity-hop, went Little Half Chick. Hippity-hip, hippity-hip, went the Two-legged Cat. Humpity-hump, humpity-hump, went the Three-legged Dog. Jumpity-jump, jumpity-jump, went the One-legged Crow. Loopity-loop, loopity-loop, went the Snake with no legs at all.
Soon they came to Madrid and saw the Good King. With the King was his little daughter Margaret. They both laughed as all these funny animals came up. The King said to Little Margaret:
“Do you want to see us all go out to the Animal Farm?”
“Yes,” said Little Margaret, “I will lead the way.”
So she led the way along the street to the Animal Farm. Behind Margaret came the One-legged King. Next came Little Half Chick, next the Two-legged Cat, next the Three-legged Dog, next the One-legged Crow, and last of all the Snake with no legs at all. So they all went out to the Animal Farm. And there they lived happily ever after.
A plowman paused in his work one day to rest. As he sat on the handle of his plow he fell a-thinking. The world had not been going well with him of late, and he could not help feeling downhearted. Just then he saw an old woman looking at him over the hedge.
“Good-morning!” she said. “If you are wise you will take my advice.”
“And what is your advice?” he asked.
“Leave your plow, and walk straight on for two days. At the end of that time you will find yourself in the middle of a forest, and in front of you there will be a tree towering high above the others. Cut it down, and your fortune will be made.”
With these words the old woman hobbled down the road, leaving the plowman wondering. He unharnessed his horses, drove them home, and said good-by to his wife; and then taking his ax, started out.
At the end of two days he came to the tree, and set to work to cut it down. As it crashed to the ground a nest containing two eggs fell from its topmost branches. The shells of the eggs were smashed, and out of one came a young eagle, while from the other rolled a small gold ring.
The eagle rapidly became larger and larger, till it was of full size; then, flapping its wings, it flew up.
“I thank you, honest man, for giving me my freedom,” it called out. “In token of my gratitude take the ring—it is a wishing ring. If you wish anything as you turn it round on your finger, your wish will be fulfilled. But remember this—the ring contains but one wish, so think well before you use it.”
The man put the ring on his finger, and set off on his homeward journey. Night was coming on when he entered a town. Almost the first person he saw was a goldsmith standing at the door of his shop. So he went up to him, and asked him what the ring was worth.
The goldsmith looked at it carefully, and handed it back to the man with a smile.
“It is of very little value,” he said.
The plowman laughed.
“Ah, Mr. Goldsmith,” he cried, “you have made a mistake this time. My ring is worth more than all you have in your shop; it’s a wishing-ring, and will give me anything I care to wish for.”
The goldsmith felt annoyed and asked to see it again.
“Well, my good man,” he said, “never mind about the ring. I dare say you are far from home, and are in want of some supper and a bed for the night. Come in and spend the night in my house.”
The man gladly accepted the offer, and was soon sound asleep. In the middle of the night the goldsmith took the ring from his finger, and put another just like it in its place without disturbing him in the least.
Next morning the countryman went on his way, all unconscious of the trick that had been played on him. When he had gone the goldsmith closed the shutters of his shop, and bolted the door; then turning the ring on his finger he said, “I wish for a hundred thousand sovereigns!”
Scarcely had the sound of his voice died away than there fell about him a shower of hard, bright, golden sovereigns. They struck him on the head, on the shoulders, on the hands. They covered the floor. Presently the floor gave way beneath the weight, and the goldsmith and his gold fell into the cellar beneath.
Next morning, when the goldsmith did not open the shop as usual, the neighbors forced open the door, and found him buried beneath the pile.
Meanwhile the countryman reached his home, and told his wife of the ring.
“Now, good wife,” said he, “here is the ring; our fortune is made. Of course we must consider the matter well; then, when we have made up our minds as to what is best, we can express some very big wish as I turn the ring on my finger.”
“Suppose,” said the woman, “we were to wish for a nice farm; the land we have now is so small as to be almost useless.”
