- Published on
The Gingerbread Man
Once upon a time, an old woman and her husband lived alone in a little old house. The couple had no children, and being lonely, the woman decided to make a boy of gingerbread. She carefully mixed the batter, rolled out the dough, and cut out a very nice gingerbread man. She added sugar icing for his hair, mouth, and clothes, and she used candy chips for buttons and eyes. What a fine looking gingerbread man he was! The old woman put him in the oven to bake. After he was fully done, she slowly opened the oven door. Up jumped the gingerbread man, and he ran out the door saying,
“Run, run, as fast as you can! You can’t catch me! I’m the Gingerbread Man!”
The old woman and the old man ran after him, but they could not catch him.
And so the Gingerbread Man ran and ran. While he running, he met a cow.
“Moo,” said the cow. “You look very fine! Fine enough to eat!” And the cow started to chase the little man.
But the Gingerbread Man ran faster, saying, “I ran away from an old woman. I ran away from an old man, and I can run away from you! I can!”
And he laughed.
“Run, run, as fast as you can! You can’t catch me! I’m the Gingerbread Man!”
The cow ran after the Gingerbread Man, but she could not catch him.
The Gingerbread Man kept running, and soon he met a horse.
“N . . . e . . . i . . . g . . . h . . . Neigh,” said the horse. “You look might tasty! I think that I would like to eat you.”
“But you can’t!” said the Gingerbread Man.
“I ran away from an old woman. I ran away from an old man. I ran away from a cow, and I can run away from you! I can!”
And so he ran singing,
“Run, run, as fast as you can! You can’t catch me! I’m the Gingerbread Man!”
The horse ran after the Gingerbread Man, but he could not catch him.
The Gingerbread Man ran and ran, laughing and singing. While he ran, he met a chicken.
“Cackle, cackle!” said the chicken. “You look fine enough to peck for dinner. I’m going to eat you, Mr. Gingerbread Man!”
But the Gingerbread Man just laughed.
“I ran away from an old woman. I ran away from an old man. I ran away from a cow. I ran away from a horse, and I can run away from you! I can!”
And so he ran singing,
“Run, run, as fast as you can! You can’t catch me! I’m the Gingerbread Man!”
The chicken ran after the Gingerbread Man, but she could not catch him.
The Gingerbread Man was proud that he could run so fast. ”Nobody can catch me,” he thought.
So he kept on running until he met a fox. He just had to tell the fox how he ran faster than all the others.
“Mr. Fox,” he said, “As tasty as I appear to be. I cannot let you catch and eat me. I ran away from an old woman. I ran away from an old man. I ran away from a cow. I ran away from a horse. I ran away from a chicken, and I can run away from you! I can!”
But Mr. Fox did not seem to care.
“Why would I want to bother you?” asked Mr. Fox. “You don’t even look that tasty. No, young man, I don’t want to eat you at all.”
The Gingerbread Man was so relieved.
“Well, indeed, Mr. Fox,” said the Gingerbread Man. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll take a little rest here.”
So the Gingerbread Man stopped running and stood still. And right when he stood still . . . SNAP! went Mr. Fox’s jaws right into the Gingerbread Man until he was gone.
“He was very tasty after all,” thought the fox.
by Author Unknown
Once upon a time, an old woman and her husband lived alone in a little old house. The couple had no children, and being lonely, the woman decided to make a boy of gingerbread. She carefully mixed the batter, rolled out the dough, and cut out a very nice gingerbread man. She added sugar icing for his hair, mouth, and clothes, and she used candy chips for buttons and eyes. What a fine looking gingerbread man he was! The old woman put him in the oven to bake. After he was fully done, she slowly opened the oven door. Up jumped the gingerbread man, and he ran out the door saying,
“Run, run, as fast as you can! You can’t catch me! I’m the Gingerbread Man!”
The old woman and the old man ran after him, but they could not catch him.
And so the Gingerbread Man ran and ran. While he running, he met a cow.
“Moo,” said the cow. “You look very fine! Fine enough to eat!” And the cow started to chase the little man.
But the Gingerbread Man ran faster, saying, “I ran away from an old woman. I ran away from an old man, and I can run away from you! I can!”
And he laughed.
“Run, run, as fast as you can! You can’t catch me! I’m the Gingerbread Man!”
The cow ran after the Gingerbread Man, but she could not catch him.
The Gingerbread Man kept running, and soon he met a horse.
“N . . . e . . . i . . . g . . . h . . . Neigh,” said the horse. “You look might tasty! I think that I would like to eat you.”
“But you can’t!” said the Gingerbread Man.
“I ran away from an old woman. I ran away from an old man. I ran away from a cow, and I can run away from you! I can!”
And so he ran singing,
“Run, run, as fast as you can! You can’t catch me! I’m the Gingerbread Man!”
The horse ran after the Gingerbread Man, but he could not catch him.
The Gingerbread Man ran and ran, laughing and singing. While he ran, he met a chicken.
“Cackle, cackle!” said the chicken. “You look fine enough to peck for dinner. I’m going to eat you, Mr. Gingerbread Man!”
But the Gingerbread Man just laughed.
“I ran away from an old woman. I ran away from an old man. I ran away from a cow. I ran away from a horse, and I can run away from you! I can!”
And so he ran singing,
“Run, run, as fast as you can! You can’t catch me! I’m the Gingerbread Man!”
The chicken ran after the Gingerbread Man, but she could not catch him.
The Gingerbread Man was proud that he could run so fast. ”Nobody can catch me,” he thought.
So he kept on running until he met a fox. He just had to tell the fox how he ran faster than all the others.
“Mr. Fox,” he said, “As tasty as I appear to be. I cannot let you catch and eat me. I ran away from an old woman. I ran away from an old man. I ran away from a cow. I ran away from a horse. I ran away from a chicken, and I can run away from you! I can!”
But Mr. Fox did not seem to care.
“Why would I want to bother you?” asked Mr. Fox. “You don’t even look that tasty. No, young man, I don’t want to eat you at all.”
The Gingerbread Man was so relieved.
“Well, indeed, Mr. Fox,” said the Gingerbread Man. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll take a little rest here.”
So the Gingerbread Man stopped running and stood still. And right when he stood still . . . SNAP! went Mr. Fox’s jaws right into the Gingerbread Man until he was gone.
“He was very tasty after all,” thought the fox.
by Author Unknown
- Published on
Cinderella
Poor, pretty little thing she was,
The sweetest-faced of girls,
With eyes as blue as larkspurs,
And a mass of tossing curls;
But her step-mother had for her
Only blows and bitter words,
While she thought her own two ugly crows,
The whitest of all birds.
She was the little household drudge,
And wore a cotton gown,
While the sisters, clad in silk and satin,
Flaunted through the town.
When her work was done, her only place
Was the chimney-corner bench.
For which one called her “Cinderella,”
The other, “Cinder-wench.”
But years went on, and Cinderella
Bloomed like a wild-wood rose,
In spite of all her kitchen-work,
And her common, dingy clothes;
While the two step-sisters, year by year,
Grew scrawnier and plainer;
Two peacocks, with their tails outspread,
Were never any vainer.
One day they got a note, a pink,
Sweet-scented, crested one,
Which was an invitation
To a ball, from the king’s son.
Oh, then poor Cinderella
Had to starch, and iron, and plait,
And run of errands, frill and crimp,
And ruffle, early and late.
And when the ball-night came at last,
She helped to paint their faces,
To lace their satin shoes, and deck
Them up with flowers and laces;
Then watched their coach roll grandly
Out of sight; and, after that,
She sat down by the chimney,
In the cinders, with the cat,
And sobbed as if her heart would break.
