Полная версияПолная версия:
Five Minute Stories
THE STORY OF THE CRIMSON CRAB
The Crimson Crab was to be married to the Eldest Frog. The wedding guests were assembled on the great water-lily leaf, in their best dresses and best spirits. There were lizards and water-beetles, dragon-flies and butterflies, – in fact, all the best people of the neighbourhood. The musicians, young frogs of remarkable talent, were stationed with their instruments in the pink buds of the lily; in the largest blossom the bride was completing her toilet. But she wept as she polished her shining claws, and her feelers shook with grief; for she did not wish to marry the Eldest Frog. He was gray and grizzly, had no voice save a dismal croak, and was known to have an odious temper. The Crimson Crab thought of the gallant young Green Frog, whom she had met at the Pollywogs’ Ball. How handsome he was! She had danced nearly every dance with him, and he had pressed her claw tenderly, and whispered sweet words in her ear. Then, the next evening, he came and sang beneath her window; ah, how he sang! When the song was over he leaped lightly upon the window-sill, poured out his tale of love, and gained her promise to be his bride. Ah, moment of rapture! She thrilled even now with the recollection of it. But he vanished, and – she had never seen him since. She was told that he had disappeared, had probably gone to the Muskrat War, and been killed in battle.
Alone she sat and wept, till her stern father came and told her that she was to be the bride of the Eldest Frog. Vain were her tears, vain her entreaties. Preparations for the wedding were at once begun, the fine clothes were ordered, and now the fatal day was come.
“Alas!” cried the Crimson Crab, “why am I beautiful? Why does this lovely carmine mantle in my shining shell? If I were a plain green crab the Eldest Frog would not have sought me out, and I might still sit in my lonely bower and weep for my lost love.”
At this moment her father’s summons came, and she was forced to dry her tears.
“Console yourself, noble Lady!” cried her faithful Attendant Lizard. “See the beautiful gifts your bridegroom has sent you. A girdle of pearls! a mantle of glittering fish-scales! webs of gossamer, the finest that ever were seen! Never was bride so richly decked. So generous a bridegroom as the Eldest Frog is sure to make a kind husband.”
But the bride only sighed the more, and sadly took her way toward the great leaf, whereon the wedding guests were assembled.
The Eldest Frog was dressed in his best. His speckled coat was new, and his yellow breeches fitted to perfection; but for all that he was old and ugly. He leered at the bride with his goggle-eyes, and grinned till the two ends of his mouth nearly met behind.
“Croak! croak!” he said, laying his hand on his heart. “Ah! the fair bride! Ah! the lovely Crimson! What happiness to win the love of such an exquisite creature!” He held out his withered hand, and advanced a step or two; but at the same instant a voice was heard, crying, “Villain! do not dare to touch her!” and leaping across the lily-leaf, his eyes flashing fire, his bulrush spear in his hand, came the Green Frog.
With one thrust he sent the Eldest Frog sprawling on the floor. Then, while all the company looked on aghast, he caught the Crimson Crab in his arms, and hailed her as his bride. “This villain lay in wait for me,” he cried, “and captured me unawares the very night when last I saw thee, my own. For weeks I have lain fast bound, hand and foot, in a dungeon deep under the mud. To-day I was set free by a faithful Horned Pout, whom I had formerly befriended. Fly with me, my bright, my beautiful! My home among the reeds is lowly, but love will make it rich. Away! away!” He seized the slender claw of the Crimson Crab; and before her father could prevent it, the two had leaped from the leaf, and were scuttling swiftly through the clear water.
All the guests followed, – that is, all who could swim, – to see what would become of the venturous young couple. The old Crab went into his hole and sulked; while as for the Eldest Frog, he just lay on his back where his rival had thrown him, gasping and gurgling, and nobody took any notice of him, till at last a fat brown duck came along, and – gobbled him up!
