The Book of Stories for the Story-teller - Fanny E. Coe

Скачать книгу

my boy," said the chief. "They will call you woman, if you fail. It is but two days more. Then you shall have good meat and deep sleep. Think of the time when you will be a great chief, with a hundred scalps at your belt. Be strong."

      But the lad only shook his head.

      Two days later, the father rose with the sun. He heaped moose-meat and corn into a wooden bowl and set off to his son.

      As he drew near the wigwam he called, "Here is food, my son."

      There was no reply.

      He entered, and there, on the ground before him, lay his boy, dead.

      They dug his grave close by the lodge, and brought his bow, pipe, and knife to bury with him.

      As they were placing the youth in his grave, they heard a strange, new song. They looked up and saw, on the top of the lodge, an unknown bird. It had a brown coat and a red breast. As they watched, it began to sing. Its song seemed to say:

      "I was once the chief's son. But now I am a bird. I am happier than if I had lived to be a fierce warrior, with scalps at my belt. Now I shall make all glad with my song. I shall tell the little children when spring has come. Then they will search for pussy-willows and anemones. I am the robin, a little brother to man! Who so happy as I?"

      Even the father's grief was comforted by the bright little messenger. "It is best after all," he said. "My son could not kill men nor beasts; he is happier as a singer, even as this little bird."

       Table of Contents

      ong, long ago, there lived an old woman in a little cottage by the forest. She was not a poor old woman. She had plenty of wood to burn in winter, and plenty of meal to bake into bread all the year round. Her clothes were old-fashioned but warm. She always wore a grey dress and a little red cap.

      Late one summer afternoon, the cottage door was open. The old woman stood by her fire, baking cakes for her evening meal. How good they smelled!

      A tall old man who was passing by the cottage stopped a moment. Then he pushed open the garden gate and walked up the path to the door.

      The old woman was bending low over the cakes, but she saw his shadow and looked up.

      "Will you give me one of your cakes?" said the man.

      The woman thought to herself, "Why did I leave the door open? The smell of these hot cakes will bring every beggar within miles to my house." Then she looked a second time at the man and saw that he was no beggar. He stood like a king in the doorway. His blue eyes were kind but very keen.

      She looked at the six cakes that lay crisp and hot on the hearth. "Well, I will give him one," she thought, "but these are all too large."

      She took a small handful of meal from the barrel and began to bake it into a cake. The man watched her from the door. As she turned the cake, it seemed to her too large to give away.

      "I will bake a smaller one," she said to herself. She did not glance toward the stranger, but caught up a wee bit of meal and began to cook the second cake.

      But that also looked too large to give away. She cooked a third cake that was no larger than a thimble. But when it was done, she shook her head, for it also was too large to give away. And still the old man waited patiently in the doorway, watching it all.

      Then the old woman gathered up the cakes, large and small, and put them on a plate. The plate she set on the pantry shelf and then locked the door.

      "I have no food for you," she said to the old man. "My cakes seem very small when I eat them, but they are far too large to give away. Ask bread at another door."

      The old man's blue eyes flashed with fire as he drew himself up proudly.

      "I have been round the world but never have I met a soul so small. You have shelter, food, and fire, but you will not share with another. This is your punishment. You shall seek your scanty food with pain. You shall bore, bore, bore in hard tree-trunks for your food."

      The old man struck his staff on the floor. A strong gust of wind carried the old woman up the chimney. The flames scorched her grey clothes black; but her red cap was unharmed.

      A woodpecker flew out of the chimney and away to the wood. Rap! rap! rap! you can hear her tapping her beak on the tree-trunks as she hunts for food. But always and everywhere, she wears a black coat and a little red cap. Watch for the woodpecker and see if it is not so.

       Table of Contents

       Table of Contents

      oney," said Uncle Remus to the little boy, "why don' you git some flesh on yo' bones? If I wuz ole Brer Wolf en you wuz a young rabbit, I wouldn't git hongry 'nuff fer ter eat you, caze you's too bony."

      "Did Brother Wolf want to eat the young rabbit, Uncle Remus?" inquired the little boy.

      "Ain't I done tole you 'bout dat, honey? Des run over in yo' min' en see ef I ain't."

      The youngster shook his head.

      "Well," said Uncle Remus, "ole Brer Wolf want ter eat de little Rabs all de time, but dey wuz one time in 'tickeler dat dey make his mouf water, en dat wuz de time when him en Brer Fox wuz visitin' at Brer Rabbit's house. De times wuz hard, but de little Rabs wuz slick and fat, en des ez frisky ez kittens. Ole Brer Rabbit wuz off som'ers, en Brer Wolf en Brer Fox wuz waitin' fer 'im. De little Rabs wuz playin' 'roun', en dough dey wuz little dey kep' der years open. Brer Wolf look at um out'n de cornder uv his eyes, en lick his chops en wink at Brer Fox, en Brer Fox wunk back at 'im. Brer Wolf cross his legs, en den Brer Fox cross his'n. De little Rabs, dey frisk en dey frolic.

      "Brer Wolf ho'd his head to'rds um en 'low, 'Dey er mighty fat.'

      "Brer Fox grin, en say, 'Man, hush yo' mouf!'

      "De little Rabs frisk en dey frolic, en play furder off, but dey keep der years primed.

      "Brer Wolf look at um en 'low, 'Ain't dey slick en purty?'

      "Brer Fox chuckle, en say, 'Oh, I wish you'd hush!'

      "De little Rabs play off furder en furder, but dey keep der years open.

      "Brer Wolf smack his mouf, en 'low, 'Dey er joosy en tender.'

      "Brer Fox roll his eye en say, 'Man, ain't you gwine ter hush up, 'fo' you gi' me de fidgets?'

      "Der little Rabs dey frisk en dey frolic, but dey hear ev'ything dat pass.

      "Brer Wolf lick out his tongue quick, en

Скачать книгу