Hot tears were on her lashes,
Her little hands got black with soot,
Her feet begrimed with ashes,
When right before her, on the hearth,
She knew not how nor why,
A little odd old woman stood,
And said, “Why do you cry?”
“It is so very lonely here,”
Poor Cinderella said,
And sobbed again. The little odd
Old woman bobbed her head,
And laughed a merry kind of laugh,
And whispered, “Is that all?
Wouldn’t my little Cinderella
Like to go to the ball?”
“Run to the garden, then, and fetch
A pumpkin, large and nice;
Go to the pantry shelf, and from
The mouse-traps get the mice;
Rats you will find in the rat-trap;
And, from the watering-pot,
Or from under the big, flat garden stone,
Six lizards must be got.”
Nimble as crickets in the grass
She ran, till it was done,
And then God-mother stretched her wand
And touched them every one.
The pumpkin changed into a coach,
Which glittered as it rolled,
And the mice became six horses,
With harnesses of gold.
One rat a herald was, to blow
A trumpet in advance,
And the first blast that he sounded
Made the horses plunge and prance;
And the lizards were made footmen,
Because they were so spry;
And the old rat-coachman on the box
Wore jeweled livery.
And then on Cinderella’s dress
The magic wand was laid,
And straight the dingy gown became
A glistening gold brocade.
The gems that shone upon her fingers
Nothing could surpass;
And on her dainty little feet
Were slippers made of glass.
“Be sure you get back here, my dear,
At twelve o’clock at night,”
Godmother said, and in a twinkling
She was out of sight.
When Cinderella reached the ball,
And entered at the door,
So beautiful a lady
None had ever seen before.
The Prince his admiration showed
In every word and glance;
He led her out to supper,
And he chose her for the dance;
But she kept in mind the warning
That her Godmother had given,
And left the ball, with all its charm.
At just half after eleven.
Next night there was another ball;
She helped her sisters twain
To pinch their waists, and curl their hair,
And paint their cheeks again.
Then came the fairy Godmother,
And, with her wand, once more
Arrayed her out in greater splendor
Even than before.
The coach and six, with gay outriders,
Bore her through the street,
And a crowd was gathered round to look,
The lady was so sweet, -
So light of heart, and face, and mien,
As happy children are;
And when her foot stepped down,
Her slipper twinkled like a star.
Again the Prince chose only her
For waltz or tete-a-tete;
So swift the minutes flew she did not
Dream it could be late,
But all at once, remembering
What her Godmother had said,
And hearing twelve begin to strike
Upon the clock, she fled.
Swift as a swallow on the wing
She darted, but, alas!
Dropped from one flying foot the tiny
Slipper made of glass;
But she got away, and well it was
She did, for in a trice
Her coach changed to a pumpkin,
And her horses became mice;
And back into the cinder dress
Was changed the gold brocade!
The prince secured the slipper,
And this proclamation made:
That the country should be searched,
And any lady, far or wide,
Who could get the slipper on her foot,
Should straightway be his bride.
So every lady tried it,
With her “Mys!” and “Ahs!” and “Ohs!”
And Cinderella’s sisters pared
Their heels, and pared their toes, -
But all in vain! Nobody’s foot
Was small enough for it,
Till Cinderella tried it,
And it was a perfect fit.
Then the royal heralds hardly
Knew what it was best to do,
When from out her tattered pocket
Forth she drew the other shoe,
While the eyelids on the larkspur eyes
Dropped down a snowy vail,
And the sisters turned from pale to red,
And then from red to pale,
And in hateful anger cried, and stormed,
And scolded, and all that,
And a courtier, without thinking,
Tittered out behind his hat.
For here was all the evidence
The Prince had asked, complete,
Two little slippers made of glass,
Fitting two little feet.
So the Prince, with all his retinue,
Came there to claim his wife;
And he promised he would love her
With devotion all his life.
At the marriage there was splendid
Music, dancing, wedding cake;
And he kept the slipper as a treasure
Ever, for her sake.
By Clara Doty Bates (1838 - 1895)
Poor, pretty little thing she was,
The sweetest-faced of girls,
With eyes as blue as larkspurs,
And a mass of tossing curls;
But her step-mother had for her
Only blows and bitter words,
While she thought her own two ugly crows,
The whitest of all birds.
She was the little household drudge,
And wore a cotton gown,
While the sisters, clad in silk and satin,
Flaunted through the town.
When her work was done, her only place
Was the chimney-corner bench.
For which one called her “Cinderella,”
The other, “Cinder-wench.”
But years went on, and Cinderella
Bloomed like a wild-wood rose,
In spite of all her kitchen-work,
And her common, dingy clothes;
While the two step-sisters, year by year,
Grew scrawnier and plainer;
Two peacocks, with their tails outspread,
Were never any vainer.
One day they got a note, a pink,
Sweet-scented, crested one,
Which was an invitation
To a ball, from the king’s son.
Oh, then poor Cinderella
Had to starch, and iron, and plait,
And run of errands, frill and crimp,
And ruffle, early and late.
And when the ball-night came at last,
She helped to paint their faces,
To lace their satin shoes, and deck
Them up with flowers and laces;
Then watched their coach roll grandly
Out of sight; and, after that,
She sat down by the chimney,
In the cinders, with the cat,
And sobbed as if her heart would break.
Hot tears were on her lashes,
Her little hands got black with soot,
Her feet begrimed with ashes,
When right before her, on the hearth,
She knew not how nor why,
A little odd old woman stood,
And said, “Why do you cry?”
“It is so very lonely here,”
Poor Cinderella said,
And sobbed again. The little odd
Old woman bobbed her head,
And laughed a merry kind of laugh,
And whispered, “Is that all?
Wouldn’t my little Cinderella
Like to go to the ball?”
“Run to the garden, then, and fetch
A pumpkin, large and nice;
Go to the pantry shelf, and from
The mouse-traps get the mice;
Rats you will find in the rat-trap;
And, from the watering-pot,
Or from under the big, flat garden stone,
Six lizards must be got.”
Nimble as crickets in the grass
She ran, till it was done,
And then God-mother stretched her wand
And touched them every one.
The pumpkin changed into a coach,
Which glittered as it rolled,
And the mice became six horses,
With harnesses of gold.
One rat a herald was, to blow
A trumpet in advance,
And the first blast that he sounded
Made the horses plunge and prance;
And the lizards were made footmen,
Because they were so spry;
And the old rat-coachman on the box
Wore jeweled livery.
And then on Cinderella’s dress
The magic wand was laid,
And straight the dingy gown became
A glistening gold brocade.
The gems that shone upon her fingers
Nothing could surpass;
And on her dainty little feet
Were slippers made of glass.
“Be sure you get back here, my dear,
At twelve o’clock at night,”
Godmother said, and in a twinkling
She was out of sight.
When Cinderella reached the ball,
And entered at the door,
So beautiful a lady
None had ever seen before.
The Prince his admiration showed
In every word and glance;
He led her out to supper,
And he chose her for the dance;
But she kept in mind the warning
That her Godmother had given,
And left the ball, with all its charm.
At just half after eleven.
Next night there was another ball;
She helped her sisters twain
To pinch their waists, and curl their hair,
And paint their cheeks again.
Then came the fairy Godmother,
And, with her wand, once more
Arrayed her out in greater splendor
Even than before.
The coach and six, with gay outriders,
Bore her through the street,
And a crowd was gathered round to look,
The lady was so sweet, -
So light of heart, and face, and mien,
As happy children are;
And when her foot stepped down,
Her slipper twinkled like a star.
Again the Prince chose only her
For waltz or tete-a-tete;
So swift the minutes flew she did not
Dream it could be late,
But all at once, remembering
What her Godmother had said,
And hearing twelve begin to strike
Upon the clock, she fled.
Swift as a swallow on the wing
She darted, but, alas!