“Yes,” said the husband; “but, on the other hand, if we work hard and spend little for a year or two we might be able to buy as much as we want. Then we could get something else with the wishing-ring.”
So it was agreed. For a year the man and his wife worked hard. Harvest came, and the crops were splendid. At the end of the year they were able to buy a nice farm, and still had some money left.
“There,” said the man, “we have the land, and we still have our wish.”
“Well,” said his wife, “we could do very well with a horse and a cow.”
“They are not worth wishing for,” said he; “we can get them as we got the land.”
So they went on working steadily and spending wisely for another year. At the end of that time they bought both a horse and a cow. Husband and wife were greatly pleased with their good fortune, for, said they, “We have got the things we wanted and we have still our wish.”
As time went on everything prospered with the worthy couple. They worked hard, and were happy. Indeed, the husband would probably have forgotten all about the ring had not his wife constantly asked him to wish for something.
“Let us work while we are young,” her husband would answer. “Life is still before us, and who can say how badly we may need our wish some day.”
So the years passed away. Every season saw the bounds of the farm increase and the granaries grow fuller. All day long the farmer was about in the fields, while his wife looked after the house and the dairy. Sometimes, as they sat alone of an evening, she would remind him of the unused wishing-ring, and would talk of things she would like to have for the house. But he always replied that there was still plenty of time for that.
The man and his wife grew old and gray. Then came a day when they both died—and the wishing-ring had not been used. It was still on his finger as he had worn it for forty years. One of his sons was going to take it off, but the oldest said:
“Do not disturb it; there has been some secret in connection with it. Perhaps our mother gave it to him, for I have often seen her look longingly at it.”
Thus the old man was buried with the ring, which was supposed to be a wishing-ring, but which, as we know, was not, though it brought the old couple more good fortune and happiness than all the wishing in the world could ever have given them.
Once upon a time—so long ago that the oldest frog now living does not remember it—all the frogs of a far-away country came together in solemn council.
“I propose,” said a big green fellow with a very deep voice, “that we ask to have a king appointed to rule over us.”
“What do we want of a king?” asked a small and inquisitive frog.
But his voice was hardly heard, for all the other frogs shouted together, “Yes, let us have a king. Let us have a king.”
“Haven’t we all we need, now, to make us happy?” asked the little, inquisitive frog again. But nobody paid the slightest attention to him.
So the other frogs sent a request to the Great Ruler of the land, asking that he appoint a king to rule over them.
“A king of the frogs!” said the Great Ruler, when he heard their request. And then he knit his brows and thought for a very long time.
But nobody knew that his thoughts were the same as those of the little, inquisitive frog to whom nobody had paid any attention.
At last the Great Ruler spoke.
“Why do you want a king?” he asked. “Have you not, now, everything you need to make you happy?”
But all the frogs shouted in chorus, “Give us a king. Give us a king.”
So the Great Ruler knit his brows and thought again for a very long time.
At length he spoke. “I will give you a great log for a king. It will bear you upon the water and the sun will shine upon you as you rest on its broad surface.”
But the frogs were angry at this. “The idea!” they shouted. “We want a living king; we want no dead log for a king.”
So the Great Ruler knit his brows and thought again for a very long time.
At length he spoke. “Since you insist upon it, I will give you the stork for your king.”
Then all the frogs sang joyfully, “Yes, we will have the stork for our king. The stork is our king! The stork is our king!”
So the stork was sent to rule over them, and as soon as he came among them he began to eat. And he ate and ate—till he had swallowed every frog in the land.
Away in the midst of the forest, there lived a tiny adder. He was so very little that the great beasts never thought of talking to him. But the spiders and the wasps and the frogs often stopped to visit at his doorway.
One morning, as a frog hopped down the path, he stopped and called “Good morning. I’ve a bit of news for you.”
“Good morning,” replied the adder. “I hope it is good news, I am sure.”
“What’s good news to one person may be bad news to another,” croaked the frog. “But listen! As I came along through the forest I heard a great chattering among the monkeys, and I stopped to hear what it was all about.