MOTHER’S RIDDLE
Mother has a kitten,Mother has a mouse,Mother has a bird that singsAll about the house.Mother has a lammie,Mother has a chick:All together have but two feet;Guess my riddle, quick!KING JOHN
I’m learning a lesson uponKing John:A very great rascal was he.He murdered Prince Arthur,’Cause England would ratherThe Prince should her sovereign be.I’m learning a lesson uponKing John:A coward and craven was he.Up rose every baronAnd said, “We’ll make war onThis king as our worst enemee!”They beat him in many a field;“Now yield!”Cried they, “or Your Grace we must slay!Or else, let us barter!You’ll sign Magna Charta,And we’ll take the soldiers away.”He signed in a terrible hurry,And flurry;But soon as the soldiers were gone,This pitiful fellowDid shriek, howl and bellow,To think of the thing he had done.He bit, and he scratched, and he kicked,And lickedEvery person that came in his way;He murdered their spousesAnd burned up their houses,Behaved in an odious way.One night he took tea with some monks,(Old hunks!Just to save his own supper at home!)But he put on such airsThat they poisoned his pears,Which concludes both his life and my pome.THE SPOTTY COW
My Spotty Cow, my Spotty Cow,I love you very dearly!You are, I think, the fairest beastIn all the wide world, nearly!My Kitty-cat is also sweet,But then, she has no spots:While you, my pleasant Spotty Cow,Have lots and lots and LOTS!The King of Spain he may be grand,The Queen of England, too.They cannot have my Spotty Cow,Whatever they may do.But if they both should bring to meTheir gold and gems and silk,I might —perhaps I might – give themA very – little – milk!THE BUTTON PIE
A button pie! a button pie!It was our fondest wish.We took the nursery buttonsAnd put them in a dish.We mixed them well with sawdustSqueezed out of Dolly’s arm,And some of Nursie’s hair-oil,Not thinking any harm.And then we set the pie to bake,Beneath the sewing table;And went to play a little whileWith Johnny’s horse and stable.But Nursie came, and whisked her gown,And over went the pie.I think I will not tell the rest,For fear – that – I should – cry!THE INQUISITIVE DUCKS
Once upon a time there were some children, and once upon a time there were some ducks. It was upon the same time, too, and they all lived together in one house. That was funny, wasn’t it?
And there were two reasons for it. In the first place, it was so cold where they lived that the ducks could not stay out of doors, except in summer; and in the second place, the good man of the house, the children’s father, was so poor that he could not afford to have a separate house for the ducks.
Indeed, there were only three rooms in the house. One was the kitchen, which was parlor and dining-room and sitting-room as well, and one was the children’s room, and the third was the parents’ room. So there they all lived together, and they were very sociable. The names of the children were Greta, Minna, Lisa, Carl and Baby Fritz. The names of the ducks were Red-top, Waggle-tail, Gobbler and Spottle-toe; and the children were all good, but the ducks were all naughty, as you shall hear.
The father had made a nice wooden box for the ducks, and this was always filled with hay and kept beside the great porcelain stove in winter, so that the pets might be warm. But were they grateful for this kindness? Not a bit of it. They were always getting out of their box and poking their bills into all sorts of places where they had no business to be. You might find Waggle-tail inside the mother’s Sunday cap, and Gobbler tasting the soup on the table, and Red-top and Spottle-toe pulling the baby’s doll to pieces. These were things that happened every day. And, indeed, what else can be expected, when one keeps one’s ducks in the kitchen? But one day something very much worse than all this came.
The mother was ill, so ill that she was obliged to stay in bed and send for the doctor, and that was something very unusual. The doctor came and gave her a box of pills, telling her to take one every day until she was better. He told her to put her feet in a hot mustard-bath, as that would draw the pain down from her head; then he patted the children, and mounting his old gray pony, rode away again.
Well, the mother took her pill, and then closed her eyes for a short nap, laying the pill-box down on the low stool beside the bed. Presently Greta, the eldest daughter, came in with the hot foot-bath, and seeing her mother asleep, set it down softly and went out again to get the warm shawl that the good woman would need when she sat up.
Now, it happened that she left the door open, and as this was what the four ducks had been waiting for all day, they immediately waddled into the mother’s room. Poking about in their usual way, they soon found the box of pills, and supposing them to be something particularly nice, they gobbled them all up in the twinkling of an eye. Now, you know that pills are not apt to be nice, and these pills were very particularly nasty, as the ducks soon found out.
“What’s this?” said Gobbler.
“Ugh! quack! ugh! What is it?” exclaimed Red-top.
Waggle-tail had swallowed four pills, and his feelings were too deep for words. His one thought was “something to drink!” and seeing the foot-bath, he plunged his bill in and took a good draught of the hot mustard and water.
Oh, then, what a clamour arose! The other ducks had hastened to follow his example, and now they were all screaming and sputtering and flapping their wings in a way that was dreadful to hear. The poor mother woke up in a fright; Greta and all the children came rushing in, followed by the dog; finally the father came, armed with a heavy stick, and the terrified ducks were driven out of doors, where they sat, shivering, on the doorstep, declaring that they would never eat or drink anything again.