Dropped from one flying foot the tiny
Slipper made of glass;
But she got away, and well it was
She did, for in a trice
Her coach changed to a pumpkin,
And her horses became mice;
And back into the cinder dress
Was changed the gold brocade!
The prince secured the slipper,
And this proclamation made:
That the country should be searched,
And any lady, far or wide,
Who could get the slipper on her foot,
Should straightway be his bride.
So every lady tried it,
With her “Mys!” and “Ahs!” and “Ohs!”
And Cinderella’s sisters pared
Their heels, and pared their toes, -
But all in vain! Nobody’s foot
Was small enough for it,
Till Cinderella tried it,
And it was a perfect fit.
Then the royal heralds hardly
Knew what it was best to do,
When from out her tattered pocket
Forth she drew the other shoe,
While the eyelids on the larkspur eyes
Dropped down a snowy vail,
And the sisters turned from pale to red,
And then from red to pale,
And in hateful anger cried, and stormed,
And scolded, and all that,
And a courtier, without thinking,
Tittered out behind his hat.
For here was all the evidence
The Prince had asked, complete,
Two little slippers made of glass,
Fitting two little feet.
So the Prince, with all his retinue,
Came there to claim his wife;
And he promised he would love her
With devotion all his life.
At the marriage there was splendid
Music, dancing, wedding cake;
And he kept the slipper as a treasure
Ever, for her sake.
By Clara Doty Bates (1838 - 1895)
- Published on
Very Nearly
I never quite saw fairy folk
A-dancing in the glade,
Where, just beyond the hollow oak,
Their broad green rings are laid;
But, while behind that oak I hid,
One day I very nearly did!
I never quite saw mermaids rise
Above the twilight sea.
When sands, left wet, ‘neath sunset skies,
Are blushing rosily:
But all alone, those rocks amid
One day I very nearly did!
I never quite saw Goblin Grim,
Who haunts our lumber room
And pops his head above the rim
Of that oak chest’s deep gloom:
But once when mother raised the lid
I very, very nearly did!
by Queenie Scott-Hopper
Queenie Scott-Hopper is an author pseudonym of Mabel Olive Hopper, who was born in 1881 in Gateshead, County Durham (now Tyne and Wear County), England. She became a writer of children’s books. Mabel Olive Hopper passed on at 43 years of age on 8 February 1924 in Whitley Bay, Northumberland County (now Tyne and Wear County), England.
I never quite saw fairy folk
A-dancing in the glade,
Where, just beyond the hollow oak,
Their broad green rings are laid;
But, while behind that oak I hid,
One day I very nearly did!
I never quite saw mermaids rise
Above the twilight sea.
When sands, left wet, ‘neath sunset skies,
Are blushing rosily:
But all alone, those rocks amid
One day I very nearly did!
I never quite saw Goblin Grim,
Who haunts our lumber room
And pops his head above the rim
Of that oak chest’s deep gloom:
But once when mother raised the lid
I very, very nearly did!
by Queenie Scott-Hopper
Queenie Scott-Hopper is an author pseudonym of Mabel Olive Hopper, who was born in 1881 in Gateshead, County Durham (now Tyne and Wear County), England. She became a writer of children’s books. Mabel Olive Hopper passed on at 43 years of age on 8 February 1924 in Whitley Bay, Northumberland County (now Tyne and Wear County), England.
- Published on
Goldilocks and the Three Bears
Little Goldilocks was a pretty girl who lived once upon a time in a far-off country.
One day she was sitting on the hearthrug playing with her two kittens, and you would have thought she was as happy as a queen, and quite contented to stay where she was instead of wanting to run about the world meddling with other people’s property. But it happened that she was rather a mischievous little maid, and could not resist teasing her pets, so one of them scratched her, and then she would play with them no longer.
She got up and trotted away into the wood behind her mother’s house, and it was such a warm, pleasant day that she wandered on and on until she came into a part of the wood where she had never been before.
Now, in this wood there lived a family of three bears. The first was a great big bear, the second was a middling-sized bear, and the third was a little teeny tiny bear, and they all lived together in a funny little house, and very happy they were.
Goldilocks stopped when she came to the bears’ house, and began to wonder who lived there.
“I’ll just look in and see,” she said, and so she did; but there was no one there, for the bears had all gone out for a morning walk, whilst the soup they were going to have for dinner cooled upon the table.
Goldilocks was rather hungry after her walk, and the soup smelt so good that she began to wish the people of the house would come home and invite her to have some. But although she looked everywhere, under the table and into the cupboards, she could find no one, and at last she could resist no longer, but made up her mind to take just a little sip to see how the soup tasted. The soup had been put into three bowls - a great big bowl for the great big bear, a middling-sized bowl for the middling-sized bear, and a teeny tiny bowl for the teeny tiny bear; beside each bowl lay a spoon, and Goldilocks took one and helped herself to a spoonful of soup from the great big bowl.
Ugh! How it burnt her mouth; it was so hot with pepper that she did not like it at all; still, she was very hungry, so she thought she would try again.
This time she took a sip of the middling-sized bear’s soup, but she liked that no better, for it was too salty. But when she tasted the teeny tiny bear’s soup, it was just as she liked it; so she ate it up every drop, without thinking twice about it.
When she had finished her dinner, she noticed three chairs standing by the wall. One was a great big chair, and she climbed upon that and sat down. Oh, dear! How hard it was! She was sure she could not sit there for long, so she climbed up on the next, which was only a middling-sized chair, but that was too soft for her taste; so she went on to the last, which was a teeny tiny chair and suited her exactly.
It was so comfortable that she sat on and on until, if you’ll believe it, she actually sat the bottom out. Then, of course, she was comfortable no longer, so she got up and began to wonder what she should do next.
There was a staircase in the bears’ house, and Goldilocks thought she would go up it and see where it led. So up she went, and when she reached the top she laughed outright, for the bears’ bedroom was the funniest she had ever seen. In the middle of the room stood a great big bed, on one side of it there was a middling-sized bed, and on the other side there was a teeny tiny bed.
Goldilocks was sleepy, so she thought she would lie down and have a little nap. First she got upon the great big bed, but it was just as hard as the great big chair had been; so she jumped off and tried the middling-sized bed, but it was so soft that she sank right down into the feather cushions and was nearly smothered.
“I will try the teeny tiny bed,” she said, and so she did, and it was so comfortable that she soon fell fast asleep.
Whilst she lay there, dreaming of all sorts of pleasant things, the three bears came home from their walk very hungry and quite ready for their dinners.
But, oh! Dear me! How cross the great big bear looked when he saw his spoon had been used and thrown under the table.
“Who has been tasting my soup?” he cried, in a great big voice.
“And who has been tasting mine?” cried the middling-sized bear, in a middling-sized voice.
“But who has been tasting mine and tasted it all up?” cried the poor little teeny tiny bear in a teeny tiny voice, with the tears running down his teeny tiny face.
When the great big bear went to sit down in his great big chair, he cried out in his great big voice:
“Who has been sitting on my chair?”
And the middling-sized bear cried, in a middling-sized voice:
“Who has been sitting on my chair?”
But the teeny tiny bear cried out in a teeny tiny voice of anger:
“Who has been sitting on my chair, and sat the bottom out?”
By this time the bears were sure that someone had been in their house quite lately; so they looked about to see if someone were not there still.
There was certainly no one downstairs, so they went up the staircase to their bedroom.
As soon as the great big bear looked at his bed, he cried out, in his great big voice:
“Who has been lying on my bed?”
And the middling-sized bear, seeing that the coverlet was all rumpled, cried out, in a middling-sized voice:
“Who has been lying on my bed?”
But the teeny tiny bear cried out, in a teeny tiny voice of astonishment:
“Who has been lying on my bed and lies there still?”