“One little monkey sat crying in the midst of them, and the others were all saying, ‘You know you tried to steal—’”
But the adder had rolled over so that one ear lay close to the ground, and he had stuck the end of his tail in the other ear. Of course he couldn’t hear another word of what the frog was saying.
“Dear me!” said the frog, looking very much offended. “That is a great way to treat a friend, I am sure.” And he hopped off into the rushes.
Presently a wasp flew down by the adder’s home and settled upon a leaf near by.
“Good morning,” said the adder politely. “What a beautiful day this is.”
“Yes,” buzzed the wasp, “it’s nice today, but there’s sure to be a storm—”
But the adder had rolled over so that one ear lay close to the ground, and he had stuck the end of his tail into the other ear.
“Well, I declare,” buzzed the wasp angrily. “What an impertinent fellow.” And she flew away as fast as ever she could.
The adder straightened himself out and went about his work once more, thinking as he did so how bright the sunlight was, and how soft and warm the air felt, and how beautifully the birds were singing.
Presently a little brown spider dropped a thread from her web and ran down to the adder’s doorway.
“Good morning,” she said. “I have come to invite you to a forest revel. Why are you always so quiet? You should come with us and not mind what the sober workers tell you. We will have music and dancing and wine and song—”
But the adder had rolled over so that one ear lay close to the ground and he had stuck the end of his tail into the other ear.
“Such manners!” exclaimed the spider, and she climbed the thread back to her web.
And so it came about that the small people of the forest began to have this saying amongst them, “He’s as deaf as an adder.”
Three Ojibway hunters had been out hunting for meat many days; it was in a new place. The woods were very thick, but there were no deer in them. The hunters had nothing to eat; they had no water, for there was none; they were lost in the thick forest.
The hunters sat down and smoked the pipe of peace. They offered the smoke to the Manitous who might live in the woods. They asked the Manitous to help them. The day sun was gone and there was no night sun.
The chief covered his head with his blanket and chanted: “Our wigwams will see us no more. We will stay here forever. We can go no further.”
A little Pukwudjinnie came out of a hollow tree when the chief had chanted his story. The Little One was like a little papoose, but he was very old and knew very much.
He said: “I will help the hunters. I will show you the trail.”
He pulled the thick bushes apart, and the hunters followed. He found the trail and soon came upon a herd of deer feeding in the bush. The hunters shot two deer and ate much meat; they were stronger after they had eaten the meat. The Little One did not eat; he was not hungry.
There was no rain, and the hunters had no water; they lost their strength and could not walk on the trail. The Pukwudjinnie left them; then the hunters put their blankets over their heads and sat down. They said no words. They could not smoke the pipe of peace, for their strength was all gone.
The Little One came back with a deer-skin full of drink for them; he poured it into their mouths; it was not water; it was like no drink they ever had before. They became very strong and wanted nothing more to eat or drink for more than one moon.
He led them on a long trail, to the land of his Little People; he took them to his own chief. The chief was like a little papoose, but he knew all the trails in the forest. He knew all the trails in the sky.
The little chief showed the Ojibway chief the star in the north, the star that never moves. The little chief showed them how to watch this star and not lose their trail. He found their lost trail for them and sent them home.
The three hunters came back to their own wigwams. They talked in the council and showed their people the star that never moves.
Other nations and tribes know this star now, but the Ojibways believe that their people were the first to know where to find it in the Great Blue Wigwam.
Once upon a time there lived a cobbler who sat day after day in his shop, working away at his cobbler’s last—just making shoes.
After a time he came to think that because he had made so very many pairs of shoes, he knew more about them than anybody else in the world.
He grew quite puffed up with pride, and was always looking for some way of showing his knowledge.
One day as he was walking in the public square of the town, he saw a statue which had been made by a great artist. And he discovered—ha-ha-ha—he discovered that the shoe-latchet of the statue was not made just right.
“Aha, aha!” he said, and his chest swelled with pride and delight. “Here is a statue made by a great artist—but he does not know how a shoe-latchet is made. Surely, I am greater than he!”
