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The Three Little Pigs
There once was a sow (mother pig) with three little pigs, and since she had not enough to feed them, she sent them out to seek their fortunes. The first that went off met a man with a bundle of straw, and the pig said to him:
“Please, mister, sell me that straw for me to build my house.”
There once was a sow (mother pig) with three little pigs, and since she had not enough to feed them, she sent them out to seek their fortunes. The first that went off met a man with a bundle of straw, and the pig said to him:
“Please, mister, sell me that straw for me to build my house.”
Which the man did, and the little pig built a house with it.
Presently along came a wolf who knocked at the door and said:
“Little pig, little pig, let me come in.”
To which the pig answered:
“No, not by the hair of my chinny chin chin.”
The wolf then answered to that:
“Then I’ll huff, and I’ll puff, and I’ll blow your house in.”
So he huffed, and he puffed, and he blew his house in, and gobbled up the little pig.
The second little pig met a man with a bundle of sticks, and said:
“Please, mister, sell me that bundle of sticks for me to build my house.”
“Little pig, little pig, let me come in.”
To which the pig answered:
“No, not by the hair of my chinny chin chin.”
The wolf then answered to that:
“Then I’ll huff, and I’ll puff, and I’ll blow your house in.”
So he huffed, and he puffed, and he blew his house in, and gobbled up the little pig.
The second little pig met a man with a bundle of sticks, and said:
“Please, mister, sell me that bundle of sticks for me to build my house.”
Which the man did, and the pig built his house. Then along came the wolf, and said:
“Little pig, little pig, let me come in.”
“No, not by the hair of my chinny chin chin.”
“Then I’ll puff, and I’ll huff, and I’ll blow your house in.”
So he huffed, and he puffed, and he puffed, and he huffed, and at last he blew the house down, and he ate up the little pig.
The third little pig met a man with a load of bricks, and said:
“Please, mister, sell me that load of bricks for me to build my house.”
“Little pig, little pig, let me come in.”
“No, not by the hair of my chinny chin chin.”
“Then I’ll puff, and I’ll huff, and I’ll blow your house in.”
So he huffed, and he puffed, and he puffed, and he huffed, and at last he blew the house down, and he ate up the little pig.
The third little pig met a man with a load of bricks, and said:
“Please, mister, sell me that load of bricks for me to build my house.”
So the man sold him the bricks, and he built his house with them. The wolf came, as he did to the other little pigs, and said:
“Little pig, little pig, let me come in.”
“No, not by the hair of my chinny chin chin.”
“Then I’ll huff, and I’ll puff, and I’ll blow your house in.”
Well, he huffed, and he puffed, and he huffed, and he puffed, and he puffed and huffed, but he could not blow the house down. When he found that he could not, with all his huffing and puffing blow the house down, he said:
“Little pig, I know where there is a nice field of turnips.”
“Where?” asked the little pig.
“Oh, in Mr. Smith’s home-field, and if you will be ready tomorrow morning I will call for you, and we will go together, and get some for dinner.”
“Very well,” said the little pig. “I will be ready. What time do you mean to go?”
“Oh, at six o’clock.”
Well, the little pig got up at five, and got the turnips before the wolf arrived. The wolf came at about six o’clock and said:
“Little pig, are you ready?”
The little pig said, “Ready! I have been there and come back again, and gotten a nice potful of turnips for dinner.”
The wolf felt very angry at this, but thought that he would still eat the little pig somehow or other and so he said:
“Little pig, I know where there is a nice apple tree.”
“Where?” asked the pig.
“Down at Merry Garden,” replied the wolf, “and if you will not deceive me, I will come at five o’clock tomorrow and together we can get some apples.”
Well, the little pig bustled up the next morning at four o’clock, and went off for the apples, hoping to get back before the wolf came, but he had to climb the tree, so that just as he was coming down from it, he saw the wolf coming, which, as you may suppose, frightened him very much. When the wolf came up he said:
“Little pig, you have gotten here before I arrived. Are they nice apples?”
“Yes, very nice,” said the little pig. “I will throw you down one.”
And he threw an apple so far that, while the wolf scampered to pick it up, the little pig managed to jump down and run home. The next day the wolf came again to the little pig’s house and said:
“Little pig, there is a fair this afternoon, will you go?”
“Oh, yes,” said the pig, “I will go. What time shall we depart?”
“At three,” said the wolf. So the little pig started out before the time, as usual, and got to the fair and bought a butter-churn, which he was going home with when he saw the wolf coming. Then he could not tell what to do. So he got into the churn to hide, and in so doing caused it to turn around and around, and the butter-churn rolled down the hill with the pig in it, which frightened the wolf so much that he ran without going to the fair. He went to the little pig’s house, and told him how frightened he had been by a great round thing which came barreling down the hill toward him. Then the little pig said:
“Ha! I frightened you, then. I went to the fair and bought a butter-churn, and when I saw you, I got into it, and rolled down the hill.”
This all made the wolf very angry indeed, and he declared he would eat up the little pig, and that he would go down the chimney after him. When the little pig saw what he was going to do, he placed the cooking pot full of water into the fireplace and made up a blazing fire, and then, just as the wolf was coming down the chimney, the little pig took off the cover, and in fell the wolf, and so the little pig promptly put on the cooking pot lid, boiled the wolf up, and ate him for supper. And so the little pig lived happily ever after.
The End
What lessons can be learned from the tale of “The Three Little Pigs” that can be applied to real life?
“Little pig, little pig, let me come in.”
“No, not by the hair of my chinny chin chin.”
“Then I’ll huff, and I’ll puff, and I’ll blow your house in.”
Well, he huffed, and he puffed, and he huffed, and he puffed, and he puffed and huffed, but he could not blow the house down. When he found that he could not, with all his huffing and puffing blow the house down, he said:
“Little pig, I know where there is a nice field of turnips.”
“Where?” asked the little pig.
“Oh, in Mr. Smith’s home-field, and if you will be ready tomorrow morning I will call for you, and we will go together, and get some for dinner.”
“Very well,” said the little pig. “I will be ready. What time do you mean to go?”
“Oh, at six o’clock.”
Well, the little pig got up at five, and got the turnips before the wolf arrived. The wolf came at about six o’clock and said:
“Little pig, are you ready?”
The little pig said, “Ready! I have been there and come back again, and gotten a nice potful of turnips for dinner.”
The wolf felt very angry at this, but thought that he would still eat the little pig somehow or other and so he said:
“Little pig, I know where there is a nice apple tree.”
“Where?” asked the pig.
“Down at Merry Garden,” replied the wolf, “and if you will not deceive me, I will come at five o’clock tomorrow and together we can get some apples.”
Well, the little pig bustled up the next morning at four o’clock, and went off for the apples, hoping to get back before the wolf came, but he had to climb the tree, so that just as he was coming down from it, he saw the wolf coming, which, as you may suppose, frightened him very much. When the wolf came up he said:
“Little pig, you have gotten here before I arrived. Are they nice apples?”
“Yes, very nice,” said the little pig. “I will throw you down one.”
And he threw an apple so far that, while the wolf scampered to pick it up, the little pig managed to jump down and run home. The next day the wolf came again to the little pig’s house and said:
“Little pig, there is a fair this afternoon, will you go?”
“Oh, yes,” said the pig, “I will go. What time shall we depart?”
“At three,” said the wolf. So the little pig started out before the time, as usual, and got to the fair and bought a butter-churn, which he was going home with when he saw the wolf coming. Then he could not tell what to do. So he got into the churn to hide, and in so doing caused it to turn around and around, and the butter-churn rolled down the hill with the pig in it, which frightened the wolf so much that he ran without going to the fair. He went to the little pig’s house, and told him how frightened he had been by a great round thing which came barreling down the hill toward him. Then the little pig said:
“Ha! I frightened you, then. I went to the fair and bought a butter-churn, and when I saw you, I got into it, and rolled down the hill.”
This all made the wolf very angry indeed, and he declared he would eat up the little pig, and that he would go down the chimney after him. When the little pig saw what he was going to do, he placed the cooking pot full of water into the fireplace and made up a blazing fire, and then, just as the wolf was coming down the chimney, the little pig took off the cover, and in fell the wolf, and so the little pig promptly put on the cooking pot lid, boiled the wolf up, and ate him for supper. And so the little pig lived happily ever after.
The End
What lessons can be learned from the tale of “The Three Little Pigs” that can be applied to real life?
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Cinderella
Part 1
Once upon a time there lived a maiden named Cinderella.
Her mother had passed on, and she had to work very, very hard in the kitchen.
She had two older sisters, but they were cross to little Cinderella.
They made her stay among the pots and the kettles and do all the hard work about the house.
Sometimes, to keep warm, she crept in among the cinders.
That is why she was called Cinderella.
One day the sisters came dancing into the house. “We have been invited to the king’s ball,” they cried.
At length the day of the great ball came, and the two sisters rode away in their fine silk dresses.
Poor Cinderella, who had to stay behind, looked at her old ragged clothes, and burst into tears.
“Alas,” she cried, “why should I always have to stay in the kitchen while my sisters dress in silks and satins?”
Hardly had she spoken when there stood before her a dear little old lady with a golden wand in her hand.
“My child,” she cried, “I am your fairy godmother, and you shall go to the ball, too.
First go into the garden, Cinderella, and bring to me the largest pumpkin you can find.”
When Cinderella had done this, the fairy waved her golden wand over the yellow pumpkin.
In a flash, it was not a pumpkin at all, but a beautiful yellow coach.
“Now bring me four white mice, two large ones and two small ones.”
In a moment Cinderella brought a trap full of mice into the room.
The fairy waved her golden wand, and the two largest mice were turned into two snow-white horses.
Two small mice became two men, one a coachman, the other a footman.
“But how am I to go in these clothes?” said Cinderella.
“Ah, let me see,” said the fairy, and she slowly waved her wand over the maiden’s head.
Oh, what a change!
The rags tumbled to the floor.
And, what do you think! in their place was a beautiful pink silk dress.
The ugly shoes fell off.
And, lo! a tiny pair of glass slippers were on Cinderella’s little feet.
“Now listen to what I say,” said the fairy godmother. “You must not stay after the clock strikes twelve.
At that time your coach will again be a pumpkin, the men will be mice, and you will have on your old ragged dress.”
Cinderella said she would not forget.
Then she jumped into the coach, and away she drove to the king’s ball.
Part 2
The king’s son was charmed with Cinderella.
She was so very beautiful that he would dance with her and with no one else.
Cinderella had such a good time that she forgot about the clock.
It began to strike twelve - one, two, three.
Cinderella ran from the room.
Down the steps of the palace she flew.
She ran so fast that she lost one of her little glass slippers.
The clock finished striking.
Lo! the coach turned into a pumpkin.
The horses and men turned into mice.
Poor Cinderella had to walk home in her ragged clothes.
The next morning the prince found Cinderella’s little glass slipper on the stairs.
“There is only one maiden in all the world who can wear so tiny a slipper,” said the prince. “I will marry her and no other.”
The prince hunted far and wide for a maiden who could put it on. Many tried, but none could do it.
At last he came to the house where Cinderella lived. The two older sisters tried and tried to put the slipper on their large feet.
While the prince was waiting, Cinderella came into the room.
“Let me try it,” she said.
“You!” cried the older sisters. “You could never put it on.”
“Let her try it,” said the prince.
At once the little glass slipper was fitted to the tiny foot.
Then Cinderella stood up; her ragged clothes turned into a beautiful silk dress, and there were two little slippers on her two little feet.
Then the prince knew that Cinderella was the one he had danced with at the ball, and taking her hand, he led her out to his coach.
Soon they were married and lived happily ever after.
by Author Unknown
Part 1
Once upon a time there lived a maiden named Cinderella.
Her mother had passed on, and she had to work very, very hard in the kitchen.
She had two older sisters, but they were cross to little Cinderella.
They made her stay among the pots and the kettles and do all the hard work about the house.
Sometimes, to keep warm, she crept in among the cinders.
That is why she was called Cinderella.
One day the sisters came dancing into the house. “We have been invited to the king’s ball,” they cried.
At length the day of the great ball came, and the two sisters rode away in their fine silk dresses.
Poor Cinderella, who had to stay behind, looked at her old ragged clothes, and burst into tears.
“Alas,” she cried, “why should I always have to stay in the kitchen while my sisters dress in silks and satins?”
Hardly had she spoken when there stood before her a dear little old lady with a golden wand in her hand.
“My child,” she cried, “I am your fairy godmother, and you shall go to the ball, too.
First go into the garden, Cinderella, and bring to me the largest pumpkin you can find.”
When Cinderella had done this, the fairy waved her golden wand over the yellow pumpkin.
In a flash, it was not a pumpkin at all, but a beautiful yellow coach.