Now, when the great big bear began to speak, Goldilocks dreamt that there was a bee buzzing in the room, and when the middling-sized bear began to speak, she dreamt that it was flying out of the window; but when the teeny tiny bear began to speak, she dreamt that the bee had come back and stung her on the ear, and up she jumped. Oh! How frightened she was when she saw the three bears standing beside her.
She hopped out of bed and in a second was out through the open window. Never stopping to wonder if the fall had hurt her, she got up and ran and ran and ran until she could go no farther, always thinking that the bears were close behind her. And when at length she fell down in a heap on the ground, because she was too tired to run any more, it was her own mother who picked her up, because in her fright she had run straight home without knowing it.
by Author Unknown: as published in Hamilton Wright Mabie, Edward Everett Hale, and William Byron Forbush, editors: “Childhood’s Favorites and Fairy Stories: The Young Folks Treasury” (1927)
Little Goldilocks was a pretty girl who lived once upon a time in a far-off country.
One day she was sitting on the hearthrug playing with her two kittens, and you would have thought she was as happy as a queen, and quite contented to stay where she was instead of wanting to run about the world meddling with other people’s property. But it happened that she was rather a mischievous little maid, and could not resist teasing her pets, so one of them scratched her, and then she would play with them no longer.
She got up and trotted away into the wood behind her mother’s house, and it was such a warm, pleasant day that she wandered on and on until she came into a part of the wood where she had never been before.
Now, in this wood there lived a family of three bears. The first was a great big bear, the second was a middling-sized bear, and the third was a little teeny tiny bear, and they all lived together in a funny little house, and very happy they were.
Goldilocks stopped when she came to the bears’ house, and began to wonder who lived there.
“I’ll just look in and see,” she said, and so she did; but there was no one there, for the bears had all gone out for a morning walk, whilst the soup they were going to have for dinner cooled upon the table.
Goldilocks was rather hungry after her walk, and the soup smelt so good that she began to wish the people of the house would come home and invite her to have some. But although she looked everywhere, under the table and into the cupboards, she could find no one, and at last she could resist no longer, but made up her mind to take just a little sip to see how the soup tasted. The soup had been put into three bowls - a great big bowl for the great big bear, a middling-sized bowl for the middling-sized bear, and a teeny tiny bowl for the teeny tiny bear; beside each bowl lay a spoon, and Goldilocks took one and helped herself to a spoonful of soup from the great big bowl.
Ugh! How it burnt her mouth; it was so hot with pepper that she did not like it at all; still, she was very hungry, so she thought she would try again.
This time she took a sip of the middling-sized bear’s soup, but she liked that no better, for it was too salty. But when she tasted the teeny tiny bear’s soup, it was just as she liked it; so she ate it up every drop, without thinking twice about it.
When she had finished her dinner, she noticed three chairs standing by the wall. One was a great big chair, and she climbed upon that and sat down. Oh, dear! How hard it was! She was sure she could not sit there for long, so she climbed up on the next, which was only a middling-sized chair, but that was too soft for her taste; so she went on to the last, which was a teeny tiny chair and suited her exactly.
It was so comfortable that she sat on and on until, if you’ll believe it, she actually sat the bottom out. Then, of course, she was comfortable no longer, so she got up and began to wonder what she should do next.
There was a staircase in the bears’ house, and Goldilocks thought she would go up it and see where it led. So up she went, and when she reached the top she laughed outright, for the bears’ bedroom was the funniest she had ever seen. In the middle of the room stood a great big bed, on one side of it there was a middling-sized bed, and on the other side there was a teeny tiny bed.
Goldilocks was sleepy, so she thought she would lie down and have a little nap. First she got upon the great big bed, but it was just as hard as the great big chair had been; so she jumped off and tried the middling-sized bed, but it was so soft that she sank right down into the feather cushions and was nearly smothered.
“I will try the teeny tiny bed,” she said, and so she did, and it was so comfortable that she soon fell fast asleep.
Whilst she lay there, dreaming of all sorts of pleasant things, the three bears came home from their walk very hungry and quite ready for their dinners.
But, oh! Dear me! How cross the great big bear looked when he saw his spoon had been used and thrown under the table.
“Who has been tasting my soup?” he cried, in a great big voice.
“And who has been tasting mine?” cried the middling-sized bear, in a middling-sized voice.
“But who has been tasting mine and tasted it all up?” cried the poor little teeny tiny bear in a teeny tiny voice, with the tears running down his teeny tiny face.
When the great big bear went to sit down in his great big chair, he cried out in his great big voice:
“Who has been sitting on my chair?”
And the middling-sized bear cried, in a middling-sized voice:
“Who has been sitting on my chair?”
But the teeny tiny bear cried out in a teeny tiny voice of anger:
“Who has been sitting on my chair, and sat the bottom out?”
By this time the bears were sure that someone had been in their house quite lately; so they looked about to see if someone were not there still.
There was certainly no one downstairs, so they went up the staircase to their bedroom.
As soon as the great big bear looked at his bed, he cried out, in his great big voice:
“Who has been lying on my bed?”
And the middling-sized bear, seeing that the coverlet was all rumpled, cried out, in a middling-sized voice:
“Who has been lying on my bed?”
But the teeny tiny bear cried out, in a teeny tiny voice of astonishment:
“Who has been lying on my bed and lies there still?”
Now, when the great big bear began to speak, Goldilocks dreamt that there was a bee buzzing in the room, and when the middling-sized bear began to speak, she dreamt that it was flying out of the window; but when the teeny tiny bear began to speak, she dreamt that the bee had come back and stung her on the ear, and up she jumped. Oh! How frightened she was when she saw the three bears standing beside her.
She hopped out of bed and in a second was out through the open window. Never stopping to wonder if the fall had hurt her, she got up and ran and ran and ran until she could go no farther, always thinking that the bears were close behind her. And when at length she fell down in a heap on the ground, because she was too tired to run any more, it was her own mother who picked her up, because in her fright she had run straight home without knowing it.
by Author Unknown: as published in Hamilton Wright Mabie, Edward Everett Hale, and William Byron Forbush, editors: “Childhood’s Favorites and Fairy Stories: The Young Folks Treasury” (1927)
- Published on
The Shoemaker and the Elves
A shoemaker and his wife lived in a little house on the edge of a wood. They were very, very poor, and each day they grew poorer and poorer. At last, there was nothing left in the house but leather for one pair of shoes. “I will cut out this last pair of shoes,” the shoemaker said to his wife. “To-morrow I will sew them and peg them.” So he cut out the leather and left it on his bench.
The next morning he went into his shop to make the shoes. What did he see! A pair of shoes, all nicely made and ready to be sold. The stitches were so fine and the shoes so well made that they were quickly sold.
With the money, the poor shoemaker bought leather for two pairs of shoes. Then he said to his wife, “I will cut out the leather for two pairs of shoes. To-morrow I will sew them and peg them.” So he cut out the leather for the shoes and left it on his bench.
The next morning when he went into his shop to make the shoes, what did he find! Yes, there were two pairs of shoes already made. The work was so well done that those shoes were also sold very quickly.
With the money, the poor shoemaker bought enough leather for four pairs of shoes. Those he also cut out and left upon his bench. The next morning he found four pairs of beautiful shoes, all well made.
And so it went on and on. Instead of being a very poor shoemaker, he became a very rich shoemaker. His shoes were so well made that even the queen herself wore them.
At last, the shoemaker said to his wife, “We must find out who makes the shoes.” So one bright moonlight night they hid behind a curtain, where they could watch the bench and not be seen.