Then he began to look the statue over to see what other mistakes he might find. And after a while it seemed to him that the legs of the statue were not shaped just right, either.
“I will go to the Lord Mayor of the town,” he said to himself, “and order the statue removed from our public square.”
So he went to the Lord Mayor’s palace, and when he came into the Lord Mayor’s presence, he said, “May it please your Honor, I have discovered great errors in the statue which is in our public square, and I have come to petition your Honor to have it removed.”
Then the Lord Mayor looked the cobbler over gravely, and asked, “Can you make a better statue to put in its place?”
At that the cobbler turned quite red and stammered, “Oh, no, your Honor; but I can make a better shoe-latchet.”
“Then, Sir Cobbler,” replied the Lord Mayor, “I would advise you to stick to your last.”
A great hunter among the Chippewas, or Ojibways, wanted his son to secure a powerful spirit to protect him in war and all danger. To gain the help of the strong Manitou the boy must fast twelve days.
Many Indian boys can do this, but not all. Many try and fail.
The boy did as his father commanded, for when the time came he went into the secret lodge in the deep forest and laid himself down alone on the mat his mother had woven for him. He did not fear, but his strength was weak. All night he lay there alone.
In the morning his father came and asked him if the strong spirit had come to him in his dreams. The boy shook his head. No dreams had come to him.
Each day for ten days the father came to the little lodge in the wilderness and asked his son if the strong Manitou had come to him.
“It is not for me to have such dreams, my father, I am not brave. The strong Manitou will not come to me. Let me give up my fast.”
“If you give up now, the Manitou will never come. Hunger makes my son weak, but his heart is strong. It is only a short time more to wait. Then my son shall be the strongest of all.”
The Indian boy covered his face and lay still upon the mat. He would obey his father.
On the morning of the eleventh day the boy saw his father enter the wigwam. He slowly turned his face toward him and whispered: “Let me break my fast; I have no dreams.”
“Tomorrow I will bring you food. Tomorrow you shall come to the lodge of your father.”
The boy closed his eyes and said no more. He was very weak and faint.
The next morning the father went with the earliest morning light to the little lodge in the forest. Peeping through the door he saw his son sitting up. Beside his mat were brushes and paint. He was painting himself red and brown.
“The Manitou will free me, but it is not the spirit my father wanted,” he heard the boy say.
The father rushed into the lodge, but as he touched his boy the lad changed into a bird and flew out of the open doorway. Sitting on the top of the lodge he sang these words:
“Do not mourn for me, my father, for I am happy. I did not want to be a warrior. I wanted only to be free. I shall find food upon the fields and the hills. I will comfort you.” Then he flew away.
Opechee lives near the homes of men. He loves to comfort them when they are sad. He is happy when they are happy.
His songs are for the little children and for the fathers and mothers who want their little ones to be brave. Opechee is not afraid in the storm, and many have heard him singing just after the great thunder-birds had called to each other and the water was coming fast from the sky to find a place to hide in the ground. Opechee is brave, but not strong.
The big white cat trotting across the lawn with a rat in his mouth started Meriky on a story this afternoon.
“Huh!” exclaimed Meriky, “cats and mouses didn’t used to be sich bad friends as dey is now.
“Once upon a time dey visited back an’ forth like yo’ ma an’ Miz Paterson.”
“What made them fall out?”
“Hit come ’bout dis-er-way. Ol’ Miz Cat live in de country, but she mighty hongry to know ’bout town doin’s. She tell round ’mongst her friends ’bout greatly she’s honin’ to see de sights.
“Middle of de night come little Mr. Gray Mouse knockin’ on de door, and say he got a cousin goin’ up to town, an’ if Miz Cat still wantin’ to see de sights, dis hyer cousin be proud to give her a lift.
“Den Miz Pussy Cat put on her bonnet an’ put on her shawl, an’ tuck her a poke full o’ victuals an’ started out wid Mr. Mouse. Mouses does dey travelin’ by night an’ de cat an’ mouse travel all night and git to town de next day.