“Now bring me four white mice, two large ones and two small ones.”
In a moment Cinderella brought a trap full of mice into the room.
The fairy waved her golden wand, and the two largest mice were turned into two snow-white horses.
Two small mice became two men, one a coachman, the other a footman.
“But how am I to go in these clothes?” said Cinderella.
“Ah, let me see,” said the fairy, and she slowly waved her wand over the maiden’s head.
Oh, what a change!
The rags tumbled to the floor.
And, what do you think! in their place was a beautiful pink silk dress.
The ugly shoes fell off.
And, lo! a tiny pair of glass slippers were on Cinderella’s little feet.
“Now listen to what I say,” said the fairy godmother. “You must not stay after the clock strikes twelve.
At that time your coach will again be a pumpkin, the men will be mice, and you will have on your old ragged dress.”
Cinderella said she would not forget.
Then she jumped into the coach, and away she drove to the king’s ball.
Part 2
The king’s son was charmed with Cinderella.
She was so very beautiful that he would dance with her and with no one else.
Cinderella had such a good time that she forgot about the clock.
It began to strike twelve - one, two, three.
Cinderella ran from the room.
Down the steps of the palace she flew.
She ran so fast that she lost one of her little glass slippers.
The clock finished striking.
Lo! the coach turned into a pumpkin.
The horses and men turned into mice.
Poor Cinderella had to walk home in her ragged clothes.
The next morning the prince found Cinderella’s little glass slipper on the stairs.
“There is only one maiden in all the world who can wear so tiny a slipper,” said the prince. “I will marry her and no other.”
The prince hunted far and wide for a maiden who could put it on. Many tried, but none could do it.
At last he came to the house where Cinderella lived. The two older sisters tried and tried to put the slipper on their large feet.
While the prince was waiting, Cinderella came into the room.
“Let me try it,” she said.
“You!” cried the older sisters. “You could never put it on.”
“Let her try it,” said the prince.
At once the little glass slipper was fitted to the tiny foot.
Then Cinderella stood up; her ragged clothes turned into a beautiful silk dress, and there were two little slippers on her two little feet.
Then the prince knew that Cinderella was the one he had danced with at the ball, and taking her hand, he led her out to his coach.
Soon they were married and lived happily ever after.
by Author Unknown
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The Ugly Duckling
It was so beautiful out on the country, it was summer - the wheat fields were golden, the oats were green, and down among the green meadows the hay was stacked. There the stork minced about on his red legs, clacking away in Egyptian, which was the language his mother had taught him. Round about the field and meadow lands rose vast forests, in which deep lakes lay hidden. Yes, it was indeed lovely out there in the country.
In the midst of the sunshine there stood an old manor house that had a deep moat around it. From the walls of the manor right down to the water’s edge great burdock leaves grew, and there were some so tall that little children could stand upright beneath the biggest of them. In this wilderness of leaves, which was as dense as the forests itself, a duck sat on her nest, hatching her ducklings. She was becoming somewhat weary, because sitting is such a dull business and scarcely anyone came to see her. The other ducks would much rather swim in the moat than waddle out and squat under the burdock leaf to gossip with her.
But at last the eggshells began to crack, one after another. “Peep, peep!” said the little things, as they came to life and poked out their heads.
“Quack, quack!” said the duck, and quick as quick can be they all waddled out to have a look at the green world under the leaves. Their mother let them look as much as they pleased, because green is good for the eyes.
“How wide the world is,” said all the young ducks, for they certainly had much more room now than they had when they were in their eggshells.
“Do you think this is the whole world?” their mother asked. “Why it extends on and on, clear across to the other side of the garden and right on into the parson’s field, though that is further than I have ever been. I do hope you are all hatched,” she said as she got up. “No, not quite all. The biggest egg still lies here. How much longer is this going to take? I am really rather tired of it all,” she said, but she settled back on her nest.
“Well, how goes it?” asked an old duck who came to pay her a call.
“It takes a long time with that one egg,” said the duck on the nest. “It won’t crack, but look at the others. They are the cutest little ducklings I’ve ever seen. They look exactly like their father, the wretch! He hasn’t come to see me at all.”
“Let’s have a look at the egg that won’t crack,” the old duck said. “It’s a turkey egg, and you can take my word for it. I was fooled like that once myself. What trouble and care I had with those turkey children, for I may as well tell you, they are afraid of the water. I simply could not get them into it. I quacked and snapped at them, but it wasn’t a bit of use. Let me see the egg. Certainly, it’s a turkey egg. Let it lie, and go teach your other children to swim.”
“Oh, I’ll sit a little longer. I’ve been at it so long already that I may as well sit here half the summer.”
“Suit yourself,” said the old duck, and away she waddled.
At last the big egg did crack. “Peep,” said the young one, and out he tumbled, but he was so big and ugly.
The duck took a look at him. “That’s a frightfully big duckling,” she said. “He doesn’t look the least like the others. Can he really be a turkey baby? Well, well! I’ll soon find out. Into the water he shall go, even if I have to shove him in myself.”
Next day the weather was perfectly splendid, and the sun shone down on all the green burdock leaves. The mother duck led her whole family down to the moat. Splash! She took to the water. “Quack, quack,” said she, and one duckling after another plunged in. The water went over their heads, but they came up in a flash, and floated to perfection. Their legs worked automatically, and they were all there in the water. Even the big, ugly gray one was swimming along.
“Why, that’s no turkey,” she said. “See how nicely he uses his legs, and how straight he holds himself. He’s my very own son after all, and quite good-looking if you look at him properly. Quack, quack, come with me. I’ll lead you out into the world and introduce you to the duck yard. But keep close to me so that you won’t get stepped on, and watch out for the cat!”
Thus they sallied into the duck yard, where all was in an uproar because two families were fighting over the head of an eel. But the cat got it, after all.
“You see, that’s the way of the world.” The mother duck licked her bill because she wanted the eel’s head for herself. “Stir your legs. Bustle about, and mind that you bend your necks to that old duck over there. She’s the noblest of us all, and has Spanish blood in her. That’s why she’s so fat. See that red rag around her leg? That’s a wonderful thing, and the highest distinction a duck can get. It shows that they don’t want to lose her, and that she’s to have special attention from man and beast. Shake yourselves! Don’t turn your toes in. A well-bred duckling turns his toes way out, just as his father and mother do - this way. So then! Now duck your necks and say quack!”
They did as she told them, but the other ducks around them looked on and said right out loud, “See here! Must we have this brood too, just as if there weren’t enough of us already? And - fie! What an ugly-looking fellow that duckling is! We won’t stand for him.” One duck charged up and bit his neck.
“Let him alone,” his mother said. “He isn’t doing any harm.”
“Possibly not,” said the duck who bit him, “but he’s too big and strange, and therefore he needs a good whacking.”
“What nice-looking children you have, Mother,” said the old duck with the rag around her leg. “They are all pretty except that one. He didn’t come out so well. It’s a pity you can’t hatch him again.”
“That can’t be managed, your ladyship,” said the mother. “He isn’t so handsome, but he’s as good as can be, and he swims just as well as the rest, or, I should say, even a little better than they do. I hope his looks will improve with age, and after a while he won’t seem so big. He took too long in the egg, and that’s why his figure isn’t all that it should be.” She pinched his neck and preened his feathers. “Moreover, he’s a drake, so it won’t matter so much. I think he will be quite strong, and I’m sure he will amount to something.”
“The other ducklings are pretty enough,” said the old duck. “Now make yourselves right at home, and if you find an eel’s head you may bring it to me.”
So they felt quite at home. But the poor duckling who had been the last one out of his egg, and who looked so ugly, was pecked and pushed about and made fun of by the ducks, and the chickens as well. “He’s too big,” said they all. The turkey gobbler, who thought himself an emperor because he was born wearing spurs, puffed up like a ship under full sail and bore down upon him, gobbling and gobbling until he was red in the face. The poor duckling did not know where he dared stand or where he dared walk. He was so sad because he was so desperately ugly, and because he was the laughing stock of the whole barnyard.
So it went on the first day, and after that things went from bad to worse. The poor duckling was chased and buffeted about by everyone. Even his own brothers and sisters abused him. “Oh,” they would always say, “how we wish the cat would catch you, you ugly thing.” And his mother said, “How I do wish you were miles away.” The ducks nipped him, and the hens pecked him, and the girl who fed them kicked him with her foot.
So he ran away; and he flew over the fence. The little birds in the bushes darted up in a fright. “That’s because I’m so ugly,” he thought, and closed his eyes, but he ran on just the same until he reached the great marsh where the wild ducks lived. There he lay all night long, weary and disheartened.
When morning came, the wild ducks flew up to have a look at their new companion. “What sort of creature are you?” they asked, as the duckling turned in all directions, bowing his best to them all. “You are terribly ugly,” they told him, “but that’s nothing to us so long as you don’t marry into our family.”
Poor duckling! Marriage certainly had never entered his mind. All he wanted was for them to let him lie among the reeds and drink a little water from the marsh.
There he stayed for two whole days. Then he met two wild geese, or rather wild ganders - for they were males. They had not been out of the shell very long, and that’s what made them so sure of themselves.
“Say there, comrade,” they said, “you’re so ugly that we have taken a fancy to you. Come with us and be a bird of passage. In another marsh near-by, there are some fetching wild geese, all nice young ladies who know how to quack. You are so ugly that you’ll completely turn their heads.”
Bing! Bang! Shots rang in the air, and these two ganders fell among the reeds. Bing! Bang! The shots rang, and as whole flocks of wild geese flew up from the reeds another volley crashed. A great hunt was in progress. The hunters lay under cover all around the marsh, and some even perched on branches of trees that overhung the reeds. Blue smoke rose like clouds from the shade of the trees, and drifted far out over the water.
The bird dogs came. Splish, splash! Through the swamp, bending down the reeds and the rushes on every side. This gave the poor duckling such a fright that he twisted his head about to hide it under his wing. But at that very moment a fearfully big dog appeared right beside him. His tongue lolled out of his mouth and his wicked eyes glared horribly. He opened his wide jaws, flashed his sharp teeth, and - splish, splash - on he went without touching the duckling.
“Thank heavens,” he sighed, “I’m so ugly that the dog won’t even bother to bite me.”
He lay perfectly still, while the bullets splattered through the reeds as shot after shot was fired. It was late in the day before things became quiet again, and even then the poor duckling didn’t dare move. He waited several hours before he ventured to look about him, and then he scurried away from that marsh as fast as he could go. He ran across field and meadows. The wind was so strong that he had to struggle to keep his feet.
Late in the evening he came to a miserable little hovel, so ramshackle that it did not know which way to tumble, and that was the only reason it still stood. The wind struck the duckling so hard that the poor little fellow had to sit down on his tail to withstand it. The storm blew stronger and stronger, but the duckling noticed that one hinge had come loose and the door hung so crooked that he could squeeze through the crack into the room, and that’s just what he did.
Here lived an old woman with her cat and her hen. The cat, whom she called “Sonny,” could arch his back, purr, and even make sparks, though for that you had to stroke his fur the wrong way. The hen had short little legs, so she was called “Chickey Shortleg.” She laid good eggs, and the old woman loved her as if she had been her own child.
In the morning they were quick to notice the strange duckling. The cat began to purr, and the hen began to cluck.
“What on earth!” The old woman looked around, but she was short-sighted, and she mistook the duckling for a fat duck that had lost its way. “That was a good catch,” she said. “Now I shall have duck eggs - unless it’s a drake. We must try it out.” So the duckling was tried out for three weeks, but not one egg did he lay.
In this house the cat was master and the hen was mistress. They always said, “We and the world,” for they thought themselves half of the world, and much the better half at that. The duckling thought that there might be more than one way of thinking, but the hen would not hear of it.
“Can you lay eggs?” she asked
“No.”
“Then be so good as to hold your tongue.”
The cat asked, “Can you arch your back, purr, or make sparks?”
“No.”
“Then keep your opinion to yourself when sensible people are talking.”
The duckling sat in a corner, feeling most despondent. Then he remembered the fresh air and the sunlight. Such a desire to go swimming on the water possessed him that he could not help telling the hen about it.
“What on earth has come over you?” the hen cried. “You haven’t a thing to do, and that’s why you get such silly notions. Lay us an egg, or learn to purr, and you’ll get over it.”
“But it’s so refreshing to float on the water,” said the duckling, “so refreshing to feel it rise over your head as you dive to the bottom.”
“Yes, it must be a great pleasure!” said the hen. “I think you must have gone crazy. Ask the cat, who’s the wisest fellow I know, whether he likes to swim or dive down in the water. Of myself I say nothing. But ask the old woman, our mistress. There’s no one on earth wiser than she is. Do you imagine she wants to go swimming and feel the water rise over her head?”
“You don’t understand me,” said the duckling.