QUEEN MATILDA
Oh! Queen Matilda baked,And Queen Matilda brewed;And Queen Matilda taught her boysThey never should be rude.“Take off your hat!Wipe your shoes upon the mat!When you help yourself to butter,Only take a single pat!”Oh! Queen Matilda sewed,And Queen Matilda span,And Queen Matilda taught her boysThe duties of a man.“Keep your mouth shut,Don’t give way to ‘if’ or ‘but;’Don’t employ your little toofsiesWhen you wish to crack a nut!”THE TWO-SHOES CHAIR
FOR BETTYWhen the baby eyes are heavy,When the baby feet are sore,When she cannot go a-singingAnd a-springing any more,Then the Baby and her mother,Oh! the happy, happy pair!They turn to seek the shelterOf the Two-shoes Chair.Chorus.– Oh! the Two-shoes Chair!Oh! the Two-shoes Chair!’Tis there we seek for pleasure,And ’tis there we hide from care.And all the little troubles,They float away like bubbles,As we sit and rock togetherIn the Two-shoes Chair.Has the dolly’s head been broken?Has the dolly’s frock been torn?Has Johnny gone to play with boys,And left her all forlorn?Still her little heart is cheery,And she yields not to despair;She can always have her mother,And the Two-shoes Chair.Cho.– Oh! the Two-shoes Chair! etc.When a bump is on her forehead,Or a bruise is on her knee;When the kitten has been horrid,“Just as horrid as can be!”Then she climbs her coign of vantage,And is sure of comfort there,For her mother’s arms are round herIn the Two-shoes Chair.Cho.– Oh! the Two-shoes Chair! etc.But best of all, when twilightComes softly down the sky,When birds are crooning on the boughTheir “Lulla-lullaby!”When all the stars are readyTo light her to her beddy,’Tis then she loves to lingerIn the Two-shoes Chair.Cho.– Oh! the Two-shoes Chair! etc.ETHELRED THE UNREADY
Ethelred Unready,He would not go to beddy.Sat up all night,Till his nurse died of fright,With a nightcap over his heady.POOR BONNY.
A TRUE STORY
Bonny was only six years old when it happened. He went to the mill, one day, with his uncle, riding in front of him on the old gray mare, while the bags of corn hung over on each side.
While Uncle Allen talked with the miller, Bonny ran about, peeping here and there; and at last he strayed off into the pasture to see the red calf with the three spots on its nose. He was gone so long that Uncle Allen thought he had run away home, so he rode off with two bags of flour instead of the corn.
Bonny was rather frightened when he found he must go home alone through the woods, a distance of three miles, but he was a sturdy little fellow, and would not let the miller know that he was afraid.
Off he trudged, with his hands in his pockets, whistling the merriest tune he knew, to keep his courage up, – “Tra la lira la!” Very gayly it sounded through the bare woods, for it was early spring, and the leaves were only just beginning to break out of their woolly coverings. The red squirrels came out of their holes to look at him, and the little wood-mice sat and chattered at the doors of their houses. Bonny was used to these little creatures, and only whistled louder when he saw them; but presently he came to something that made him stop whistling and open his mouth very wide indeed with surprise.
On the stump of a fallen tree sat a great bird with mottled feathers, which spread around and over the stump. It was a wild turkey, Bonny knew, for Uncle Allen had told him just what they looked like, though he had never seen one.
When the turkey saw him, she rose up for a moment, and he saw that she was sitting on a nest full of brown eggs. Then she settled down again, folded her wings over her treasure, and glared fiercely at the intruder.
Bonny stood quite still for some time, wondering what he should do. He wanted the eggs, – not all, but just a few, to show Uncle Allen. But the turkey was very large and very fierce-looking, with her glaring, yellow eyes and her sharp beak; and Bonny was only six years old.
On the whole, he thought the wisest plan would be to go straight home and tell Uncle Allen about it; and then they would come together and drive the turkey away, and get a few of the beautiful mottled egg.
Full of his new idea, the little fellow ran on, and finally reached home before dark. But here a sad disappointment awaited him, for Uncle Allen – Bonny had no father or mother, and lived with his uncle – would not believe that he had seen a wild turkey at all.
“Pooh! pooh!” he said. “Nonsense, my lad! you saw a partridge; or it might be a hen that had stolen a nest, as the saying is. There are no wild turkeys about here that ever I heard of. Get your supper now, and go to bed, like a good little lad. We have had a fine worry about you, thinking you were lost.”
Bonny knew it was a wild turkey that he had seen, and he was very unhappy because his story was only half believed.
“If I could only have got an egg!” he said to himself, over and over. “If I had only one egg to show, they would know that I am right. But I know it! I do! I do!” He ate his supper, and went to bed with his head full of the wild turkey, but he was so tired that he fell asleep in spite of himself.
