Child's Story Garden - - (inspirational books to read TXT) 📗

class="calibre1">the beautiful white clouds that went sailing by like so many ships on

the sea. The little pine tree wished to grow and be tall, like the rest

of the trees, for it wanted to see what was in the world outside of the

forest. The tall pine trees would sing songs as the wind whistled

through their branches, and the little pine tree waited day after day,

so that it might be tall and sing songs, too. When summer came the birds

would rest on the branches of this wee tree, but would not build nests,

because it was too low. When winter came little white snowflakes came

fluttering down and rested on the branches of the little pine tree.

 

Year after year the little tree waited, but it grew all this time, and

seemed to stretch higher and higher its beautiful green branches.

 

One day, when the little snowflakes had fluttered down and made all the

world white, and the wind was whistling a merry tune, the little pine

tree heard some strange noises. The tall pine trees nodded their heads,

for they knew who were coming. They were the woodmen. They had a sled

with them, drawn by horses. The sight was strange to the pine tree, for

it had never before seen woodmen, nor a sled, nor horses. But the old

pine trees knew what it all meant, for they had seen the woodmen many

times. They wondered which tree the woodmen would choose. Now, the

little pine tree had grown, and it was not a wee tree any longer, but

was a straight, strong, beautiful tree. The woodmen walked about with

something very bright and shining in their hands. When they came to this

pine tree they looked at it, shook it and sounded the ax against its

trunk.

 

How queer the pine tree felt! It wondered what they were going to do

with it. Suddenly a sharp sound rang out in the air, and another, and

still another one. And the pine tree felt itself swaying and swaying,

and down it went, lower and lower, until its branches touched the soft

white snow on the ground. The woodmen lifted the pine tree very

carefully, placed it on the sled and drove the horses away. Pine Tree

was happy now, for he was going to see something of the great, wonderful

world.

 

The woodmen drove the horses out of the forest into the beautiful white

world. On and on they went until at last they came to a little village

by the sea. They drove through the village and into a great shipyard,

where saws were buzzing, hammers were pounding, and busy men were

hurrying about. Pine Tree had never seen anything like this before. He

was lifted from the sled and his beautiful branches were taken from the

trunk. Then he lay with, many other logs for a long time, until one day

the carpenters took him away, and he found that he was helping to make a

part of a ship. Boards were nailed on, and the busy carpenters worked

day after day.

 

At last the strong and stately ship was finished. It glided gracefully

into the water and sailed away. Pine Tree was very happy now, for he was

seeing new and strange things. The waves dashed carelessly against the

ship. They seemed to have a song, too. Pine Tree had not forgotten the

songs that the old pines used to sing. The waves did not always sing the

same song—sometimes they would rush and roll against the ship very hard

until they grew tired, and then they would roll on, and sing a quiet

song again.

 

Sometimes the ship would stop at strange countries, people would get

off, other people would get on, and then the ship would sail off out

into the sea again. Now, the pine tree had been a part of the ship for

many years, when one night while the ship was sailing the seas the waves

grew so high and strong that the parts of the ship could not stay

together. So Pine Tree was thrown out upon the angry waves and was

rocked all night long—very roughly at first, but gently afterwards.

When the sunshine looked down upon the sand the next morning it saw Pine

Tree. Pine Tree lay there many days.

 

How lonesome Pine Tree was! He seemed to hear the songs of the old

pines, and sometimes the songs of the waves. One day he heard another

song. It was a new song to the pine tree, for the song was sung by some

little children who were digging in the sand close by. They came here

every day to play, and once a man came with them. When he saw Pine Tree

lying upon the sand he said: “This is just what I have been looking for.

I will use this for the ridge-pole for my little cottage.” So he took

Pine Tree away with him. After a time Pine Tree found himself a part of

the man’s cottage, and, of course, he could not hear the songs of the

forest, nor the songs of the waves, but he heard new songs. They were

rock-a-bye-baby songs that the mother in this little cottage would sing

to her children in the evening, when it was time for them to go to

sleep.

 

Years passed, and the children grew to be men and women, and after a

while all the songs Pine Tree heard were those of the grandmother, which

were soft and low. At last these, too, were heard no more—the little

cottage grew quiet and everything was still. Pine Tree wondered where

everybody was. The only company he had were the birds that came in

through the window and built nests in the attic. Now the cottage was no

longer a home, but was used as a barn, and the gentle cows, the woolly

sheep and the kind horses rested there at night. They, too, seemed to

sing a song to Pine Tree, but by and by even their song could not be

heard—nothing but the wind and the owls in the trees outside—because

what had once been the cottage, and then a barn, was now a forsaken

little hut.