“Well, if we don’t, who would? Surely you don’t think you are cleverer than the cat and the old woman - to say nothing of myself. Don’t be so conceited, child. Just thank your Maker for all the kindness we have shown you. Didn’t you get into this snug room, and fall in with people who can tell you what’s what? But you are such a numbskull that it’s no pleasure to have you around. Believe me, I tell you this for your own good. I say unpleasant truths, but that’s the only way you can know who are your friends. Be sure now that you lay some eggs. See to it that you learn to purr or to make sparks.”
“I think I’d better go out into the wide world,” said the duckling.
“Suit yourself,” said the hen.
So off went the duckling. He swam on the water, and dived down in it, but still he was slighted by every living creature because of his ugliness.
Autumn came on. The leaves in the forest turned yellow and brown. The wind took them and whirled them about. The heavens looked cold as the low clouds hung heavy with snow and hail. Perched on the fence, the raven screamed, “Caw, caw!” and trembled with cold. It made one shiver to think of it. Pity the poor little duckling!
One evening, just as the sun was setting in splendor, a great flock of large, handsome birds appeared out of the reeds. The duckling had never seen birds so beautiful. They were dazzling white, with long graceful necks. They were swans. They uttered a very strange cry as they unfurled their magnificent wings to fly from this cold land, away to warmer countries and to open waters. They went up so high, so very high, that the ugly little duckling felt a strange uneasiness come over him as he watched them. He went around and round in the water, like a wheel. He craned his neck to follow their course, and gave a cry so shrill and strange that he frightened himself. Oh! He could not forget them - those splendid, happy birds. When he could no longer see them he dived to the very bottom. And when he came up again he was quite beside himself. He did not know what birds they were or whither they were bound, yet he loved them more than anything he had ever loved before. It was not that he envied them, for how could he ever dare dream of wanting their marvelous beauty for himself? He would have been grateful if only the ducks would have tolerated him - the poor ugly creature.
The winter grew cold - so bitterly cold that the duckling had to swim to and fro in the water to keep it from freezing over. But every night the hole in which he swam kept getting smaller and smaller. Then it froze so hard that the duckling had to paddle continuously to keep the crackling ice from closing in upon him. At last, too tired to move, he was frozen fast in the ice.
Early that morning a farmer came by, and when he saw how things were he went out on the pond, broke away the ice with his wooden shoe, and carried the duckling home to his wife. There the duckling revived, but when the children wished to play with him he thought they meant to hurt him. Terrified, he fluttered into the milk pail, splashing the whole room with milk. The woman shrieked and threw up her hands as he flew into the butter tub, and then in and out of the meal barrel. Imagine what he looked like now! The woman screamed and lashed out at him with the fire tongs. The children tumbled over each other as they tried to catch him, and they laughed and they shouted. Luckily the door was open, and the duckling escaped through it into the bushes, where he lay down, in the newly fallen snow, as if in a daze.
But it would be too sad to tell of all the hardships and wretchedness he had to endure during this cruel winter. When the warm sun shone once more, the duckling was still alive among the reeds of the marsh. The larks began to sing again. It was beautiful springtime.
Then, quite suddenly, he lifted his wings. They swept through the air much more strongly than before, and their powerful strokes carried him far. Before he quite knew what was happening, he found himself in a great garden where apple trees bloomed. The lilacs filled the air with sweet scent and hung in clusters from long, green branches that bent over a winding stream. Oh, but it was lovely here in the freshness of spring!
From the thicket before him came three lovely white swans. They ruffled their feathers and swam lightly in the stream. The duckling recognized these noble creatures, and a strange feeling of sadness came upon him.
“I shall fly near these royal birds, and they will peck me to bits because I, who am so very ugly, dare to go near them. But I don’t care. Better be killed by them than to be nipped by the ducks, pecked by the hens, kicked about by the hen-yard girl, or suffer such misery in winter.”
So he flew into the water and swam toward the splendid swans. They saw him, and swept down upon him with their rustling feathers raised. “Kill me!” said the poor creature, and he bowed his head down over the water to wait for death. But what did he see there, mirrored in the clear stream? He beheld his own image, and it was no longer the reflection of a clumsy, dirty, gray bird, ugly and offensive. He himself was a swan! Being born in a duck yard does not matter, if only you are hatched from a swan’s egg.
He felt quite glad that he had come through so much trouble and misfortune, for now he had a fuller understanding of his own good fortune, and of beauty when he met with it. The great swans swam all around him and stroked him with their bills.
Several little children came into the garden to throw grain and bits of bread upon the water. The smallest child cried, “Here’s a new one,” and the others rejoiced, “Yes, a new one has come.” They clapped their hands, danced around, and ran to bring their father and mother.
And they threw bread and cake upon the water, while they all agreed, “The new one is the most handsome of all. He’s so young and so good-looking.” The old swans bowed in his honor.
Then he felt very bashful, and tucked his head under his wing. He did not know what this was all about. He felt so very happy, but he wasn’t at all proud, for a good heart never grows proud. He thought about how he had been persecuted and scorned, and now he heard them all call him the most beautiful of all beautiful birds. The lilacs dipped their clusters into the stream before him, and the sun shone so warm and so heartening. He rustled his feathers and held his slender neck high, as he cried out with full heart, “I never dreamed there could be so much happiness, when I was the ugly duckling.”
by Hans Christian Andersen
It was so beautiful out on the country, it was summer - the wheat fields were golden, the oats were green, and down among the green meadows the hay was stacked. There the stork minced about on his red legs, clacking away in Egyptian, which was the language his mother had taught him. Round about the field and meadow lands rose vast forests, in which deep lakes lay hidden. Yes, it was indeed lovely out there in the country.
In the midst of the sunshine there stood an old manor house that had a deep moat around it. From the walls of the manor right down to the water’s edge great burdock leaves grew, and there were some so tall that little children could stand upright beneath the biggest of them. In this wilderness of leaves, which was as dense as the forests itself, a duck sat on her nest, hatching her ducklings. She was becoming somewhat weary, because sitting is such a dull business and scarcely anyone came to see her. The other ducks would much rather swim in the moat than waddle out and squat under the burdock leaf to gossip with her.
But at last the eggshells began to crack, one after another. “Peep, peep!” said the little things, as they came to life and poked out their heads.
“Quack, quack!” said the duck, and quick as quick can be they all waddled out to have a look at the green world under the leaves. Their mother let them look as much as they pleased, because green is good for the eyes.
“How wide the world is,” said all the young ducks, for they certainly had much more room now than they had when they were in their eggshells.
“Do you think this is the whole world?” their mother asked. “Why it extends on and on, clear across to the other side of the garden and right on into the parson’s field, though that is further than I have ever been. I do hope you are all hatched,” she said as she got up. “No, not quite all. The biggest egg still lies here. How much longer is this going to take? I am really rather tired of it all,” she said, but she settled back on her nest.
“Well, how goes it?” asked an old duck who came to pay her a call.
“It takes a long time with that one egg,” said the duck on the nest. “It won’t crack, but look at the others. They are the cutest little ducklings I’ve ever seen. They look exactly like their father, the wretch! He hasn’t come to see me at all.”
“Let’s have a look at the egg that won’t crack,” the old duck said. “It’s a turkey egg, and you can take my word for it. I was fooled like that once myself. What trouble and care I had with those turkey children, for I may as well tell you, they are afraid of the water. I simply could not get them into it. I quacked and snapped at them, but it wasn’t a bit of use. Let me see the egg. Certainly, it’s a turkey egg. Let it lie, and go teach your other children to swim.”
“Oh, I’ll sit a little longer. I’ve been at it so long already that I may as well sit here half the summer.”
“Suit yourself,” said the old duck, and away she waddled.
At last the big egg did crack. “Peep,” said the young one, and out he tumbled, but he was so big and ugly.
The duck took a look at him. “That’s a frightfully big duckling,” she said. “He doesn’t look the least like the others. Can he really be a turkey baby? Well, well! I’ll soon find out. Into the water he shall go, even if I have to shove him in myself.”
Next day the weather was perfectly splendid, and the sun shone down on all the green burdock leaves. The mother duck led her whole family down to the moat. Splash! She took to the water. “Quack, quack,” said she, and one duckling after another plunged in. The water went over their heads, but they came up in a flash, and floated to perfection. Their legs worked automatically, and they were all there in the water. Even the big, ugly gray one was swimming along.
“Why, that’s no turkey,” she said. “See how nicely he uses his legs, and how straight he holds himself. He’s my very own son after all, and quite good-looking if you look at him properly. Quack, quack, come with me. I’ll lead you out into the world and introduce you to the duck yard. But keep close to me so that you won’t get stepped on, and watch out for the cat!”
Thus they sallied into the duck yard, where all was in an uproar because two families were fighting over the head of an eel. But the cat got it, after all.
“You see, that’s the way of the world.” The mother duck licked her bill because she wanted the eel’s head for herself. “Stir your legs. Bustle about, and mind that you bend your necks to that old duck over there. She’s the noblest of us all, and has Spanish blood in her. That’s why she’s so fat. See that red rag around her leg? That’s a wonderful thing, and the highest distinction a duck can get. It shows that they don’t want to lose her, and that she’s to have special attention from man and beast. Shake yourselves! Don’t turn your toes in. A well-bred duckling turns his toes way out, just as his father and mother do - this way. So then! Now duck your necks and say quack!”
They did as she told them, but the other ducks around them looked on and said right out loud, “See here! Must we have this brood too, just as if there weren’t enough of us already? And - fie! What an ugly-looking fellow that duckling is! We won’t stand for him.” One duck charged up and bit his neck.
“Let him alone,” his mother said. “He isn’t doing any harm.”
“Possibly not,” said the duck who bit him, “but he’s too big and strange, and therefore he needs a good whacking.”
“What nice-looking children you have, Mother,” said the old duck with the rag around her leg. “They are all pretty except that one. He didn’t come out so well. It’s a pity you can’t hatch him again.”
“That can’t be managed, your ladyship,” said the mother. “He isn’t so handsome, but he’s as good as can be, and he swims just as well as the rest, or, I should say, even a little better than they do. I hope his looks will improve with age, and after a while he won’t seem so big. He took too long in the egg, and that’s why his figure isn’t all that it should be.” She pinched his neck and preened his feathers. “Moreover, he’s a drake, so it won’t matter so much. I think he will be quite strong, and I’m sure he will amount to something.”
“The other ducklings are pretty enough,” said the old duck. “Now make yourselves right at home, and if you find an eel’s head you may bring it to me.”
So they felt quite at home. But the poor duckling who had been the last one out of his egg, and who looked so ugly, was pecked and pushed about and made fun of by the ducks, and the chickens as well. “He’s too big,” said they all. The turkey gobbler, who thought himself an emperor because he was born wearing spurs, puffed up like a ship under full sail and bore down upon him, gobbling and gobbling until he was red in the face. The poor duckling did not know where he dared stand or where he dared walk. He was so sad because he was so desperately ugly, and because he was the laughing stock of the whole barnyard.
So it went on the first day, and after that things went from bad to worse. The poor duckling was chased and buffeted about by everyone. Even his own brothers and sisters abused him. “Oh,” they would always say, “how we wish the cat would catch you, you ugly thing.” And his mother said, “How I do wish you were miles away.” The ducks nipped him, and the hens pecked him, and the girl who fed them kicked him with her foot.
So he ran away; and he flew over the fence. The little birds in the bushes darted up in a fright. “That’s because I’m so ugly,” he thought, and closed his eyes, but he ran on just the same until he reached the great marsh where the wild ducks lived. There he lay all night long, weary and disheartened.
When morning came, the wild ducks flew up to have a look at their new companion. “What sort of creature are you?” they asked, as the duckling turned in all directions, bowing his best to them all. “You are terribly ugly,” they told him, “but that’s nothing to us so long as you don’t marry into our family.”
Poor duckling! Marriage certainly had never entered his mind. All he wanted was for them to let him lie among the reeds and drink a little water from the marsh.
There he stayed for two whole days. Then he met two wild geese, or rather wild ganders - for they were males. They had not been out of the shell very long, and that’s what made them so sure of themselves.
“Say there, comrade,” they said, “you’re so ugly that we have taken a fancy to you. Come with us and be a bird of passage. In another marsh near-by, there are some fetching wild geese, all nice young ladies who know how to quack. You are so ugly that you’ll completely turn their heads.”
Bing! Bang! Shots rang in the air, and these two ganders fell among the reeds. Bing! Bang! The shots rang, and as whole flocks of wild geese flew up from the reeds another volley crashed. A great hunt was in progress. The hunters lay under cover all around the marsh, and some even perched on branches of trees that overhung the reeds. Blue smoke rose like clouds from the shade of the trees, and drifted far out over the water.
