Stories to Tell Children - Sara Cone Bryant (best english books to read for beginners .TXT) 📗
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Soon Christmas morning dawned, and Gottlieb woke very early. But others were up before him, for, to his surprise, he saw a strange gentleman with his mother. His wondering eyes soon perceived other unusual objects, for the hearth was piled with wood, and the table was loaded with food and dainties such as he had never even imagined.
Gottlieb entered the room just as his mother threw herself at the stranger's feet to bless him for his generous goodness to the widow and orphan. "Nay, give me no thanks, worthy dame," said the visitor. "Rather be grateful to your little son, and to the good Lord to whom he wrote for aid."
Then he turned to Gottlieb with a smile, "You see that although you wrote to the Christ Child, your prayer for aid came only to the Burgomaster. The gifts you asked for are here, but they come from my hand." But Gottlieb answered him humbly, "Nay, sir, the Christ Child sent them, for He put the thought in your heart."
HOW THE FIR TREE BECAME THE CHRISTMAS TREE[37]When you stand round the Christmas tree and look longingly at the toys hanging from the prickly branches, it does not occur to you to ask why it is always this particular tree that is so honoured at Christmas. The dark green Fir looks so majestic when laden with bright toys and lit up by Christmas candles, that perhaps it is not easy to believe that it is the most modest of trees. But so it is, and because of its humility it was chosen to bear Christmas gifts to the children. This is the story:
When the Christ Child was born, all people, animals, trees, and other plants felt that a great happiness had come into the world. And truly, the Heavenly Father had sent with the Holy Babe His blessings of Peace and Goodwill to all. Every day people came to see the sweet Babe, bringing presents in their hands. By the stable wherein lay the Christ Child stood three trees, and as the people came and went under their spreading branches, they thought that they, too, would like to give presents to the Child.
Said the Palm, "I will choose my biggest leaf and place it as a fan beside the manger to waft soft air to the Child."
"And I," said the Olive, "I will sprinkle sweet-smelling oil over Him."
"What can I give to the Child?" asked the Fir.
"You?" said the others. "You have nothing to offer. Your needles would prick the wee Babe, and your tears are sticky."
This made the poor Fir very unhappy indeed, and it said, sadly, "Yes, you are right. I have nothing that would be good enough to offer to the Christ Child."
Now, quite near to the trees had stood an Angel, who had heard all that had passed. He was moved to pity the Fir, who was so lowly and without envy of the other trees, and he resolved to help it.
High in the dark of the heavens the stars were beginning to twinkle, and the Angel begged some of the little ones to come down and rest upon the branches of the Fir. This they were glad to do, and their silvery light shone among the branches just like Christmas candles. From where He lay the Christ Child could see the great dark evening world and the darker forms of the trees keeping watch, like faithful guardians, beside the open door of the stable; and to its delight the Fir Tree saw the face of the Babe illumined with a heavenly smile as He looked upon the twinkling lights.
The Christ Child did not forget the lovely sight, and long afterward he bade that to celebrate His birthday there should be placed in every house a Fir Tree, which might be lit up with candles to shine for the children as the stars shone for Him on His first birthday.
Was not the Fir Tree richly rewarded for its meekness? Surely there is no other tree that shines on so many happy faces!
THE DIAMOND AND THE DEWDROP[38]A costly Diamond, that had once sparkled in a lady's ring, lay in a field amid tall grasses and oxeye daisies.
Just above it, was a big Dewdrop that clung timidly to a nodding grass-blade.
Overhead, the blazing sun shone in all his noonday glory.
Ever since the first pink blush of dawn, the modest Dewdrop had gazed fixedly down upon the rich gem, but feared to address a person of such exalted consequence.
At last, a large Beetle, during his rambles, chanced to espy the Diamond, and he also recognised him to be some one of great rank and importance.
"Sire," he said, making a low bow, "permit your humble servant to offer you greeting."
"Tha—nks," responded the Diamond in languid tones of affectation.
As the Beetle raised his head from his profound bow, his gaze happened to alight upon the Dewdrop.
"A relative of yours, I presume, Sire?" he remarked affably, waving one of his feelers in the direction of the Dewdrop.
The Diamond burst into a rude, contemptuous laugh.
"Quite too absurd, I declare!" he exclaimed loftily. "But there, what can you expect from a low, grovelling beetle? Away, sir, pass on! Your very presence is distasteful to me. The idea of placing ME upon the same level—in the same family, as a low-born, mean, insignificant, utterly valueless——" Here the Diamond fairly choked for breath.
"But has he not beauty exactly like your own, Sire?" the Beetle ventured to interpose, though with a very timid air.