 

One day Pine Tree heard a man whistling. Oh! how he hoped he would come

in, for he had not seen anybody nor heard any of the songs he had loved

for so long. Pine Tree heard the whistle come nearer and nearer, and at

last the man stepped through the doorway. He looked about him and saw

the spider webs hanging in the corners and the birds flying in and out

of the windows, and he wondered how long it had been since people had

lived there. He looked up and saw the ridge-pole, which had once been

Pine Tree. “Oh!” he said, “I have found what I have long been looking

for.” So he climbed up and loosened the boards and took Pine Tree out of

his resting place. Now Pine Tree was going once more out into the world.

The man carried him on and took him into a little shop. It was a queer

shop, too, for there were many bright, shining things lying on the

work-bench. They were tools, you know. The man had a kind face and he

handled Pine Tree very carefully. He sawed and smoothed Pine Tree many

days, and as he worked he whistled and sang, for he was happy. Sometimes

he would whistle some of the songs that Pine Tree had heard when he

lived in the forest, and then sometimes those he had heard on the ocean,

and again he would whistle the songs that Pine Tree had heard in the

home of the children.

 

At last the man’s work was finished. Pine Tree had been made into a

wonderful musical instrument—a violin. The man took a bow and drew it

across the strings, and as he did so he smiled and nodded his head, for

the music was very sweet. The violin, which had once been Pine Tree, and

then part of a ship, and the ridge-pole of the cottage and the barn,

seemed to sing to the man the songs of the forest, the songs of the

ocean, the songs of the home, and the songs of the lowly barn.

 

One day the man put the violin in a case and took it away on a long

journey. When the case was opened, the violin saw that they were in a

strange hall full of people, and many of them were talking of this

man—the violin-maker.

 

The man lifted the violin from the case and went out upon a large

platform before the people, and began playing for them. He seemed to say

to the violin, “Sing for me,” and as he drew the bow across the strings

the violin sang. It sang to the people, first the very songs that the

tall pines sang in the forest. The song changed, and the lap of the

waters, and the dip of the oar could be heard as on a moonlight summer

night; then the angry wind and the dash of the waves could be heard as

in a fierce storm. Slowly this song died, and everything was quiet.

Then, after a little while, the faraway sound of children’s

voices—their laughter and singing—was heard, and then came the sweet

lullaby to the sleepy babes.

 

These songs all died away, and the violin sang the songs of the birds in

the summer-time, and the lowing of cattle, and the bleating of sheep in

the cold wintertime.

 

At last the violin could sing no longer the songs it knew, but a new

song came forth which was also very beautiful, and which caused the

people to bend forward and listen with eager faces, for it was the song

that came from the heart of the old man who was master of the violin.

A CHRISTMAS STORY

It was so long ago that the whole world has forgotten the date and even

the name of the little town in which lived a little boy whose name was

Hans.

 

Little Hans lived with his aunt, who was quite an old lady. She was not

always kind to Hans, but this made no difference to him. He loved her

just the same, and forgot that she was ever cross and very unkind to him

at times.

 

Hans went to school with many other boys, but he was not clothed as they

were. He had to wear the same clothes both week days and Sundays; the

same even in the summer that he wore in the winter.

 

It was now midwinter, when everything was wrapped in snow and glazed

with ice, while the north winds sang loud and whistled down the

chimneys, played very roughly with the bare trees, and crept through

every crack and crevice of the house. The frost, too, was busy pinching

the cheeks and biting the toes of the boys, and making them run, jump

and dance to keep warm.

 

The children were wild with the excitement and the joy that was astir at

this time. For there were secrets in the air. Every one was busy making

gifts for some loved one.

 

It was the night before Christmas, the one great birthday on which the

whole world rejoiceth and when all endeavor to make their fellow men

happy.

 

The schoolmaster and all of his pupils started for the midnight worship

and prayer at the church. All of the boys were well clothed, with heavy

coats, fur caps, thick mittens, and very heavy and warm shoes. But

little Hans had only a poor, plain, ragged suit, with no overcoat, no

mittens, and his shoes were only wooden ones. It was