The bird dogs came. Splish, splash! Through the swamp, bending down the reeds and the rushes on every side. This gave the poor duckling such a fright that he twisted his head about to hide it under his wing. But at that very moment a fearfully big dog appeared right beside him. His tongue lolled out of his mouth and his wicked eyes glared horribly. He opened his wide jaws, flashed his sharp teeth, and - splish, splash - on he went without touching the duckling.
“Thank heavens,” he sighed, “I’m so ugly that the dog won’t even bother to bite me.”
He lay perfectly still, while the bullets splattered through the reeds as shot after shot was fired. It was late in the day before things became quiet again, and even then the poor duckling didn’t dare move. He waited several hours before he ventured to look about him, and then he scurried away from that marsh as fast as he could go. He ran across field and meadows. The wind was so strong that he had to struggle to keep his feet.
Late in the evening he came to a miserable little hovel, so ramshackle that it did not know which way to tumble, and that was the only reason it still stood. The wind struck the duckling so hard that the poor little fellow had to sit down on his tail to withstand it. The storm blew stronger and stronger, but the duckling noticed that one hinge had come loose and the door hung so crooked that he could squeeze through the crack into the room, and that’s just what he did.
Here lived an old woman with her cat and her hen. The cat, whom she called “Sonny,” could arch his back, purr, and even make sparks, though for that you had to stroke his fur the wrong way. The hen had short little legs, so she was called “Chickey Shortleg.” She laid good eggs, and the old woman loved her as if she had been her own child.
In the morning they were quick to notice the strange duckling. The cat began to purr, and the hen began to cluck.
“What on earth!” The old woman looked around, but she was short-sighted, and she mistook the duckling for a fat duck that had lost its way. “That was a good catch,” she said. “Now I shall have duck eggs - unless it’s a drake. We must try it out.” So the duckling was tried out for three weeks, but not one egg did he lay.
In this house the cat was master and the hen was mistress. They always said, “We and the world,” for they thought themselves half of the world, and much the better half at that. The duckling thought that there might be more than one way of thinking, but the hen would not hear of it.
“Can you lay eggs?” she asked
“No.”
“Then be so good as to hold your tongue.”
The cat asked, “Can you arch your back, purr, or make sparks?”
“No.”
“Then keep your opinion to yourself when sensible people are talking.”
The duckling sat in a corner, feeling most despondent. Then he remembered the fresh air and the sunlight. Such a desire to go swimming on the water possessed him that he could not help telling the hen about it.
“What on earth has come over you?” the hen cried. “You haven’t a thing to do, and that’s why you get such silly notions. Lay us an egg, or learn to purr, and you’ll get over it.”
“But it’s so refreshing to float on the water,” said the duckling, “so refreshing to feel it rise over your head as you dive to the bottom.”
“Yes, it must be a great pleasure!” said the hen. “I think you must have gone crazy. Ask the cat, who’s the wisest fellow I know, whether he likes to swim or dive down in the water. Of myself I say nothing. But ask the old woman, our mistress. There’s no one on earth wiser than she is. Do you imagine she wants to go swimming and feel the water rise over her head?”
“You don’t understand me,” said the duckling.
“Well, if we don’t, who would? Surely you don’t think you are cleverer than the cat and the old woman - to say nothing of myself. Don’t be so conceited, child. Just thank your Maker for all the kindness we have shown you. Didn’t you get into this snug room, and fall in with people who can tell you what’s what? But you are such a numbskull that it’s no pleasure to have you around. Believe me, I tell you this for your own good. I say unpleasant truths, but that’s the only way you can know who are your friends. Be sure now that you lay some eggs. See to it that you learn to purr or to make sparks.”
“I think I’d better go out into the wide world,” said the duckling.
“Suit yourself,” said the hen.
So off went the duckling. He swam on the water, and dived down in it, but still he was slighted by every living creature because of his ugliness.
Autumn came on. The leaves in the forest turned yellow and brown. The wind took them and whirled them about. The heavens looked cold as the low clouds hung heavy with snow and hail. Perched on the fence, the raven screamed, “Caw, caw!” and trembled with cold. It made one shiver to think of it. Pity the poor little duckling!
One evening, just as the sun was setting in splendor, a great flock of large, handsome birds appeared out of the reeds. The duckling had never seen birds so beautiful. They were dazzling white, with long graceful necks. They were swans. They uttered a very strange cry as they unfurled their magnificent wings to fly from this cold land, away to warmer countries and to open waters. They went up so high, so very high, that the ugly little duckling felt a strange uneasiness come over him as he watched them. He went around and round in the water, like a wheel. He craned his neck to follow their course, and gave a cry so shrill and strange that he frightened himself. Oh! He could not forget them - those splendid, happy birds. When he could no longer see them he dived to the very bottom. And when he came up again he was quite beside himself. He did not know what birds they were or whither they were bound, yet he loved them more than anything he had ever loved before. It was not that he envied them, for how could he ever dare dream of wanting their marvelous beauty for himself? He would have been grateful if only the ducks would have tolerated him - the poor ugly creature.
The winter grew cold - so bitterly cold that the duckling had to swim to and fro in the water to keep it from freezing over. But every night the hole in which he swam kept getting smaller and smaller. Then it froze so hard that the duckling had to paddle continuously to keep the crackling ice from closing in upon him. At last, too tired to move, he was frozen fast in the ice.
Early that morning a farmer came by, and when he saw how things were he went out on the pond, broke away the ice with his wooden shoe, and carried the duckling home to his wife. There the duckling revived, but when the children wished to play with him he thought they meant to hurt him. Terrified, he fluttered into the milk pail, splashing the whole room with milk. The woman shrieked and threw up her hands as he flew into the butter tub, and then in and out of the meal barrel. Imagine what he looked like now! The woman screamed and lashed out at him with the fire tongs. The children tumbled over each other as they tried to catch him, and they laughed and they shouted. Luckily the door was open, and the duckling escaped through it into the bushes, where he lay down, in the newly fallen snow, as if in a daze.
But it would be too sad to tell of all the hardships and wretchedness he had to endure during this cruel winter. When the warm sun shone once more, the duckling was still alive among the reeds of the marsh. The larks began to sing again. It was beautiful springtime.
Then, quite suddenly, he lifted his wings. They swept through the air much more strongly than before, and their powerful strokes carried him far. Before he quite knew what was happening, he found himself in a great garden where apple trees bloomed. The lilacs filled the air with sweet scent and hung in clusters from long, green branches that bent over a winding stream. Oh, but it was lovely here in the freshness of spring!
From the thicket before him came three lovely white swans. They ruffled their feathers and swam lightly in the stream. The duckling recognized these noble creatures, and a strange feeling of sadness came upon him.
“I shall fly near these royal birds, and they will peck me to bits because I, who am so very ugly, dare to go near them. But I don’t care. Better be killed by them than to be nipped by the ducks, pecked by the hens, kicked about by the hen-yard girl, or suffer such misery in winter.”
So he flew into the water and swam toward the splendid swans. They saw him, and swept down upon him with their rustling feathers raised. “Kill me!” said the poor creature, and he bowed his head down over the water to wait for death. But what did he see there, mirrored in the clear stream? He beheld his own image, and it was no longer the reflection of a clumsy, dirty, gray bird, ugly and offensive. He himself was a swan! Being born in a duck yard does not matter, if only you are hatched from a swan’s egg.
He felt quite glad that he had come through so much trouble and misfortune, for now he had a fuller understanding of his own good fortune, and of beauty when he met with it. The great swans swam all around him and stroked him with their bills.
Several little children came into the garden to throw grain and bits of bread upon the water. The smallest child cried, “Here’s a new one,” and the others rejoiced, “Yes, a new one has come.” They clapped their hands, danced around, and ran to bring their father and mother.
And they threw bread and cake upon the water, while they all agreed, “The new one is the most handsome of all. He’s so young and so good-looking.” The old swans bowed in his honor.
Then he felt very bashful, and tucked his head under his wing. He did not know what this was all about. He felt so very happy, but he wasn’t at all proud, for a good heart never grows proud. He thought about how he had been persecuted and scorned, and now he heard them all call him the most beautiful of all beautiful birds. The lilacs dipped their clusters into the stream before him, and the sun shone so warm and so heartening. He rustled his feathers and held his slender neck high, as he cried out with full heart, “I never dreamed there could be so much happiness, when I was the ugly duckling.”
by Hans Christian Andersen
Hans Christian Andersen was born on 2 April 1805 in Odense, Syddanmark, Denmark. He became a children’s literature writer, a travel writer, and a poet. He is known for his fairy tales, which include, “The Steadfast Tin Soldier” (1838), “The Snow Queen” (1844), “The Little Mermaid” (1837), “Thumbelina” (1835), “The Little Match Girl” (1845), and “The Ugly Duckling” (11 November 1843). Hans Christian Andersen passed on at 70 years of age on 4 August 1875 in Copenhagen, Hovedstaden, Denmark.
- Published on
The Benevolent Goblin
In the kingdom of England there was a hillock (a small hill or a mound) in the midst of a dense wood. Thither in old days knights and their followers were wont to repair when tired and thirsty after the chase. When one of their number called out, “I thirst!” there immediately started up a Goblin with a cheerful countenance, clad in a crimson robe, and bearing in his outstretched hand a large drinking-horn richly ornamented with gold and precious jewels, and full of the most delicious, unknown beverage.
The Goblin presented the horn to the thirsty knight, who drank and instantly felt refreshed and cool. After the drinker had emptied the horn, the Goblin offered a silken napkin to wipe the mouth. Then, without waiting to be thanked, the strange creature vanished as suddenly as he had come.
Now once there was a knight of churlish nature, who was hunting alone in those parts. Feeling thirsty and fatigued, he visited the hillock and cried out, “I thirst!”
Instantly the Goblin appeared and presented the horn.
When the knight had drained it of its delicious beverage, instead of returning the horn, he thrust it into his belt, and rode hastily away.
He boasted far and wide of his deed, and his feudal lord hearing thereof caused him to be bound and cast into prison; then fearing lest he, too, might become partaker in the theft and ingratitude of the knight, the lord presented the jeweled horn to the King of England, who carefully preserved it among the royal treasures. But never again did the benevolent Goblin return to the hillock in the wood.
by Author Unknown: “Gesta Romanorum”
There might be a lesson in the story, if we seek to find it.
“The Benevolent Goblin” is a tale from “Gesta Romanorum” (English: “Roman Deeds”), a collection of tales of uncertain authorship, originally written in Latin, and believed to have been compiled around the end of the 13th century or the beginning of the 14th century. Goblins are creations of human imagination.
In the kingdom of England there was a hillock (a small hill or a mound) in the midst of a dense wood. Thither in old days knights and their followers were wont to repair when tired and thirsty after the chase. When one of their number called out, “I thirst!” there immediately started up a Goblin with a cheerful countenance, clad in a crimson robe, and bearing in his outstretched hand a large drinking-horn richly ornamented with gold and precious jewels, and full of the most delicious, unknown beverage.
The Goblin presented the horn to the thirsty knight, who drank and instantly felt refreshed and cool. After the drinker had emptied the horn, the Goblin offered a silken napkin to wipe the mouth. Then, without waiting to be thanked, the strange creature vanished as suddenly as he had come.
Now once there was a knight of churlish nature, who was hunting alone in those parts. Feeling thirsty and fatigued, he visited the hillock and cried out, “I thirst!”
Instantly the Goblin appeared and presented the horn.
When the knight had drained it of its delicious beverage, instead of returning the horn, he thrust it into his belt, and rode hastily away.
He boasted far and wide of his deed, and his feudal lord hearing thereof caused him to be bound and cast into prison; then fearing lest he, too, might become partaker in the theft and ingratitude of the knight, the lord presented the jeweled horn to the King of England, who carefully preserved it among the royal treasures. But never again did the benevolent Goblin return to the hillock in the wood.
by Author Unknown: “Gesta Romanorum”
There might be a lesson in the story, if we seek to find it.
“The Benevolent Goblin” is a tale from “Gesta Romanorum” (English: “Roman Deeds”), a collection of tales of uncertain authorship, originally written in Latin, and believed to have been compiled around the end of the 13th century or the beginning of the 14th century. Goblins are creations of human imagination.
- Published on
The Dorchester Giant
There was a giant in time of old,
A mighty one was he;
He had a wife, but she was a scold,
So he kept her shut in his mammoth fold;
And he had children three.
It happened to be an election day,
And the giants were choosing a king;
The people were not democrats then,
They did not talk of the rights of men,
And all that sort of thing.
Then the giant took his children three,
And fastened them in the pen;
The children roared; quoth* the giant, “Be still!”
And Dorchester Heights and Milton Hill
Rolled back the sound again.