Just on the stroke of midnight, two little elves jumped through the window. They went skipping and dancing up to the bench. Sitting cross-legged, they took up the leather and began to work. How their needles flew back and forth, back and forth! How their little hammers beat: rap-a-tap-tap, rap-a-tap-tap!
Almost before the shoemaker and his wife could think, the work was all done. The tiny elves ran about, skipping and dancing, skipping and dancing. Then, whisk! quick as a wink, they were gone.
The next morning the good shoemaker said to his wife, “What can we do for those dear little elves?” “I should like very much to make some clothes for them,” said his wife. “They were almost without any.” “If you will make their coats, I will make them some shoes,” said the shoemaker. “Their little feet were bare.” When the clothes and shoes were ready, they were put upon the bench.
The shoemaker and his wife again hid behind the curtain. Just as before, when the clock struck twelve, in jumped the tiny elves. They went skipping and dancing, skipping and dancing, to their work. They saw the little coats, the tiny stockings, and the neat little shoes. They clapped their hands for joy. Then, slipping on their clothes, they skipped, hand in hand, out of the window.
The shoemaker and his wife never saw the little elves again, but after that night, good luck seemed always to be with them.
by Author Unknown: as published in James H. Fassett: “The Beacon Second Reader” (1914); type of work: English folk tale in a lesson book for schoolchildren
A shoemaker and his wife lived in a little house on the edge of a wood. They were very, very poor, and each day they grew poorer and poorer. At last, there was nothing left in the house but leather for one pair of shoes. “I will cut out this last pair of shoes,” the shoemaker said to his wife. “To-morrow I will sew them and peg them.” So he cut out the leather and left it on his bench.
The next morning he went into his shop to make the shoes. What did he see! A pair of shoes, all nicely made and ready to be sold. The stitches were so fine and the shoes so well made that they were quickly sold.
With the money, the poor shoemaker bought leather for two pairs of shoes. Then he said to his wife, “I will cut out the leather for two pairs of shoes. To-morrow I will sew them and peg them.” So he cut out the leather for the shoes and left it on his bench.
The next morning when he went into his shop to make the shoes, what did he find! Yes, there were two pairs of shoes already made. The work was so well done that those shoes were also sold very quickly.
With the money, the poor shoemaker bought enough leather for four pairs of shoes. Those he also cut out and left upon his bench. The next morning he found four pairs of beautiful shoes, all well made.
And so it went on and on. Instead of being a very poor shoemaker, he became a very rich shoemaker. His shoes were so well made that even the queen herself wore them.
At last, the shoemaker said to his wife, “We must find out who makes the shoes.” So one bright moonlight night they hid behind a curtain, where they could watch the bench and not be seen.
Just on the stroke of midnight, two little elves jumped through the window. They went skipping and dancing up to the bench. Sitting cross-legged, they took up the leather and began to work. How their needles flew back and forth, back and forth! How their little hammers beat: rap-a-tap-tap, rap-a-tap-tap!
Almost before the shoemaker and his wife could think, the work was all done. The tiny elves ran about, skipping and dancing, skipping and dancing. Then, whisk! quick as a wink, they were gone.
The next morning the good shoemaker said to his wife, “What can we do for those dear little elves?” “I should like very much to make some clothes for them,” said his wife. “They were almost without any.” “If you will make their coats, I will make them some shoes,” said the shoemaker. “Their little feet were bare.” When the clothes and shoes were ready, they were put upon the bench.
The shoemaker and his wife again hid behind the curtain. Just as before, when the clock struck twelve, in jumped the tiny elves. They went skipping and dancing, skipping and dancing, to their work. They saw the little coats, the tiny stockings, and the neat little shoes. They clapped their hands for joy. Then, slipping on their clothes, they skipped, hand in hand, out of the window.
The shoemaker and his wife never saw the little elves again, but after that night, good luck seemed always to be with them.
by Author Unknown: as published in James H. Fassett: “The Beacon Second Reader” (1914); type of work: English folk tale in a lesson book for schoolchildren
- Published on
Please Be Careful
Please be careful where you tread,
The Fairies are about,
Last night when I had gone to bed,
I heard them creeping out.
And wouldn’t it be a dreadful thing
To do a fairy harm?
To crush a little delicate wing,
Or bruise a tiny arm?
They’re all about the place, I know,
So do be careful where you go.
by Rose Fyleman
Rose Amy Fyleman was born on 6 March 1877 in Nottingham, England. She became a writer and a poet. She is known for her works for children, about fairies. Rose Amy Fyleman passed on at 80 years of age on 1 August 1957 in Saint Albans, Hertfordshire, England.
Please be careful where you tread,
The Fairies are about,
Last night when I had gone to bed,
I heard them creeping out.
And wouldn’t it be a dreadful thing
To do a fairy harm?
To crush a little delicate wing,
Or bruise a tiny arm?
They’re all about the place, I know,
So do be careful where you go.
by Rose Fyleman
Rose Amy Fyleman was born on 6 March 1877 in Nottingham, England. She became a writer and a poet. She is known for her works for children, about fairies. Rose Amy Fyleman passed on at 80 years of age on 1 August 1957 in Saint Albans, Hertfordshire, England.
- Published on
The Fairy’s New Year Gift
Two little boys were at play one day when a Fairy suddenly appeared before them and said: “I have been sent to give you New Year presents.”
She handed to each child a package, and in an instant was gone.
Carl and Philip opened the packages and found in them two beautiful books, with pages as pure and white as the snow when it first falls.
Many months passed and the Fairy came again to the boys. “I have brought you each another book,” said she, “and will take the first ones back to Father Time who sent them to you.”
“May I not keep mine a little longer?” asked Philip. “I have hardly thought about it lately. I’d like to paint something on the last leaf that lies open.”
“No,” said the Fairy; “I must take it just as it is.”
“I wish that I could look through mine just once,” said Carl; “I have only seen one page at a time, for when the leaf turns over it sticks fast, and I can never open the book at more than one place each day.”
“You shall look at your book,” said the Fairy, “and Philip, at his.” And she lit for them two little silver lamps, by the light of which they saw the pages as she turned them.
The boys looked in wonder. Could it be that these were the same fair books she had given them a year ago? Where were the clean, white pages, as pure and beautiful as the snow when it first falls? Here was a page with ugly, black spots and scratches upon it; while the very next page showed a lovely little picture. Some pages were decorated with gold and silver and gorgeous colors, others with beautiful flowers, and still others with a rainbow of softest, most delicate brightness. Yet even on the most beautiful of the pages there were ugly blots and scratches.
Carl and Philip looked up at the Fairy at last.
“Who did this?” they asked. “Every page was white and fair as we opened to it; yet now there is not a single blank place in the whole book!”
“Shall I explain some of the pictures to you?” said the Fairy, smiling at the two little boys. “See, Philip, the spray of roses blossomed on this page when you let the baby have your playthings; and this pretty bird, that looks as if it were singing with all its might, would never have been on this page if you had not tried to be kind and pleasant the other day, instead of quarreling.”
“But what makes this blot?” asked Philip.
“That,” said the Fairy sadly, “came when you told an untruth one day, and this when you did not mind your mother. All these blots and scratches that look so ugly, both in your book and in Carl’s, were made when you were naughty. Each pretty thing in your books came on its page when you were good.”
“Oh, if we could only have the books again!” said Carl and Philip.
“That cannot be,” said the Fairy. “See! they are dated for this year, and they must now go back into Father Time’s bookcase, but I have brought you each a new one. Perhaps you can make these more beautiful than the others.”
So saying, she vanished, and the boys were left alone, but each held in his hand a new book open at the first page.
And on the back of this book was written in letters of gold, “For the New Year.”
by Emilie Poulsson (Adapted)
Two little boys were at play one day when a Fairy suddenly appeared before them and said: “I have been sent to give you New Year presents.”