“When dey come where all de people was, Mr. Mouse pick up his foot and run in a rat hole; but Miz Cat set down by de side de road for to eat the snack.
“She was a-sittin’ dar, spreadin’ out all dat good country sassige, and good country ham and sich truck, when a town cat come along past.
“Dis hyer town cat was hongry; he was all raggety same as de beggar man what yo’ ma give a dinner to yisstiddy. He want Miz Cat’s victuals mighty bad. ‘M’lan’!’ he say, ‘whar you git dat pig mess?’
“‘Dat my snack,’ say Miz Cat, mighty polite. ‘I brung hit wid me from home. Won’t you jine, sir?’
“Now, dat dar ol’ hungry town cat want every bit of Miz Pussy Cat’s snack. He never want to jine; so he say, ‘Does dey really eat sich a mess as dat in de country whar you come from?’
“‘Yes, indeed,’ say de country cat, mighty glad to meet up wid town folks, an’ larn town ways. ‘Don’t you eat sich in town? What you eat in town, anyhow?’
“De town cat look all ’bout. He boun’ to sen’ Miz Pussy Cat on a arrant dat’ll take her ’way from dem good victuals. Right den he see Mr. Mouse peep out a hole to ax Miz Cat how she come on. He boun’ if Miz Cat git to runnin’ after Mr. Swif’ Foot Mouse he have time to steal her dinner.
“‘We eats mices,’ he say, in de grandest way imaginable. ‘You never will larn town ways tell you larn to eat mices!’
“I done told you dat Miz Pussy Cat plumb crazy ’bout larnin’ to do like town folks does. She hop up and leave dat lunch, quick as you could wink—an’ dat ol’ hongry town cat grab hit des’ as quick. She ran dat mouse plumb down all de way to de Co’t House. Dar she ketch him, an’ right dar she eat him—all but de squeak an’ de teef.
“Den, by dat, she got de taste; and all cats been eatin’ rats and mouses to dis good day.”
An old tepee stood by a frozen river in the forest where there are many pine trees. The tops of the trees were white with snow. The tepee was almost covered with the snow. An old chief sat in this tepee; his hair was like the icicles that hang from dead pine-tree branches; he was very old.
He was covered with furs. The floor of his tepee was covered with the skins of the bear and the elk. He had been a great hunter. His name was Peboan. Peboan was faint with hunger, and he was cold. He had been hunting for three days. He had killed nothing. All the moose, deer, and bear had gone. They had left no trail. Wabasso, the rabbit, had hidden in the bushes. There was no food, no meat, for Peboan.
He called upon the great Menabozho for help.
“Come, Menabozho, come help Peboan, the chief of the winter Manitous. Come, for Mukwa, the bear, has gone from me. Come, or Peboan must go to the far north to find Mahto, the white bear. Peboan is old, and his feet are weary.”
Peboan crawled on his knees over the furs to the little fire in the middle of the tepee. He blew on the coals with his faint breath, and the coals grew very red. His breath was like a wind; the coals made the wind warm like a south wind. The deerskins that covered the tepee trembled like leaves, for the warm wind blew them.
Peboan sat on the furs on the floor of his tepee and waited. He knew Menabozho would hear him.
Peboan heard no sound, but he looked toward the door of his tepee. It was lifted back, and he saw a beautiful Indian maiden.
She carried a great bundle of willow buds in her arms. Her dress was of sweet grass and early maple leaves. Her eyes were like a young deer. Her hair was like the blackest feathers of a crow, and it was so long that it was like a blanket over her shoulders. She was small; her feet were hidden in two moccasin flowers.
“Menabozho heard Peboan, the winter Manitou. He has sent me. I am Segun.”
“You are welcome, Segun. Sit by my fire; it is warm. I have no meat. Sit down and tell me what you can do.”
“Peboan may tell first,” said Segun.
Peboan said: “I am a winter Manitou; I blow my breath, and the flowers die. The waters stand still; the leaves fall and die.”
Segun said: “I am a summer Manitou; I blow my breath, and the flowers open their eyes. The waters follow me on my trail.”