Then he brought them a pudding stuffed with plums,
As big as the State-House dome;
Quoth* he, “There’s something for you to eat;
So stop your mouths with your ’lection treat,
And wait till your dad comes home.”
So the giant pulled him a chestnut stout,
And whittled the boughs away;
The boys and their mother set up a shout.
Said he, “You’re in, and you can’t get out,
Bellow as loud as you may.”
Off he went, and he growled a tune
As he strode the fields along
’Tis said a buffalo fainted away,
And fell as cold as a lump of clay,
When he heard the giant’s song.
But whether the story’s true or not,
It isn’t for me to show;
There’s many a thing that’s twice as queer
In somebody’s lectures that we hear,
And those are true, you know.
. . . . . .
What are those lone ones doing now,
The wife and the children sad?
Oh, they are in a terrible rout,
Screaming, and throwing their pudding about,
Acting as they were mad.
They flung it over to Roxbury hills,
They flung it over the plain,
And all over Milton and Dorchester too
Great lumps of pudding the giants threw;
They tumbled as thick as rain.
. . . . . .
Giant and mammoth have passed away,
For ages have floated by;
The suet is hard as a marrow-bone,
And every plum is turned to a stone,
But there the puddings lie.
And if, some pleasant afternoon,
You’ll ask me out to ride,
The whole of the story I will tell,
And you shall see where the puddings fell,
And pay for the punch beside.
by Oliver Wendell Holmes (1809 - 1894): as published in Henry Davenport Northrop: “Beautiful Gems of Thought and Sentiment” (1890), page 43; poem originally created in 1830
*quoth: said.
Oliver Wendell Holmes, Senior was born on 29 August 1809 in Cambridge, Massachusetts, United States of America. He became a physician, a novelist, an essayist, and a poet. Oliver Wendell Holmes, Senior passed on at 85 years of age on 7 October 1894 in Boston, Massachusetts, United States of America.
There was a giant in time of old,
A mighty one was he;
He had a wife, but she was a scold,
So he kept her shut in his mammoth fold;
And he had children three.
It happened to be an election day,
And the giants were choosing a king;
The people were not democrats then,
They did not talk of the rights of men,
And all that sort of thing.
Then the giant took his children three,
And fastened them in the pen;
The children roared; quoth* the giant, “Be still!”
And Dorchester Heights and Milton Hill
Rolled back the sound again.
Then he brought them a pudding stuffed with plums,
As big as the State-House dome;
Quoth* he, “There’s something for you to eat;
So stop your mouths with your ’lection treat,
And wait till your dad comes home.”
So the giant pulled him a chestnut stout,
And whittled the boughs away;
The boys and their mother set up a shout.
Said he, “You’re in, and you can’t get out,
Bellow as loud as you may.”
Off he went, and he growled a tune
As he strode the fields along
’Tis said a buffalo fainted away,
And fell as cold as a lump of clay,
When he heard the giant’s song.
But whether the story’s true or not,
It isn’t for me to show;
There’s many a thing that’s twice as queer
In somebody’s lectures that we hear,
And those are true, you know.
. . . . . .
What are those lone ones doing now,
The wife and the children sad?
Oh, they are in a terrible rout,
Screaming, and throwing their pudding about,
Acting as they were mad.
They flung it over to Roxbury hills,
They flung it over the plain,
And all over Milton and Dorchester too
Great lumps of pudding the giants threw;
They tumbled as thick as rain.
. . . . . .
Giant and mammoth have passed away,
For ages have floated by;
The suet is hard as a marrow-bone,
And every plum is turned to a stone,
But there the puddings lie.
And if, some pleasant afternoon,
You’ll ask me out to ride,
The whole of the story I will tell,
And you shall see where the puddings fell,
And pay for the punch beside.
by Oliver Wendell Holmes (1809 - 1894): as published in Henry Davenport Northrop: “Beautiful Gems of Thought and Sentiment” (1890), page 43; poem originally created in 1830
*quoth: said.
Oliver Wendell Holmes, Senior was born on 29 August 1809 in Cambridge, Massachusetts, United States of America. He became a physician, a novelist, an essayist, and a poet. Oliver Wendell Holmes, Senior passed on at 85 years of age on 7 October 1894 in Boston, Massachusetts, United States of America.
What is puddingstone? Puddingstone is a type of conglomerate rock, consisting of smaller pieces of rock having colors that distinctly contrast with the color of the finer-grained, often sandy or clay-like, material that surrounds and holds them together. Some people say the pieces of rock and sharp contrast in colors gives this type of stone the appearance of a Christmas pudding, from which the name is derived. Puddingstones are typically made as glaciers move along and pick up material in their path, and can be seen after the glaciers melt away.
- Published on
The Golden Touch
Many years ago there lived a king named Midas.
King Midas had one little daughter, whose name was Marigold.
King Midas was very, very rich. It was said that he had more gold than any other king in the world.
One room of his great castle was almost filled with yellow gold pieces.
At last the king grew so fond of his gold that he loved it better than anything else in all the world.
He even loved it better than his own little daughter, dear little rosy-cheeked Marigold. His one great wish seemed to be for more and more gold.
One day while he was in his gold room counting his money, a fairy stood before him.
The fairy’s face shone with a wonderful light, and he had wings on his cap and wings on his feet. In his hand he carried a strange-looking wand, and the wand also had wings.
“Midas, you are the richest man in the world,” said the fairy. “There is no king who has so much gold as you.”
“That may be,” said the king. “As you see, I have this room full of gold, but I should like much more; for gold is the best and the most wonderful thing in the world.”
“Are you sure?” asked the fairy.
“I am very sure,” answered the king.
“If I should grant you one wish,” said the fairy, “would you ask for more gold?”
“If I could have but one wish,” said the king, “I would ask that everything I touched should turn to beautiful yellow gold.”
“Your wish shall be granted,” said the fairy “At sunrise to-morrow morning your slightest touch will turn everything into gold. But I warn you that your gift will not make you happy.”
“I will take the risk,” said the king.
The next morning King Midas awoke very early. He was eager to see if the fairy’s promise had come true.
As soon as the sun arose he tried the gift by touching the bed lightly with his hand.
The bed turned to gold.
He touched the chair and table.
Upon the instant they were turned to solid gold.
The king was wild with joy.
He ran around the room, touching everything he could see. His magic gift turned all to shining, yellow gold.
The king soon felt hungry and went down to eat his breakfast. Now a strange thing happened. When he raised a glass of clear cold water to drink, it became solid gold.
Not a drop of water could pass his lips.
The bread turned to gold under his fingers.
The meat was hard, and yellow, and shiny.
Not a thing could he get to eat.
All was gold, gold, gold.
His little daughter came running in from the garden.
Of all living creatures she was the dearest to him.
He patted her softly on the head.
At once the little girl was changed into a golden statue.
A great fear crept into the king’s heart, sweeping all the joy out of his life.
In his grief he called and called upon the fairy who had given him the gift of the golden touch.
“O fairy,” he begged, “take away this horrible golden gift! Take all my lands. Take all my gold. Take everything, only give me back my little daughter.”
In a moment the beautiful fairy was standing before him.
“Do you still think that gold is the greatest thing in the world?” asked the fairy.
“No! no!” cried the king. “I dislike the very sight of the yellow metal.”
“Are you sure that you no longer wish the golden touch?” asked the fairy.
“I have learned my lesson,” said the king. “I no longer think gold the greatest thing in the world.”
“Very well,” said the fairy, “take this pitcher to the spring in the garden and fill it with water. Then sprinkle those things which you have touched and turned to gold.”
The king took the pitcher and rushed to the spring. Running back, he first sprinkled the head of his dear little girl. Instantly she became his own darling Marigold again.
The king sprinkled the golden food, and to his great joy it turned back to real bread and real butter.
Then he and his little daughter sat down to breakfast. How good the cold water tasted. How eagerly the hungry king ate the bread and butter, the meat, and all the good food.
The king disliked his golden touch so much that he sprinkled even the chairs and the tables and everything else that the fairy’s gift had turned to gold.
by Author Unknown
Is the moral of the story, “Be careful what you wish for, because you just might get it,” or “Some things are more important than gold and riches”?
Many years ago there lived a king named Midas.
King Midas had one little daughter, whose name was Marigold.
King Midas was very, very rich. It was said that he had more gold than any other king in the world.
One room of his great castle was almost filled with yellow gold pieces.
At last the king grew so fond of his gold that he loved it better than anything else in all the world.
He even loved it better than his own little daughter, dear little rosy-cheeked Marigold. His one great wish seemed to be for more and more gold.
One day while he was in his gold room counting his money, a fairy stood before him.
The fairy’s face shone with a wonderful light, and he had wings on his cap and wings on his feet. In his hand he carried a strange-looking wand, and the wand also had wings.
“Midas, you are the richest man in the world,” said the fairy. “There is no king who has so much gold as you.”
“That may be,” said the king. “As you see, I have this room full of gold, but I should like much more; for gold is the best and the most wonderful thing in the world.”
“Are you sure?” asked the fairy.
“I am very sure,” answered the king.
“If I should grant you one wish,” said the fairy, “would you ask for more gold?”
“If I could have but one wish,” said the king, “I would ask that everything I touched should turn to beautiful yellow gold.”
“Your wish shall be granted,” said the fairy “At sunrise to-morrow morning your slightest touch will turn everything into gold. But I warn you that your gift will not make you happy.”
“I will take the risk,” said the king.
The next morning King Midas awoke very early. He was eager to see if the fairy’s promise had come true.
As soon as the sun arose he tried the gift by touching the bed lightly with his hand.
The bed turned to gold.
He touched the chair and table.
Upon the instant they were turned to solid gold.
The king was wild with joy.
He ran around the room, touching everything he could see. His magic gift turned all to shining, yellow gold.
The king soon felt hungry and went down to eat his breakfast. Now a strange thing happened. When he raised a glass of clear cold water to drink, it became solid gold.
Not a drop of water could pass his lips.
The bread turned to gold under his fingers.
The meat was hard, and yellow, and shiny.
Not a thing could he get to eat.
All was gold, gold, gold.
His little daughter came running in from the garden.
Of all living creatures she was the dearest to him.
He patted her softly on the head.
At once the little girl was changed into a golden statue.
A great fear crept into the king’s heart, sweeping all the joy out of his life.
In his grief he called and called upon the fairy who had given him the gift of the golden touch.
“O fairy,” he begged, “take away this horrible golden gift! Take all my lands. Take all my gold. Take everything, only give me back my little daughter.”
In a moment the beautiful fairy was standing before him.
“Do you still think that gold is the greatest thing in the world?” asked the fairy.
“No! no!” cried the king. “I dislike the very sight of the yellow metal.”
“Are you sure that you no longer wish the golden touch?” asked the fairy.
“I have learned my lesson,” said the king. “I no longer think gold the greatest thing in the world.”
“Very well,” said the fairy, “take this pitcher to the spring in the garden and fill it with water. Then sprinkle those things which you have touched and turned to gold.”
The king took the pitcher and rushed to the spring. Running back, he first sprinkled the head of his dear little girl. Instantly she became his own darling Marigold again.
The king sprinkled the golden food, and to his great joy it turned back to real bread and real butter.
Then he and his little daughter sat down to breakfast. How good the cold water tasted. How eagerly the hungry king ate the bread and butter, the meat, and all the good food.
The king disliked his golden touch so much that he sprinkled even the chairs and the tables and everything else that the fairy’s gift had turned to gold.
by Author Unknown
Is the moral of the story, “Be careful what you wish for, because you just might get it,” or “Some things are more important than gold and riches”?
- Published on
Hansel and Gretel
Hard by a great forest dwelt a poor wood-cutter with his wife and his two children. The boy was called Hansel and the girl Gretel. He had little to bite and to break, and once, when great dearth fell on the land, he could no longer procure even daily bread.
Now when he thought over this by night in his bed, and tossed about in his anxiety. He groaned and said to his wife, “What is to become of us? How are we to feed our poor children, when we no longer have anything even for ourselves?”
“I’ll tell you what, husband,” answered the woman, “early tomorrow morning we will take the children out into the forest to where it is the thickest. There we will light a fire for them, and give each of them one more piece of bread, and then we will go to our work and leave them alone. They will not find the way home again, and we shall be rid of them.”
“No, wife,” said the man, “I will not do that. How can I bear to leave my children alone in the forest? The wild animals would soon come and tear them to pieces.”
“Oh! you fool,” said she, “then we must all four die of hunger, you may as well plane the planks for our coffins,” and she left him no peace until he consented.
“But I feel very sorry for the poor children, all the same,” said the man.
The two children had also not been able to sleep for hunger, and had heard what their step-mother had said to their father. Gretel wept bitter tears, and said to Hansel, “Now all is over with us.”