She handed to each child a package, and in an instant was gone.
Carl and Philip opened the packages and found in them two beautiful books, with pages as pure and white as the snow when it first falls.
Many months passed and the Fairy came again to the boys. “I have brought you each another book,” said she, “and will take the first ones back to Father Time who sent them to you.”
“May I not keep mine a little longer?” asked Philip. “I have hardly thought about it lately. I’d like to paint something on the last leaf that lies open.”
“No,” said the Fairy; “I must take it just as it is.”
“I wish that I could look through mine just once,” said Carl; “I have only seen one page at a time, for when the leaf turns over it sticks fast, and I can never open the book at more than one place each day.”
“You shall look at your book,” said the Fairy, “and Philip, at his.” And she lit for them two little silver lamps, by the light of which they saw the pages as she turned them.
The boys looked in wonder. Could it be that these were the same fair books she had given them a year ago? Where were the clean, white pages, as pure and beautiful as the snow when it first falls? Here was a page with ugly, black spots and scratches upon it; while the very next page showed a lovely little picture. Some pages were decorated with gold and silver and gorgeous colors, others with beautiful flowers, and still others with a rainbow of softest, most delicate brightness. Yet even on the most beautiful of the pages there were ugly blots and scratches.
Carl and Philip looked up at the Fairy at last.
“Who did this?” they asked. “Every page was white and fair as we opened to it; yet now there is not a single blank place in the whole book!”
“Shall I explain some of the pictures to you?” said the Fairy, smiling at the two little boys. “See, Philip, the spray of roses blossomed on this page when you let the baby have your playthings; and this pretty bird, that looks as if it were singing with all its might, would never have been on this page if you had not tried to be kind and pleasant the other day, instead of quarreling.”
“But what makes this blot?” asked Philip.
“That,” said the Fairy sadly, “came when you told an untruth one day, and this when you did not mind your mother. All these blots and scratches that look so ugly, both in your book and in Carl’s, were made when you were naughty. Each pretty thing in your books came on its page when you were good.”
“Oh, if we could only have the books again!” said Carl and Philip.
“That cannot be,” said the Fairy. “See! they are dated for this year, and they must now go back into Father Time’s bookcase, but I have brought you each a new one. Perhaps you can make these more beautiful than the others.”
So saying, she vanished, and the boys were left alone, but each held in his hand a new book open at the first page.
And on the back of this book was written in letters of gold, “For the New Year.”
by Emilie Poulsson (Adapted)
- Published on
The Brass Necklace
In a little house across the rice grass lived a family of mice. Their neighbors were Mr. Horse, Mr. Moose, and Mrs. Goose. Once little Mouse and his niece played at the base of the fence. They were having an ice race. Little Mouse decided to be boss, so he said, “Let’s play ‘Guess Who.’” “Yes, of course, said his niece.
She ran to get ready. “I’ll be Cinderella,” she said. She painted her face, put on a lace dress and a glass shoe. But she couldn’t find anything pretty for her neck. So she called Mrs. Goose who had nothing that nice, because her goose babies always needed something. “Try Mr. Horse,” she said. “He has beautiful things that he has won at races.”
Off she ran to see Mr. Horse. There he was - showing Mr. Moose a beautiful horse collar made of brass.
“Oh, this is lovely,” said the pretend Cinderella. Now if only I could wear a brass horse collar!”
Mr. Horse smiled and took one link off the collar. He place it around the mouse’s neck.
“Oh! Now I have a real Brass Necklace. I am truly Cinderella.” She gave Mr. Horse a kiss and called to her uncle, “Guess Who! Little Mouse, guess who!”
by Author Unknown
In a little house across the rice grass lived a family of mice. Their neighbors were Mr. Horse, Mr. Moose, and Mrs. Goose. Once little Mouse and his niece played at the base of the fence. They were having an ice race. Little Mouse decided to be boss, so he said, “Let’s play ‘Guess Who.’” “Yes, of course, said his niece.
She ran to get ready. “I’ll be Cinderella,” she said. She painted her face, put on a lace dress and a glass shoe. But she couldn’t find anything pretty for her neck. So she called Mrs. Goose who had nothing that nice, because her goose babies always needed something. “Try Mr. Horse,” she said. “He has beautiful things that he has won at races.”
Off she ran to see Mr. Horse. There he was - showing Mr. Moose a beautiful horse collar made of brass.
“Oh, this is lovely,” said the pretend Cinderella. Now if only I could wear a brass horse collar!”
Mr. Horse smiled and took one link off the collar. He place it around the mouse’s neck.
“Oh! Now I have a real Brass Necklace. I am truly Cinderella.” She gave Mr. Horse a kiss and called to her uncle, “Guess Who! Little Mouse, guess who!”
by Author Unknown
- Published on
The Fairies of the Caldon Low
A Midsummer Legend
“And where have you been, my Mary,
And where have you been from me?”
“I’ve been to the top of the Caldon Low,
The midsummer-night to see.”
“And what did you see, my Mary,
All up on the Caldon Low?”
“I saw the glad sunshine come down,
And I saw the merry winds blow.”
“And what did you hear, my Mary,
All up on the Caldon hill?”
“I heard the drops of the water made.
And the ears of the green corn fill.”
“Oh! tell me all, my Mary -
All, all that ever you know;
For you must have seen the fairies,
Last night on the Caldon Low.”
“Then take me on your knee, mother;
And listen, mother of mine:
A hundred fairies danced last night,
And the harpers they were nine;”
“And their harp-strings rung so merrily
To their dancing feet so small;
But oh! the words of their talking
Were merrier far than all.”
“And what were the words, my Mary,
That then you heard them say?”
“I’ll tell you all, my mother;
But let me have my way.
“Some of them played with the water,
And rolled it down the hill;
‘And this,’ they said, ‘shall speedily turn
The poor old miller’s mill;
“‘For there has been no water
Ever since the first of May;
And a busy man will the miller be
At dawning of the day.
“‘Oh! the miller, how he will laugh
When he sees the mill-dam rise!
The jolly old miller, how he will laugh
Till the tears fill both his eyes!’
“And some they seized the little winds
That sounded over the hill;
And each put a horn unto his mouth,
And blew both loud and shrill;
“‘And there,’ they said, ‘the merry winds go
Away from every horn;
And they shall clear the mildew dank
From the blind old widow’s corn.
“‘Oh! the poor, blind widow,
Though she has been blind so long,
She’ll be blithe enough when the mildew’s gone,
And the corn stands tall and strong.’
“And some they brought the brown lint-seed,
And flung it down from the Low;
‘And this,’ they said, ‘by sunrise,
In the weaver’s croft shall grow.
“‘Oh! the poor, lame weaver,
How will he laugh outright
When he sees his dwindling flax-field
All full of flowers by night!’
“And then outspoke a brownie,
With a long beard on his chin;
‘I have spun up all the tow,’ said he,
‘And I want some more to spin.
“‘I’ve spun a piece of hempen cloth,
And I want to spin another;
A little sheet for Mary’s bed,
And an apron for her mother.
“With that I could not help but laugh,
And I laughed out loud and free;
And then on the top of the Caldon Low
There was no one left but me.
“And on the top of the Caldon Low
The mists were cold and gray,
And nothing I saw but the mossy stones
That round about me lay.
“But, coming down from the hill-top,
I heard afar below,
How busy the jolly miller was,
And how the wheel did go.
“And I peeped into the widow’s field,
And, sure enough, were seen
The yellow ears of the mildewed corn,
All standing stout and green.
“And down by the weaver’s croft I stole,
To see if the flax were sprung;
And I met the weaver at his gate,
With the good news on his tongue.