Peboan said: “I shake my hair, and the snow falls on the mountains, like the feathers of Waubese, the great white swan.”
Segun said: “I shake my hair, and warm rain falls from the clouds. I call, and the birds answer me. The trees put on their leaves, and the grass grows thick like the fur of the bear. The summer sky is my tepee. Menabozho has said that the time has come for you to go.”
Peboan’s head bent over on his shoulder. The sun melted the snow on the pine trees; it melted the snow on the tepee. Segun waved her hands over Peboan, and a strange thing happened.
Peboan grew smaller and smaller. His deer-skin clothes turned to leaves and covered Peboan on the ground.
Segun looked, but Peboan was gone. She took some flowers from her hair and hid them under the leaves on the ground. There was ice on the leaves, but it did not hurt the pink flowers. Segun breathed on the flowers, and they became sweet.
She said: “I go, but the flowers shall stay to tell of Segun’s visit to Peboan. The children shall find them and know that Segun has sent Peboan away. It shall be so each time the snows melt and the rivers begin to run. This flower shall tell that spring has come.”
Peboan’s tepee was sweet with the breath of the flowers, but Segun was gone.
Long years ago it was the custom to give the dog all the meat that fell from the master’s table. But one day when all the dogs met in council, one of them said, “It might be a wise plan to have an agreement drawn up for the dogs and their masters to sign.
“Some time,” said he, “one of our masters might drink too much wine, or get into a rage, and forbid us to have the meat. And then what could we do? It is best to be on the safe side,” and he shook his head sagely.
“That is a very good plan,” agreed the other dogs. “Let us carry it out at once.”
So the secretary of the dogs’ council drew up a document and wrote it upon parchment. It stated that all the dogs of every country were entitled to the meat that fell from their masters’ tables. It was a very carefully worded document, and it was written out in the most learned form by the lawyer of the council.
Then the secretary took the parchment, rolled it up and went about the whole land until it had been signed by all the masters of dogs.
The parchment was then given to the King of the Dogs, to be carefully kept.
The King of the Dogs gave the parchment to his private secretary, the Tomcat, telling him that it was a very important document, and must be put away with the greatest care.
Tomcat took the parchment and went softly away to the garret, where he hid the precious document behind a beam.
For a long time there was no need of bringing out the parchment, for all the masters did as they had agreed, and the dogs fared well.
But one day it happened that Master Miller had a new cook who was very careless, and when this cook brought in a prime roast of beef, he let it slip from the platter to the floor.
Instantly it was seized upon by Dog Trophy, who started off with it.
But Master Miller was in no mood to lose his dinner, and he snatched the roast from Dog Trophy, telling him that he was a thief. Then he rubbed Dog Trophy’s paw with hot ashes to teach him not to steal.
Dog Trophy’s heart burned with indignation, and his paw burned with the hot ashes, and he went away on three legs as fast as ever he could to the King of the Dogs.
When he reached the King’s house, he set forth his case.
“Bring out the official parchment,” called the King, when Dog Trophy had told his story.
Tomcat ran quickly to the garret, sprang to the beam where he had tucked the precious document, and then set up a “maou” of anger and dismay. The mice had nibbled the valuable parchment into tiny scraps!
Tomcat vowed, then and there, that no mouse should escape his claws from that day on.
The King of the Dogs sent Tomcat away in disgrace, and the dogs agreed that thereafter they would chase a cat whenever they should see one.
But, Dog Trophy lost his roast of beef.
Long, long ago, Miser lived near the foot of Takhoma. He never was happy. When food was scarce and the tribe were starving, Miser could find fish in secret places in the streams. When the snows were deep and the black-necked elk hid in the dark places of the forest, he could still secure meat. His skill as a hunter and fisherman was known to all his tribe. But Miser cared only for hiaqua, or shell money. Now Moosmoos, the elk, was Miser’s tomanowos, or guardian spirit. Therefore, he tried to talk with the elk, even while hunting them. He wanted more hiaqua.