“Be quiet, Gretel,” said Hansel, “do not distress yourself, I will soon find a way to help us.” and when the old folks had fallen asleep, he got up, put on his little coat, opened the door below, and crept outside.
The moon shone brightly, and the white pebbles which lay in front of the house glittered like real silver pennies. Hansel stooped and stuffed the little pocket of his coat with as many as he could get in. Then he went back and said to Gretel, “Be comforted, dear little sister, and sleep in peace, God will not forsake us,” and he lay down again in his bed.
When day dawned, but before the sun had risen, the woman came and awoke the two children, saying, “Get up, you sluggards. We are going into the forest to fetch wood.” She gave each a little piece of bread, and said, “There is something for your dinner, but do not eat it up before then, for you will get nothing else.”
Gretel took the bread under her apron, as Hansel had the pebbles in his pocket. Then they all set out together on the way to the forest.
When they had walked a short time, Hansel stood still and peeped back at the house, and did so again and again. His father said, “Hansel, what are you looking at there and staying behind for? Pay attention, and do not forget how to use your legs.”
“Ah, father,” said Hansel, “I am looking at my little white cat, which is sitting up on the roof, and wants to say good-bye to me.”
The wife said, “Fool, that is not your little cat, that is the morning sun which is shining on the chimneys.”
Hansel, however, had not been looking back at the cat, but had been constantly throwing one of the white pebble-stones out of his pocket on the road.
When they had reached the middle of the forest, the father said, “Now, children, pile up some wood, and I will light a fire that you may not be cold.”
Hansel and Gretel gathered brushwood together, as high as a little hill. The brushwood was lighted, and when the flames were burning very high, the woman said, “Now, children, lay yourselves down by the fire and rest, we will go into the forest and cut some wood. When we have done, we will come back and fetch you away.”
Hansel and Gretel sat by the fire, and when noon came, each ate a little piece of bread, and as they heard the strokes of the wood-axe they believed that their father was near. It was not the axe, however, but a branch which he had fastened to a withered tree which the wind was blowing backwards and forwards. and as they had been sitting such a long time, their eyes closed with fatigue, and they fell fast asleep.
When at last they awoke, it was already dark night. Gretel began to cry and said, “How are we to get out of the forest now?”
But Hansel comforted her and said, “Just wait a little, until the moon has risen, and then we will soon find the way.” and when the full moon had risen, Hansel took his little sister by the hand, and followed the pebbles which shone like newly-coined silver pieces, and showed them the way.
They walked the whole night long, and by break of day came once more to their father’s house. They knocked at the door, and when the woman opened it and saw that it was Hansel and Gretel, she said, “You naughty children, why have you slept so long in the forest? We thought you were never coming back at all.”
The father, however, rejoiced, for it had cut him to the heart to leave them behind alone.
Not long afterwards, there was once more great dearth throughout the land, and the children heard their mother saying at night to their father:
“Everything is eaten again, we have one half loaf left, and that is the end. The children must go, we will take them farther into the wood, so that they will not find their way out again. There is no other means of saving ourselves.”
The man’s heart was heavy, and he thought, “It would be better for you to share the last mouthful with your children.” The woman, however, would listen to nothing that he had to say, but scolded and reproached him. He who says a must say b, likewise, and as he had yielded the first time, he had to do so a second time also.
The children, however, were still awake and had heard the conversation. When the old folks were asleep, Hansel again got up, and wanted to go out and pick up pebbles as he had done before, but the woman had locked the door, and Hansel could not get out. Nevertheless he comforted his little sister, and said, “Do not cry, Gretel, go to sleep quietly, the good God will help us.”
Early in the morning came the woman, and took the children out of their beds. Their piece of bread was given to them, but it was still smaller than the time before. On the way into the forest Hansel crumbled his in his pocket, and often stood still and threw a morsel on the ground.
“Hansel, why do you stop and look round?” Said the father. “Go on.”
“I am looking back at my little pigeon which is sitting on the roof, and wants to say good-bye to me, answered Hansel.
“Fool.” Said the woman, “That is not your little pigeon, that is the morning sun that is shining on the chimney.”
Hansel, however, little by little, threw all the crumbs on the path. The woman led the children still deeper into the forest, where they had never in their lives been before.
Then a great fire was again made, and the mother said, “Just sit there, you children, and when you are tired you may sleep a little. We are going into the forest to cut wood, and in the evening when we are done, we will come and fetch you away.”
When it was noon, Gretel shared her piece of bread with Hansel, who had scattered his by the way. Then they fell asleep and evening passed, but no one came to the poor children.
They did not awake until it was dark night, and Hansel comforted his little sister and said, “Just wait, Gretel, until the moon rises, and then we shall see the crumbs of bread which I have strewn about, they will show us our way home again.”
When the moon came they set out, but they found no crumbs, for the many thousands of birds which fly about in the woods and fields had picked them all up. Hansel said to Gretel, “We shall soon find the way.”
But they did not find it. They walked the whole night and all the next day too from morning till evening, but they did not get out of the forest, and were very hungry, for they had nothing to eat but two or three berries, which grew on the ground. And as they were so weary that their legs would carry them no longer, they lay down beneath a tree and fell asleep.
It was now three mornings since they had left their father’s house. They began to walk again, but they always came deeper into the forest, and if help did not come soon, they must die of hunger and weariness. When it was mid-day, they saw a beautiful snow-white bird sitting on a bough, which sang so delightfully that they stood still and listened to it. and when its song was over, it spread its wings and flew away before them, and they followed it until they reached a little house, on the roof of which it alighted. and when they approached the little house they saw that it was built of bread and covered with cakes, but that the windows were of clear sugar.
“We will set to work on that,” said Hansel, “and have a good meal. I will eat a bit of the roof, and you Gretel, can eat some of the window, it will taste sweet.”
Hansel reached up above, and broke off a little of the roof to try how it tasted, and Gretel leant against the window and nibbled at the panes. Then a soft voice cried from the parlor - “Nibble, nibble, gnaw who is nibbling at my little house?” The children answered - “The wind, the wind, the heaven-born wind,” and went on eating without disturbing themselves. Hansel, who liked the taste of the roof, tore down a great piece of it, and Gretel pushed out the whole of one round window-pane, sat down, and enjoyed herself with it.
Suddenly the door opened, and a woman as old as the hills, who supported herself on crutches, came creeping out. Hansel and Gretel were so terribly frightened that they let fall what they had in their hands.
The old woman, however, nodded her head, and said, “Oh, you dear children, who has brought you here? Do come in, and stay with me. No harm shall happen to you.”
She took them both by the hand, and led them into her little house. Then good food was set before them, milk and pancakes, with sugar, apples, and nuts. Afterwards two pretty little beds were covered with clean white linen, and Hansel and Gretel lay down in them, and thought they were in heaven.
The old woman had only pretended to be so kind. She was in reality a wicked witch, who lay in wait for children, and had only built the little house of bread in order to entice them there. When a child fell into her power, she killed it, cooked and ate it, and that was a feast day with her. Witches have red eyes, and cannot see far, but they have a keen scent like the beasts, and are aware when human beings draw near. When Hansel and Gretel came into her neighborhood, she laughed with malice, and said mockingly, “I have them, they shall not escape me again.”
Early in the morning before the children were awake, she was already up, and when she saw both of them sleeping and looking so pretty, with their plump and rosy cheeks, she muttered to herself, that will be a dainty mouthful.
Then she seized Hansel with her shriveled hand, carried him into a little stable, and locked him in behind a grated door. Scream as he might, it would not help him. Then she went to Gretel, shook her till she awoke, and cried, “Get up, lazy thing, fetch some water, and cook something good for your brother, he is in the stable outside, and is to be made fat. When he is fat, I will eat him.”
Gretel began to weep bitterly, but it was all in vain, for she was forced to do what the wicked witch commanded. and now the best food was cooked for poor Hansel, but Gretel got nothing but crab-shells. Every morning the woman crept to the little stable, and cried, “Hansel, stretch out your finger that I may feel if you will soon be fat.”
Hansel, however, stretched out a little bone to her, and the old woman, who had dim eyes, could not see it, and thought it was Hansel’s finger, and was astonished that there was no way of fattening him.
When four weeks had gone by, and Hansel still remained thin, she was seized with impatience and would not wait any longer.
“Now, then, Gretel,” she cried to the girl, “stir yourself, and bring some water. Let Hansel be fat or lean, to-morrow I will kill him, and cook him.”
Ah, how the poor little sister did lament when she had to fetch the water, and how her tears did flow down her cheeks. “Dear God, do help us,” she cried. “If the wild beasts in the forest had but devoured us, we should at any rate have died together.”
“Just keep your noise to yourself,” said the old woman, “it won’t help you at all.”
Early in the morning, Gretel had to go out and hang up the cauldron with the water, and light the fire.
“We will bake first,” said the old woman, “I have already heated the oven, and kneaded the dough.” She pushed poor Gretel out to the oven, from which flames of fire were already darting. “Creep in,” said the witch, “and see if it properly heated, so that we can put the bread in.” And once Gretel was inside, she intended to shut the oven and let her bake in it, and then she would eat her, too.
But Gretel saw what she had in mind, and said, “I do not know how I am to do it. How do I get in?”
“Silly goose,” said the old woman, “the door is big enough. Just look, I can get in myself.” And she crept up and thrust her head into the oven.
Then Gretel gave her a push that drove her far into it, and shut the iron door, and fastened the bolt. Oh. Then she began to howl quite horribly, but Gretel ran away, and the godless witch was miserably burnt to death. Gretel, however, ran like lightning to Hansel, opened his little stable, and cried, “Hansel, we are saved. The old witch is dead.”
Then Hansel sprang like a bird from its cage when the door was opened. How they did rejoice and embrace each other, and dance about and kiss each other. And as they had no longer any need to fear her, they went into the witch’s house, and in every corner there stood chests full of pearls and jewels.
“These are far better than pebbles,” said Hansel, and thrust into his pockets whatever could be got in.
And Gretel said, “I, too, will take something home with me,” and filled her pinafore full.
“But now we must be off,” said Hansel, “that we may get out of the witch’s forest.”
When they had walked for two hours, they came to a great stretch of water.
“We cannot cross,” said Hansel, “I see no foot-plank, and no bridge.
“And there is also no ferry,” answered Gretel, “but a white duck is swimming there. If I ask her, she will help us over.” Then she cried -
“Little duck, little duck, dost thou see,
Hansel and Gretel are waiting for thee.
There’s never a plank, or bridge in sight, take us across on thy back so white.”
The duck came to them, and Hansel seated himself on its back, and told his sister to sit by him.
“No,” replied Gretel, “that will be too heavy for the little duck. She shall take us across, one after the other.”
The good little duck did so, and when they were once safely across and had walked for a short time, the forest seemed to be more and more familiar to them, and at length they saw from afar their father’s house. Then they began to run, rushed into the parlor, and threw themselves round their father’s neck. The man had not known one happy hour since he had left the children in the forest. The woman, however, was dead. Gretel emptied her pinafore until pearls and precious stones ran about the room, and Hansel threw one handful after another out of his pocket to add to them. Then all anxiety was at an end, and they lived together in perfect happiness.
The tale is done, there runs a mouse, whosoever catches it, may make himself a big fur cap out of it.
The End
-A Brothers Grimm Fairy Tale
Hard by a great forest dwelt a poor wood-cutter with his wife and his two children. The boy was called Hansel and the girl Gretel. He had little to bite and to break, and once, when great dearth fell on the land, he could no longer procure even daily bread.
Now when he thought over this by night in his bed, and tossed about in his anxiety. He groaned and said to his wife, “What is to become of us? How are we to feed our poor children, when we no longer have anything even for ourselves?”
“I’ll tell you what, husband,” answered the woman, “early tomorrow morning we will take the children out into the forest to where it is the thickest. There we will light a fire for them, and give each of them one more piece of bread, and then we will go to our work and leave them alone. They will not find the way home again, and we shall be rid of them.”
“No, wife,” said the man, “I will not do that. How can I bear to leave my children alone in the forest? The wild animals would soon come and tear them to pieces.”
“Oh! you fool,” said she, “then we must all four die of hunger, you may as well plane the planks for our coffins,” and she left him no peace until he consented.
“But I feel very sorry for the poor children, all the same,” said the man.
The two children had also not been able to sleep for hunger, and had heard what their step-mother had said to their father. Gretel wept bitter tears, and said to Hansel, “Now all is over with us.”
“Be quiet, Gretel,” said Hansel, “do not distress yourself, I will soon find a way to help us.” and when the old folks had fallen asleep, he got up, put on his little coat, opened the door below, and crept outside.
The moon shone brightly, and the white pebbles which lay in front of the house glittered like real silver pennies. Hansel stooped and stuffed the little pocket of his coat with as many as he could get in. Then he went back and said to Gretel, “Be comforted, dear little sister, and sleep in peace, God will not forsake us,” and he lay down again in his bed.