“Now this is all I heard, mother,
And all that I did see;
So, pr’y thee, make my bed, mother,
For I’m tired as I can be.”
by Mary Howitt
Mary Howitt was born as Mary Botham on 12 March 1799 in Coleford, Gloucestershire, England. She was a member of the Quaker denomination of Christianity. She was married to William Howitt on 16 April 1821. Mary Howitt became a writer and a poet, and translated works by Hans Christian Andersen and Frederika Bremer into English. She is known as the author of the poem, “The Spider and the Fly” (1829). Mary Howitt passed on at 88 years of age on 30 January 1888 in Rome, Italy.
A Midsummer Legend
“And where have you been, my Mary,
And where have you been from me?”
“I’ve been to the top of the Caldon Low,
The midsummer-night to see.”
“And what did you see, my Mary,
All up on the Caldon Low?”
“I saw the glad sunshine come down,
And I saw the merry winds blow.”
“And what did you hear, my Mary,
All up on the Caldon hill?”
“I heard the drops of the water made.
And the ears of the green corn fill.”
“Oh! tell me all, my Mary -
All, all that ever you know;
For you must have seen the fairies,
Last night on the Caldon Low.”
“Then take me on your knee, mother;
And listen, mother of mine:
A hundred fairies danced last night,
And the harpers they were nine;”
“And their harp-strings rung so merrily
To their dancing feet so small;
But oh! the words of their talking
Were merrier far than all.”
“And what were the words, my Mary,
That then you heard them say?”
“I’ll tell you all, my mother;
But let me have my way.
“Some of them played with the water,
And rolled it down the hill;
‘And this,’ they said, ‘shall speedily turn
The poor old miller’s mill;
“‘For there has been no water
Ever since the first of May;
And a busy man will the miller be
At dawning of the day.
“‘Oh! the miller, how he will laugh
When he sees the mill-dam rise!
The jolly old miller, how he will laugh
Till the tears fill both his eyes!’
“And some they seized the little winds
That sounded over the hill;
And each put a horn unto his mouth,
And blew both loud and shrill;
“‘And there,’ they said, ‘the merry winds go
Away from every horn;
And they shall clear the mildew dank
From the blind old widow’s corn.
“‘Oh! the poor, blind widow,
Though she has been blind so long,
She’ll be blithe enough when the mildew’s gone,
And the corn stands tall and strong.’
“And some they brought the brown lint-seed,
And flung it down from the Low;
‘And this,’ they said, ‘by sunrise,
In the weaver’s croft shall grow.
“‘Oh! the poor, lame weaver,
How will he laugh outright
When he sees his dwindling flax-field
All full of flowers by night!’
“And then outspoke a brownie,
With a long beard on his chin;
‘I have spun up all the tow,’ said he,
‘And I want some more to spin.
“‘I’ve spun a piece of hempen cloth,
And I want to spin another;
A little sheet for Mary’s bed,
And an apron for her mother.
“With that I could not help but laugh,
And I laughed out loud and free;
And then on the top of the Caldon Low
There was no one left but me.
“And on the top of the Caldon Low
The mists were cold and gray,
And nothing I saw but the mossy stones
That round about me lay.
“But, coming down from the hill-top,
I heard afar below,
How busy the jolly miller was,
And how the wheel did go.
“And I peeped into the widow’s field,
And, sure enough, were seen
The yellow ears of the mildewed corn,
All standing stout and green.
“And down by the weaver’s croft I stole,
To see if the flax were sprung;
And I met the weaver at his gate,
With the good news on his tongue.
“Now this is all I heard, mother,
And all that I did see;
So, pr’y thee, make my bed, mother,
For I’m tired as I can be.”
by Mary Howitt
Mary Howitt was born as Mary Botham on 12 March 1799 in Coleford, Gloucestershire, England. She was a member of the Quaker denomination of Christianity. She was married to William Howitt on 16 April 1821. Mary Howitt became a writer and a poet, and translated works by Hans Christian Andersen and Frederika Bremer into English. She is known as the author of the poem, “The Spider and the Fly” (1829). Mary Howitt passed on at 88 years of age on 30 January 1888 in Rome, Italy.
- Published on
Three Billy Goats Gruff
Snippity-snip, snap, and swill,
The tale begins upon a hill . . .
The air was crisp and cool. The sky was an endless blue. The green meadow grass swayed in a gentle breeze. And Big Billy Goat Gruff was bored.
“I am tired of eating in the same old field every day,” he told his brothers. “I want to eat in the meadow on the far side of the stream.”
“Oh no, Big Billy Goat,” said little brother. “We cannot walk through the stream for it is too deep and too fast. We would be swept away!”
“And we cannot walk over the bridge,” said middle brother, “because there is a big troll under the bridge who will gobble us up if we try to cross it.”
“I am not afraid of the troll,” said Big Billy Goat Gruff, tossing his bold head with the huge round horns. He stamped the ground - once, twice, thrice - with his big hooves. “Let him try to eat me! We shall see who wins the fight!”
“But we won’t be there to see,” said Middle Billy Goat Gruff practically, “Because Little Billy Goat Gruff and I will have been eaten.”
“Not so!” cried Big Billy Goat Gruff, dancing around the meadow excitedly, his large hooves making holes in the mossy turf under his feet. “I have a plan!”
The three billy goats put their heads together and whispered for a long time. Finally, they broke the huddle and all three of them trotted across the wide meadow to the narrow bridge that crossed the fast-flowing, deep stream in the ravine dividing their meadow and the one on the other side.
Taking a deep breath for courage, Little Billy Goat Gruff stepped onto the rough wooden bridge. Trip-trap, trip-trap. His little hooves made the bridge spring up and down a little as he moved carefully forward.
A pair of huge round eyes peered out from the darkness under the bridge. “Who’s that trip-trapping over my bridge?” rumbled the troll. A big hairy arm reached out from the darkness and huge fingers gripped the rail beside Little Billy Goat Gruff.
“It’s just me,” said Little Billy Goat Gruff in a very small voice. “I am the teeny-tiniest Billy Goat Gruff, all skin and bones, going over to the meadow to make myself fat.”
A second huge hand joined the first on the rail. “I am coming to eat you,” said the troll, his voice rumbling so deep that it shook the whole bridge.
“Eat me?” asked Little Billy Goat Gruff, shaking from head to toe, “I am too little. Not even worth a bite for a big troll like you. You should wait for my middle brother to come. He is much bigger than me.”
This made sense to the troll. Why go to all that bother for one small bite of Billy Goat when a bigger Billy Goat was on its way?
“Get off my bridge then,” the troll roared, slipping back down into the darkness underneath. “And don’t come back here until you are big and fat!”
“Yes sir,” said Little Billy Goat Gruff, trotting off the far side of the bridge in triumph and heading up into the wide-green meadow above. The plan was working!
When Little Billy Goat Gruff reached the top of the hill, Middle Billy Goat Gruff stepped onto the rough wooden bridge. Trap-rap, trap-rap. His medium-sized hooves made the boards of the bridge spring and sway under his weight as he moved forward.
A pair of huge round eyes peered out from the darkness under the bridge. “Who’s that trap-rapping over my bridge?” grumbled the troll loudly. Hairy arms reached out from the darkness and huge fingers gripped the rail beside Middle Billy Goat Gruff.
“It’s me,” said Middle Billy Goat Gruff in a very medium-sized voice. “I am the Middle Billy Goat Gruff, all skin and bones from the winter. I am going over to the meadow to make myself fat.”
Two blazing troll eyes over a long, twisted nose glared at him through the rails of the bridge. “I am coming to eat you,” said the troll, his voice rumbling so deep that it shook the whole bridge.
“Eat me?” asked Middle Billy Goat Gruff with a laugh. “Why do you want to eat me? I am all skinny from the winter. Barely two bites for a big troll like you. And my bones will get stuck in your throat and make it feel all scratchy and horrible. You should wait for my big brother to come. He is huge! Much bigger than me.”