"BEAU—TY!" flashed the Diamond, with fine disdain—"the impudent fellow merely apes and imitates ME. However, it is some small consolation to remember that 'Imitation is the sincerest flattery.' But, even allowing him to possess it, mere beauty without rank is ridiculous and worthless. A Boat without water—a Carriage, but no horses—a Well, but never a winch: such is beauty without rank and wealth! There is no real worth apart from rank and wealth. Combine Beauty, Rank, and Wealth, and you have the whole world at your feet. Now you know the secret of the world worshipping ME."
And the Diamond sparkled and gleamed with vivid, violet flashes, so that the Beetle was glad to shade his eyes.
The poor Dewdrop had listened silently to all that had passed, and felt so wounded, that at last he wished he never had been born. Slowly a bright tear fell and splashed the dust.
Just then, a Skylark fluttered to the ground and eagerly darted his beak at the Diamond.
"Alas!" he piped, with a great sob of disappointment. "What I thought to be a precious dewdrop is only a worthless diamond. My throat is parched for want of water. I must die of thirst!"
"Really? The world will never get over your loss," cruelly sneered the Diamond.
But a sudden and noble resolve came to the Dewdrop. Deeply did he repent his foolish wish. He could now lay down his life that the life of another might be saved!
"May I help you, please?" he gently asked.
The Lark raised his drooping head.
"Oh, my precious, precious friend, if you will, you can save my life!"
"Open your mouth then."
And the Dewdrop slid from the blade of grass, tumbled into the parched beak, and was eagerly swallowed.
"Ah—well, well!" pondered the Beetle as he continued his homeward way. "I've been taught a lesson that I shall not easily forget. Yes, yes! Simple worth is far better than rank or wealth without modesty and unselfishness—and there is no true beauty where these virtues are absent!"
FOOTNOTES:[1] How to Tell Stories to Children.
[2] In How to Tell Stories to Children, page 145.
[3] How to Tell Stories to Children.
[4] Nature Myths, Florence Holbrook.
[5] Favourite Greek Myths, Lilian S. Hyde.
[6] Legends of Greece and Rome, G.H. Kupfer.
[7] Folk Tales from Many Lands, Lilian Gask.
[8] These riddles were taken from the Gaelic, and are charming examples of the naïve beauty of the old Irish, and of Dr Hyde's accurate and sympathetic modern rendering. From Beside the Fire (David Nutt).
[9] From The Ignominy of being Grown Up, by Dr. Samuel M. Crothers, in the Atlantic Monthly for July 1906.
[10] Adapted from the German of Robert Reinick's Märchen-, Lieder-und Geschichtenbuch (Velhagen und Klasing, Bielefeld and Leipsic).
[11] I have tried to give this story in the most familiar form; it varies a good deal in the hands of different story-tellers, but this is substantially the version I was "brought up on."
[12] The four stories of the little Jackal, in this book, are adapted from stories in Old Deccan Days, by Mary Frere (John Murray), a collection of orally transmitted Hindu folk tales, which every teacher would gain by knowing. In the Hindu animal legends the Jackal seems to play the rôle assigned in Germanic lore to Reynard the Fox, and to "Bre'r Rabbit" in the negro stories of Southern America; he is the clever and humorous trickster who usually comes out of an encounter with a whole skin, and turns the laugh on his enemy, however mighty he may be.
[13] The following story of the two mice, with the similar fables of The Boy who cried Wolf, The Frog King, and The Sun and the Wind, are given here with the hope that they may be of use to the many teachers who find the over-familiar material of the fables difficult to adapt, and who are yet aware of the great usefulness of the stories to young minds. A certain degree of vividness and amplitude must be added to the compact statement of the famous collections, and yet it is not wise to change the style-effect of a fable, wholly. I venture to give these versions, not as perfect models, of course, but as renderings which have been acceptable to children, and which I believe retain the original point simply and strongly.
[14] Based on Theodor Storm's story of Der Kleine Häwelmann (George Westermann, Braunschweig). Very freely adapted from the German story.
[15] Adapted from two tales included in the records of the American Folk-Lore Society.
[16] From Celia Thaxter's Stories and Poems for Children.
[17] By William Allingham.
[18] Adapted from the verse version, by Horace E. Scudder, which follows this as an alternative.
[19] A Negro nonsense tale from the Southern States of America.
[20] From Louisa M. Alcott's Life, Letters and Journals.
[21] From Celia Thaxter's Stories and Poems for Children.
[22] Adapted from the facts given in the German of Die Zehn Feen in Märchen und Erzählungen, Zweiter Teil, by H.A. Guerber.
[23] Adapted from the story as told in Fables and Folk Tales from an Eastern Forest, by Walter Skeat.
[24] From The Singing Leaves, by Josephine Preston Peabody.
[25] Adapted from Hans Christian Andersen.
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