When day dawned, but before the sun had risen, the woman came and awoke the two children, saying, “Get up, you sluggards. We are going into the forest to fetch wood.” She gave each a little piece of bread, and said, “There is something for your dinner, but do not eat it up before then, for you will get nothing else.”
Gretel took the bread under her apron, as Hansel had the pebbles in his pocket. Then they all set out together on the way to the forest.
When they had walked a short time, Hansel stood still and peeped back at the house, and did so again and again. His father said, “Hansel, what are you looking at there and staying behind for? Pay attention, and do not forget how to use your legs.”
“Ah, father,” said Hansel, “I am looking at my little white cat, which is sitting up on the roof, and wants to say good-bye to me.”
The wife said, “Fool, that is not your little cat, that is the morning sun which is shining on the chimneys.”
Hansel, however, had not been looking back at the cat, but had been constantly throwing one of the white pebble-stones out of his pocket on the road.
When they had reached the middle of the forest, the father said, “Now, children, pile up some wood, and I will light a fire that you may not be cold.”
Hansel and Gretel gathered brushwood together, as high as a little hill. The brushwood was lighted, and when the flames were burning very high, the woman said, “Now, children, lay yourselves down by the fire and rest, we will go into the forest and cut some wood. When we have done, we will come back and fetch you away.”
Hansel and Gretel sat by the fire, and when noon came, each ate a little piece of bread, and as they heard the strokes of the wood-axe they believed that their father was near. It was not the axe, however, but a branch which he had fastened to a withered tree which the wind was blowing backwards and forwards. and as they had been sitting such a long time, their eyes closed with fatigue, and they fell fast asleep.
When at last they awoke, it was already dark night. Gretel began to cry and said, “How are we to get out of the forest now?”
But Hansel comforted her and said, “Just wait a little, until the moon has risen, and then we will soon find the way.” and when the full moon had risen, Hansel took his little sister by the hand, and followed the pebbles which shone like newly-coined silver pieces, and showed them the way.
They walked the whole night long, and by break of day came once more to their father’s house. They knocked at the door, and when the woman opened it and saw that it was Hansel and Gretel, she said, “You naughty children, why have you slept so long in the forest? We thought you were never coming back at all.”
The father, however, rejoiced, for it had cut him to the heart to leave them behind alone.
Not long afterwards, there was once more great dearth throughout the land, and the children heard their mother saying at night to their father:
“Everything is eaten again, we have one half loaf left, and that is the end. The children must go, we will take them farther into the wood, so that they will not find their way out again. There is no other means of saving ourselves.”
The man’s heart was heavy, and he thought, “It would be better for you to share the last mouthful with your children.” The woman, however, would listen to nothing that he had to say, but scolded and reproached him. He who says a must say b, likewise, and as he had yielded the first time, he had to do so a second time also.
The children, however, were still awake and had heard the conversation. When the old folks were asleep, Hansel again got up, and wanted to go out and pick up pebbles as he had done before, but the woman had locked the door, and Hansel could not get out. Nevertheless he comforted his little sister, and said, “Do not cry, Gretel, go to sleep quietly, the good God will help us.”
Early in the morning came the woman, and took the children out of their beds. Their piece of bread was given to them, but it was still smaller than the time before. On the way into the forest Hansel crumbled his in his pocket, and often stood still and threw a morsel on the ground.
“Hansel, why do you stop and look round?” Said the father. “Go on.”
“I am looking back at my little pigeon which is sitting on the roof, and wants to say good-bye to me, answered Hansel.
“Fool.” Said the woman, “That is not your little pigeon, that is the morning sun that is shining on the chimney.”
Hansel, however, little by little, threw all the crumbs on the path. The woman led the children still deeper into the forest, where they had never in their lives been before.
Then a great fire was again made, and the mother said, “Just sit there, you children, and when you are tired you may sleep a little. We are going into the forest to cut wood, and in the evening when we are done, we will come and fetch you away.”
When it was noon, Gretel shared her piece of bread with Hansel, who had scattered his by the way. Then they fell asleep and evening passed, but no one came to the poor children.
They did not awake until it was dark night, and Hansel comforted his little sister and said, “Just wait, Gretel, until the moon rises, and then we shall see the crumbs of bread which I have strewn about, they will show us our way home again.”
When the moon came they set out, but they found no crumbs, for the many thousands of birds which fly about in the woods and fields had picked them all up. Hansel said to Gretel, “We shall soon find the way.”
But they did not find it. They walked the whole night and all the next day too from morning till evening, but they did not get out of the forest, and were very hungry, for they had nothing to eat but two or three berries, which grew on the ground. And as they were so weary that their legs would carry them no longer, they lay down beneath a tree and fell asleep.
It was now three mornings since they had left their father’s house. They began to walk again, but they always came deeper into the forest, and if help did not come soon, they must die of hunger and weariness. When it was mid-day, they saw a beautiful snow-white bird sitting on a bough, which sang so delightfully that they stood still and listened to it. and when its song was over, it spread its wings and flew away before them, and they followed it until they reached a little house, on the roof of which it alighted. and when they approached the little house they saw that it was built of bread and covered with cakes, but that the windows were of clear sugar.
“We will set to work on that,” said Hansel, “and have a good meal. I will eat a bit of the roof, and you Gretel, can eat some of the window, it will taste sweet.”
Hansel reached up above, and broke off a little of the roof to try how it tasted, and Gretel leant against the window and nibbled at the panes. Then a soft voice cried from the parlor - “Nibble, nibble, gnaw who is nibbling at my little house?” The children answered - “The wind, the wind, the heaven-born wind,” and went on eating without disturbing themselves. Hansel, who liked the taste of the roof, tore down a great piece of it, and Gretel pushed out the whole of one round window-pane, sat down, and enjoyed herself with it.
Suddenly the door opened, and a woman as old as the hills, who supported herself on crutches, came creeping out. Hansel and Gretel were so terribly frightened that they let fall what they had in their hands.
The old woman, however, nodded her head, and said, “Oh, you dear children, who has brought you here? Do come in, and stay with me. No harm shall happen to you.”
She took them both by the hand, and led them into her little house. Then good food was set before them, milk and pancakes, with sugar, apples, and nuts. Afterwards two pretty little beds were covered with clean white linen, and Hansel and Gretel lay down in them, and thought they were in heaven.
The old woman had only pretended to be so kind. She was in reality a wicked witch, who lay in wait for children, and had only built the little house of bread in order to entice them there. When a child fell into her power, she killed it, cooked and ate it, and that was a feast day with her. Witches have red eyes, and cannot see far, but they have a keen scent like the beasts, and are aware when human beings draw near. When Hansel and Gretel came into her neighborhood, she laughed with malice, and said mockingly, “I have them, they shall not escape me again.”
Early in the morning before the children were awake, she was already up, and when she saw both of them sleeping and looking so pretty, with their plump and rosy cheeks, she muttered to herself, that will be a dainty mouthful.
Then she seized Hansel with her shriveled hand, carried him into a little stable, and locked him in behind a grated door. Scream as he might, it would not help him. Then she went to Gretel, shook her till she awoke, and cried, “Get up, lazy thing, fetch some water, and cook something good for your brother, he is in the stable outside, and is to be made fat. When he is fat, I will eat him.”
Gretel began to weep bitterly, but it was all in vain, for she was forced to do what the wicked witch commanded. and now the best food was cooked for poor Hansel, but Gretel got nothing but crab-shells. Every morning the woman crept to the little stable, and cried, “Hansel, stretch out your finger that I may feel if you will soon be fat.”
Hansel, however, stretched out a little bone to her, and the old woman, who had dim eyes, could not see it, and thought it was Hansel’s finger, and was astonished that there was no way of fattening him.
When four weeks had gone by, and Hansel still remained thin, she was seized with impatience and would not wait any longer.
“Now, then, Gretel,” she cried to the girl, “stir yourself, and bring some water. Let Hansel be fat or lean, to-morrow I will kill him, and cook him.”
Ah, how the poor little sister did lament when she had to fetch the water, and how her tears did flow down her cheeks. “Dear God, do help us,” she cried. “If the wild beasts in the forest had but devoured us, we should at any rate have died together.”
“Just keep your noise to yourself,” said the old woman, “it won’t help you at all.”
Early in the morning, Gretel had to go out and hang up the cauldron with the water, and light the fire.
“We will bake first,” said the old woman, “I have already heated the oven, and kneaded the dough.” She pushed poor Gretel out to the oven, from which flames of fire were already darting. “Creep in,” said the witch, “and see if it properly heated, so that we can put the bread in.” And once Gretel was inside, she intended to shut the oven and let her bake in it, and then she would eat her, too.
But Gretel saw what she had in mind, and said, “I do not know how I am to do it. How do I get in?”
“Silly goose,” said the old woman, “the door is big enough. Just look, I can get in myself.” And she crept up and thrust her head into the oven.
Then Gretel gave her a push that drove her far into it, and shut the iron door, and fastened the bolt. Oh. Then she began to howl quite horribly, but Gretel ran away, and the godless witch was miserably burnt to death. Gretel, however, ran like lightning to Hansel, opened his little stable, and cried, “Hansel, we are saved. The old witch is dead.”
Then Hansel sprang like a bird from its cage when the door was opened. How they did rejoice and embrace each other, and dance about and kiss each other. And as they had no longer any need to fear her, they went into the witch’s house, and in every corner there stood chests full of pearls and jewels.
“These are far better than pebbles,” said Hansel, and thrust into his pockets whatever could be got in.
And Gretel said, “I, too, will take something home with me,” and filled her pinafore full.
“But now we must be off,” said Hansel, “that we may get out of the witch’s forest.”
When they had walked for two hours, they came to a great stretch of water.
“We cannot cross,” said Hansel, “I see no foot-plank, and no bridge.
“And there is also no ferry,” answered Gretel, “but a white duck is swimming there. If I ask her, she will help us over.” Then she cried -
“Little duck, little duck, dost thou see,
Hansel and Gretel are waiting for thee.
There’s never a plank, or bridge in sight, take us across on thy back so white.”
The duck came to them, and Hansel seated himself on its back, and told his sister to sit by him.
“No,” replied Gretel, “that will be too heavy for the little duck. She shall take us across, one after the other.”
The good little duck did so, and when they were once safely across and had walked for a short time, the forest seemed to be more and more familiar to them, and at length they saw from afar their father’s house. Then they began to run, rushed into the parlor, and threw themselves round their father’s neck. The man had not known one happy hour since he had left the children in the forest. The woman, however, was dead. Gretel emptied her pinafore until pearls and precious stones ran about the room, and Hansel threw one handful after another out of his pocket to add to them. Then all anxiety was at an end, and they lived together in perfect happiness.
The tale is done, there runs a mouse, whosoever catches it, may make himself a big fur cap out of it.
The End
-A Brothers Grimm Fairy Tale
- Published on
The City Mouse and the Country Mouse
Once a little mouse who lived in the country invited a little mouse from the city to visit him. When the little City Mouse sat down to dinner, he was surprised to find that the Country Mouse had nothing to eat except barley and grain.
“Really,” he said, “you do not live well at all; you should see how I live! I have all sorts of fine things to eat every day. You must come to visit me and see how nice it is to live in the city.”
The little Country Mouse was glad to do this, and after a while, he went to the city to visit his friend.
The very first place that the City Mouse took the Country Mouse to see was the kitchen cupboard of the house where he lived. There, on the lowest shelf, behind some stone jars, stood a big paper bag of brown sugar. The little City Mouse gnawed a hole in the bag and invited his friend to nibble for himself.
The two little mice nibbled and nibbled, and the Country Mouse thought he had never tasted anything so delicious in his life. He was just thinking how lucky the City Mouse was, when suddenly the door opened with a bang, and in came the cook to get some flour.
“Run!” whispered the City Mouse. And they ran as fast as they could to the little hole where they had come in. The little Country Mouse was shaking all over when they got safely away, but the little City Mouse said, “That is nothing; she will soon go away and then we can go back.”
After the cook had gone away and shut the door they stole softly back, and this time the City Mouse had something new to show: he took the little Country Mouse into a corner on the top shelf, where a big jar of dried prunes stood open. After much tugging and pulling, they got a large dried prune out of the jar on to the shelf and began to nibble at it. This was even better than the brown sugar. The little Country Mouse liked the taste so much that he could hardly nibble fast enough. But all at once, in the midst of their eating, there came a scratching at the door and a piercing, loud, “Meow!”
“What is that?” said the Country Mouse. The City Mouse just whispered, “Ssh!” and ran as fast as he could to the hole.