This made good sense to the troll. Why go to all that bother for one bony, medium sized Billy Goat when a bigger Billy Goat was on its way?
“Get off my bridge then,” the troll roared, slipping back down into the darkness underneath. “And don’t come back here until you are big and fat!”
“I’m off then,” said Middle Billy Goat Gruff, trotting to the far side of the bridge in triumph. He headed up to the wide-green meadow above and joined Little Billy Goat Gruff at the top of the hill. Then both of the brothers peered down at the bridge to see what Big Billy Goat Gruff was going to do.
As they watched, Big Billy Goat Gruff stepped onto the rough wooden bridge. Stomp-tromp, stomp-tromp. His huge hooves made the boards bend and give protesting creaks under his massive weight as he moved forward.
A pair of huge round eyes peered out from the darkness under the bridge. “Who’s that stomp-tromping over my bridge?” roared the troll. He sprang out onto the top of the bridge in a single leap. Big Billy Goat Gruff narrowed his eyes at the large, hairy troll. “It’s me,” he said, lowering his huge head so the curved horns were pointed at the troll. Then he charged.
Wham! Big Billy Goat Gruff slammed into the troll. “Arrrgh!” screamed the troll as it was lifted clean off its feet and thrown way, way, way up into the air. The troll landed head down on the bridge, making it shake and rattle from top to bottom. Big Billy Goat Gruff stomped and tromped on the troll with his huge hooves until the troll was smashed flat on the wood boards. Then he tossed him into the raging stream with his huge horns and the troll sailed down the ravine and out of sight, never to be seen again in those parts.
And Big Billy Goat Gruff went up the hill to join his brothers in the meadow. All summer long they ate the lovely green grass in both meadows until they all grew quite fat. And they walked back and forth over the troll-free bridge whenever they wanted.
Snippity-snip, snap and snout,
This little tale has been told out!
A Norwegian Folktale as retold by S. E. Schlosser
Snippity-snip, snap, and swill,
The tale begins upon a hill . . .
The air was crisp and cool. The sky was an endless blue. The green meadow grass swayed in a gentle breeze. And Big Billy Goat Gruff was bored.
“I am tired of eating in the same old field every day,” he told his brothers. “I want to eat in the meadow on the far side of the stream.”
“Oh no, Big Billy Goat,” said little brother. “We cannot walk through the stream for it is too deep and too fast. We would be swept away!”
“And we cannot walk over the bridge,” said middle brother, “because there is a big troll under the bridge who will gobble us up if we try to cross it.”
“I am not afraid of the troll,” said Big Billy Goat Gruff, tossing his bold head with the huge round horns. He stamped the ground - once, twice, thrice - with his big hooves. “Let him try to eat me! We shall see who wins the fight!”
“But we won’t be there to see,” said Middle Billy Goat Gruff practically, “Because Little Billy Goat Gruff and I will have been eaten.”
“Not so!” cried Big Billy Goat Gruff, dancing around the meadow excitedly, his large hooves making holes in the mossy turf under his feet. “I have a plan!”
The three billy goats put their heads together and whispered for a long time. Finally, they broke the huddle and all three of them trotted across the wide meadow to the narrow bridge that crossed the fast-flowing, deep stream in the ravine dividing their meadow and the one on the other side.
Taking a deep breath for courage, Little Billy Goat Gruff stepped onto the rough wooden bridge. Trip-trap, trip-trap. His little hooves made the bridge spring up and down a little as he moved carefully forward.
A pair of huge round eyes peered out from the darkness under the bridge. “Who’s that trip-trapping over my bridge?” rumbled the troll. A big hairy arm reached out from the darkness and huge fingers gripped the rail beside Little Billy Goat Gruff.
“It’s just me,” said Little Billy Goat Gruff in a very small voice. “I am the teeny-tiniest Billy Goat Gruff, all skin and bones, going over to the meadow to make myself fat.”
A second huge hand joined the first on the rail. “I am coming to eat you,” said the troll, his voice rumbling so deep that it shook the whole bridge.
“Eat me?” asked Little Billy Goat Gruff, shaking from head to toe, “I am too little. Not even worth a bite for a big troll like you. You should wait for my middle brother to come. He is much bigger than me.”
This made sense to the troll. Why go to all that bother for one small bite of Billy Goat when a bigger Billy Goat was on its way?
“Get off my bridge then,” the troll roared, slipping back down into the darkness underneath. “And don’t come back here until you are big and fat!”
“Yes sir,” said Little Billy Goat Gruff, trotting off the far side of the bridge in triumph and heading up into the wide-green meadow above. The plan was working!
When Little Billy Goat Gruff reached the top of the hill, Middle Billy Goat Gruff stepped onto the rough wooden bridge. Trap-rap, trap-rap. His medium-sized hooves made the boards of the bridge spring and sway under his weight as he moved forward.
A pair of huge round eyes peered out from the darkness under the bridge. “Who’s that trap-rapping over my bridge?” grumbled the troll loudly. Hairy arms reached out from the darkness and huge fingers gripped the rail beside Middle Billy Goat Gruff.
“It’s me,” said Middle Billy Goat Gruff in a very medium-sized voice. “I am the Middle Billy Goat Gruff, all skin and bones from the winter. I am going over to the meadow to make myself fat.”
Two blazing troll eyes over a long, twisted nose glared at him through the rails of the bridge. “I am coming to eat you,” said the troll, his voice rumbling so deep that it shook the whole bridge.
“Eat me?” asked Middle Billy Goat Gruff with a laugh. “Why do you want to eat me? I am all skinny from the winter. Barely two bites for a big troll like you. And my bones will get stuck in your throat and make it feel all scratchy and horrible. You should wait for my big brother to come. He is huge! Much bigger than me.”
This made good sense to the troll. Why go to all that bother for one bony, medium sized Billy Goat when a bigger Billy Goat was on its way?
“Get off my bridge then,” the troll roared, slipping back down into the darkness underneath. “And don’t come back here until you are big and fat!”
“I’m off then,” said Middle Billy Goat Gruff, trotting to the far side of the bridge in triumph. He headed up to the wide-green meadow above and joined Little Billy Goat Gruff at the top of the hill. Then both of the brothers peered down at the bridge to see what Big Billy Goat Gruff was going to do.
As they watched, Big Billy Goat Gruff stepped onto the rough wooden bridge. Stomp-tromp, stomp-tromp. His huge hooves made the boards bend and give protesting creaks under his massive weight as he moved forward.
A pair of huge round eyes peered out from the darkness under the bridge. “Who’s that stomp-tromping over my bridge?” roared the troll. He sprang out onto the top of the bridge in a single leap. Big Billy Goat Gruff narrowed his eyes at the large, hairy troll. “It’s me,” he said, lowering his huge head so the curved horns were pointed at the troll. Then he charged.
Wham! Big Billy Goat Gruff slammed into the troll. “Arrrgh!” screamed the troll as it was lifted clean off its feet and thrown way, way, way up into the air. The troll landed head down on the bridge, making it shake and rattle from top to bottom. Big Billy Goat Gruff stomped and tromped on the troll with his huge hooves until the troll was smashed flat on the wood boards. Then he tossed him into the raging stream with his huge horns and the troll sailed down the ravine and out of sight, never to be seen again in those parts.
And Big Billy Goat Gruff went up the hill to join his brothers in the meadow. All summer long they ate the lovely green grass in both meadows until they all grew quite fat. And they walked back and forth over the troll-free bridge whenever they wanted.
Snippity-snip, snap and snout,
This little tale has been told out!
A Norwegian Folktale as retold by S. E. Schlosser