The Country Mouse ran after, you may be sure, as fast as he could. As soon as they were out of danger, the City Mouse said, “That was the old Cat; she is the best mouser in town. If she once gets you, you are lost.”
“This is very terrible,” said the little Country Mouse; “let us not go back to the cupboard again.”
“No,” said the City Mouse, “I will take you to the cellar; there is something special there.”
So the City Mouse took his little friend down the cellar stairs and into a big cupboard where there were many shelves. On the shelves were jars of butter, and cheeses in bags and out of bags. Overhead hung bunches of sausages, and there were spicy apples in barrels standing about. It smelled so good that it went to the little Country Mouse’s head. He ran along the shelf and nibbled at a cheese here, and a bit of butter there, until he saw an especially rich, very delicious-smelling piece of cheese on a queer little stand in a corner. He was just on the point of putting his teeth into the cheese when the City Mouse saw him.
“Stop! Stop!” cried the City Mouse. “That is a trap!”
The little Country Mouse stopped and said, “What is a trap?”
“That thing is a trap,” said the little City Mouse. “The minute you touch the cheese with your teeth something comes down on your head hard, and you’re no more.”
The little Country Mouse looked at the trap, and he looked at the cheese, and he looked at the little City Mouse. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said, “I think I will go home. I’d rather have barley and grain to eat and eat it in peace and comfort, than have brown sugar and dried prunes and cheese - and be frightened to death all the time!”
So the little Country Mouse went back to his home, and there he stayed all the rest of his life.
The End
-Author Unknown
The moral of the story is: To each his or her own best way.
Once a little mouse who lived in the country invited a little mouse from the city to visit him. When the little City Mouse sat down to dinner, he was surprised to find that the Country Mouse had nothing to eat except barley and grain.
“Really,” he said, “you do not live well at all; you should see how I live! I have all sorts of fine things to eat every day. You must come to visit me and see how nice it is to live in the city.”
The little Country Mouse was glad to do this, and after a while, he went to the city to visit his friend.
The very first place that the City Mouse took the Country Mouse to see was the kitchen cupboard of the house where he lived. There, on the lowest shelf, behind some stone jars, stood a big paper bag of brown sugar. The little City Mouse gnawed a hole in the bag and invited his friend to nibble for himself.
The two little mice nibbled and nibbled, and the Country Mouse thought he had never tasted anything so delicious in his life. He was just thinking how lucky the City Mouse was, when suddenly the door opened with a bang, and in came the cook to get some flour.
“Run!” whispered the City Mouse. And they ran as fast as they could to the little hole where they had come in. The little Country Mouse was shaking all over when they got safely away, but the little City Mouse said, “That is nothing; she will soon go away and then we can go back.”
After the cook had gone away and shut the door they stole softly back, and this time the City Mouse had something new to show: he took the little Country Mouse into a corner on the top shelf, where a big jar of dried prunes stood open. After much tugging and pulling, they got a large dried prune out of the jar on to the shelf and began to nibble at it. This was even better than the brown sugar. The little Country Mouse liked the taste so much that he could hardly nibble fast enough. But all at once, in the midst of their eating, there came a scratching at the door and a piercing, loud, “Meow!”
“What is that?” said the Country Mouse. The City Mouse just whispered, “Ssh!” and ran as fast as he could to the hole.
The Country Mouse ran after, you may be sure, as fast as he could. As soon as they were out of danger, the City Mouse said, “That was the old Cat; she is the best mouser in town. If she once gets you, you are lost.”
“This is very terrible,” said the little Country Mouse; “let us not go back to the cupboard again.”
“No,” said the City Mouse, “I will take you to the cellar; there is something special there.”
So the City Mouse took his little friend down the cellar stairs and into a big cupboard where there were many shelves. On the shelves were jars of butter, and cheeses in bags and out of bags. Overhead hung bunches of sausages, and there were spicy apples in barrels standing about. It smelled so good that it went to the little Country Mouse’s head. He ran along the shelf and nibbled at a cheese here, and a bit of butter there, until he saw an especially rich, very delicious-smelling piece of cheese on a queer little stand in a corner. He was just on the point of putting his teeth into the cheese when the City Mouse saw him.
“Stop! Stop!” cried the City Mouse. “That is a trap!”
The little Country Mouse stopped and said, “What is a trap?”
“That thing is a trap,” said the little City Mouse. “The minute you touch the cheese with your teeth something comes down on your head hard, and you’re no more.”
The little Country Mouse looked at the trap, and he looked at the cheese, and he looked at the little City Mouse. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said, “I think I will go home. I’d rather have barley and grain to eat and eat it in peace and comfort, than have brown sugar and dried prunes and cheese - and be frightened to death all the time!”
So the little Country Mouse went back to his home, and there he stayed all the rest of his life.
The End
-Author Unknown
The moral of the story is: To each his or her own best way.
- Published on
The Straw, the Coal, and the Bean
All alone, in a quiet little village, lived a poor old woman. One day she had a dish of beans, which she wanted to cook for dinner, so she made a fire on the hearth, and in order that it should burn up quickly, she lighted it with a handful of straw.
She hung the pot over the fire, and poured in the beans; but one fell on to the floor without her noticing it, and rolled away beside a piece of straw. Soon afterwards a live coal flew out of the fire and joined their company. Then the straw began to speak.
“Dear friends,” said he, “whence come you?”
“I was fortunate enough to spring out of the fire,” answered the coal. “Had I not exerted myself to get out when I did, I should most certainly have been burnt to ashes.”
“I have also just managed to save my skin,” said the bean. “Had the old woman succeeded in putting me into the pot, I should have been stewed without mercy, just as my comrades are being served now.”
“My fate might have been no better,” the straw told them. “The old woman burnt sixty of my brothers at once, but fortunately I was able to slip through her fingers.”
“What shall we do now?” said the coal.
“Well,” answered the bean, “my opinion is that, as we have all been so fortunate as to escape death, we should leave this place before any new misfortune overtakes us. Let us all three become traveling companions and set out upon a journey to some unknown country.”
This suggestion pleased both the straw and the coal, so away they all went at once. Before long they came to a brook, and as there was no bridge across it they did not know how to get to the other side; but the straw had a good idea: “I will lay myself over the water, and you can walk across me as though I were a bridge,” he said. So he stretched himself from one bank to the other, and the coal, who was of a hasty disposition, at once tripped gaily on to the newly-built bridge. Half way across she hesitated, and began to feel afraid of the rushing water beneath her. She dared go no farther, but neither would she return; but she stood there so long that the straw caught fire, broke in two, and fell into the stream. Of course, the coal was bound to follow. No sooner did she touch the water than - hiss, zish! out she went, and never glowed again.
The bean, who was a careful fellow, had stayed on the bank, to watch how the coal got across, before trusting himself to such a slender bridge. But when he saw what very queer figures his friends cut, he could not help laughing. He laughed and laughed till he could not stop, and at length he split his side.
It would have gone badly with him then, had not a tailor happened to pass by. He was a kind-hearted fellow, and at once took out his needle and thread and began to repair the mischief.
The bean thanked him politely, for he knew that the tailor had saved his life, but unfortunately he had used black thread, and from that time till to-day every bean has a little black stitch in its side.
by Author Unknown
We will leave it to readers to guess what, if any, moral or point this story might have.
All alone, in a quiet little village, lived a poor old woman. One day she had a dish of beans, which she wanted to cook for dinner, so she made a fire on the hearth, and in order that it should burn up quickly, she lighted it with a handful of straw.
She hung the pot over the fire, and poured in the beans; but one fell on to the floor without her noticing it, and rolled away beside a piece of straw. Soon afterwards a live coal flew out of the fire and joined their company. Then the straw began to speak.
“Dear friends,” said he, “whence come you?”
“I was fortunate enough to spring out of the fire,” answered the coal. “Had I not exerted myself to get out when I did, I should most certainly have been burnt to ashes.”
“I have also just managed to save my skin,” said the bean. “Had the old woman succeeded in putting me into the pot, I should have been stewed without mercy, just as my comrades are being served now.”
“My fate might have been no better,” the straw told them. “The old woman burnt sixty of my brothers at once, but fortunately I was able to slip through her fingers.”
“What shall we do now?” said the coal.
“Well,” answered the bean, “my opinion is that, as we have all been so fortunate as to escape death, we should leave this place before any new misfortune overtakes us. Let us all three become traveling companions and set out upon a journey to some unknown country.”
This suggestion pleased both the straw and the coal, so away they all went at once. Before long they came to a brook, and as there was no bridge across it they did not know how to get to the other side; but the straw had a good idea: “I will lay myself over the water, and you can walk across me as though I were a bridge,” he said. So he stretched himself from one bank to the other, and the coal, who was of a hasty disposition, at once tripped gaily on to the newly-built bridge. Half way across she hesitated, and began to feel afraid of the rushing water beneath her. She dared go no farther, but neither would she return; but she stood there so long that the straw caught fire, broke in two, and fell into the stream. Of course, the coal was bound to follow. No sooner did she touch the water than - hiss, zish! out she went, and never glowed again.
The bean, who was a careful fellow, had stayed on the bank, to watch how the coal got across, before trusting himself to such a slender bridge. But when he saw what very queer figures his friends cut, he could not help laughing. He laughed and laughed till he could not stop, and at length he split his side.
It would have gone badly with him then, had not a tailor happened to pass by. He was a kind-hearted fellow, and at once took out his needle and thread and began to repair the mischief.
The bean thanked him politely, for he knew that the tailor had saved his life, but unfortunately he had used black thread, and from that time till to-day every bean has a little black stitch in its side.
by Author Unknown
We will leave it to readers to guess what, if any, moral or point this story might have.
- Published on
The Little Red Hen
There once was a little red hen who found some wheat seed. She went to her friends and asked, “Who will help me plant this wheat?”
“Not I,” said the rat.
“Not I,” said the cat.
“Not I,” said the dog.
“Not I,” said the pig.
“I will plant the wheat myself,” said the little red hen. And she did.
The wheat was soon ripe and ready to cut. The little red hen went to her friends and asked, “Who will help me cut this wheat?”
“Not I,” said the rat.
“Not I,” said the cat.
“Not I,” said the dog.
“Not I,” said the pig.
“I will cut the wheat myself,” said the little red hen. And she did.
The wheat was cut and ready to take to the miller to be ground. The little red hen went to her friends and asked, “Who will help me carry this wheat to the miller?”
“Not I,” said the rat.
“Not I,” said the cat.
“Not I,” said the dog.
“Not I,” said the pig.
“I will take this wheat to the miller myself,” said the little red hen. And she did.
The wheat was ground and ready to bake into bread. The little red hen went to her friends and asked, “Who will help me bake some bread?”
“Not I,” said the rat.
“Not I,” said the cat.
“Not I,” said the dog.
“Not I,” said the pig.
“I will bake the bread myself,” said the little red hen. And she did.
The bread was baked and ready to eat. The little red hen went to her friends and asked, “Who will help me eat this bread?”
“I will,” said the rat.
“I will,” said the cat.
“I will,” said the dog.
“I will,” said the pig.
“No, you will not! I will eat the bread myself,” said the little red hen. And she did.
by Author Unknown
The moral, or lesson, of the story is that those who do not work do not enjoy a reward, and those who do work enjoy a reward.
There once was a little red hen who found some wheat seed. She went to her friends and asked, “Who will help me plant this wheat?”
“Not I,” said the rat.
“Not I,” said the cat.
“Not I,” said the dog.
“Not I,” said the pig.
“I will plant the wheat myself,” said the little red hen. And she did.
The wheat was soon ripe and ready to cut. The little red hen went to her friends and asked, “Who will help me cut this wheat?”
“Not I,” said the rat.
“Not I,” said the cat.
“Not I,” said the dog.
“Not I,” said the pig.
“I will cut the wheat myself,” said the little red hen. And she did.
The wheat was cut and ready to take to the miller to be ground. The little red hen went to her friends and asked, “Who will help me carry this wheat to the miller?”
“Not I,” said the rat.
“Not I,” said the cat.
“Not I,” said the dog.
“Not I,” said the pig.
“I will take this wheat to the miller myself,” said the little red hen. And she did.
The wheat was ground and ready to bake into bread. The little red hen went to her friends and asked, “Who will help me bake some bread?”
“Not I,” said the rat.
“Not I,” said the cat.
“Not I,” said the dog.
“Not I,” said the pig.
“I will bake the bread myself,” said the little red hen. And she did.
The bread was baked and ready to eat. The little red hen went to her friends and asked, “Who will help me eat this bread?”
“I will,” said the rat.
“I will,” said the cat.
“I will,” said the dog.
“I will,” said the pig.
“No, you will not! I will eat the bread myself,” said the little red hen. And she did.
by Author Unknown
The moral, or lesson, of the story is that those who do not work do not enjoy a reward, and those who do work enjoy a reward.