It seemed as if Bonny had only been asleep five minutes when something struck him very hard on the head, and woke him up. He cried out, and opened his eyes in a great fright. Where was he? Why was he so cold? Why were his feet wet?
At first the child was bewildered with fright and amazement; but when he came to himself, he found that he was standing in the midst of a wood, alone, barefooted, clad only in his little flannel nightgown, in the dead of night.
Poor Bonny! poor little lad! And what was he holding up in his nightgown, holding tight with both hands? He let go his hold, and down fell – the wild turkey’s eggs!
The child had walked there in his sleep, and had found the bird gone, or else driven her away, he never could know which. As he raised his head after gathering up the eggs, a branch must have struck him on the head and waked him.
But oh, to get home! It was so cold, so wet! He shivered with fear, as well as with the chill; but this time he would not go back empty-handed. Surely, the eggs could not be all broken?
No, here was one whole one! Clasp it tight, little Bonny, and run! Follow your own little footprints, pit-pat, pit-pat, back through the dark woods, – the moon shining through the trees, and making just enough light for you to see your way, – across the meadow, up the lane and then, – oh! then scamper, run! rush over the home-field, home! home at last!
Pit-pat, softly, up the back stairs, after closing the door, which he found swinging wide open, and the little shivering figure crept into its little bed, cuddled down under the bedclothes and lay as still as a mouse.
Great was the outcry in the morning when Bonny told his story.
“Pooh! pooh! nonsense!” cried Uncle Allen.
But there was the turkey’s egg, and there were the little muddy footprints at the back door and up the stairs.
Then Uncle Allen followed the tracks, and went himself across the field and down the lane and over the meadow and through the wood. And when he came to the nest on the stump and the broken eggs, with the print of the little bare feet close by, he said, “Well, well! I declare! now, I do!”
And he went home and gave Bonny a big orange and ten cents and his old jackknife. But Aunt Lucy kept him in bed till noon, and made him drink hot lemonade every hour to take out the cold; and he had the kitten to play with, and Grandma’s spectacles, and he didn’t catch cold, after all.
THE HUSKING OF THE CORN
When the autumn winds are merry,And come piping o’er the lea,Kiss the lassies’ cheeks to cherry,Toss their curls in frolic glee,Then the neighbour children gatherAt the sound of Robin’s horn,Trooping to the barn togetherFor the husking of the corn.There the floor is swept so trimly,Ready for the pleasant play,There the light falls soft and dimlyDown the hills of fragrant hay;There the pumpkins and the squashes,In a circle ranged complete,For the laddies and the lassies,Make for each a royal seat.On our golden stools a-sitting,Each beside a pile of corn,Lightly goes the laughter, flitting,While the rustling husks are torn.And the yellow ears and gleamingPile we high before us there,Till a wondrous castle, seemingAll of gold, we’ve builded fair.Then, when all is finished, RobinBrings the apples, glowing red,Chestnuts in their satin jackets,Cookies crisp, and gingerbread.And we feast, with song and laughter,And we make the echoes ring,Till each ancient cobwebbed rafterShakes to hear our revelling.Till the rising moon is jealous,Envying our merry play;Through the window peeps to tell us,“Hence, to bed! away! away!”So, with parting jest and greeting,Troop the neighbour children home,Looking to another meetingWhen a holiday shall come.City children, you who wonderHow the “country bumpkins” live,Know, we would not join you yonderFor all joys that you could give.Keep your shops, your smoky weather,Keep your looks of pitying scorn!You can never troop togetherTo the husking of the corn!THE CLEVER CHEESE-MAKER
Once upon a time there lived, in a little straw hut, a poor cheese-maker and his wife. They made good cheeses, and sold them whenever they could; but they lived in a lonely spot, and few people passed by that way, so that they made but a slender living. Now it chanced one day that when the good wife came to count the cheeses she found that there were six missing, although she had not sold any or given them away.
So she said to her husband, —
“Some thief has stolen six cheeses in the night.”
“Good!” said the husband.
“Bad!” said the wife.
“Good, I tell you!” cried the husband. “We will watch to-night and catch the thief, and to-morrow we will take him before the judge and ask that he be forced to pay us twice the value of the cheeses.”
“Good!” said the wife. “What a clever fellow you are!”
“Oh! I have not a pumpkin on my shoulders!” said the husband, chuckling.
Accordingly, the husband and wife concealed themselves under the bed the next night, and watched to see what would happen. About midnight the door opened softly, and in came a large brown monkey. He looked all about, and seeing no one, he went to the cheese cupboard, took three of the finest cheeses, and made off. The wife was for following him, but the husband said, “No! let us wait and see if he comes again.”
So they waited, and sure enough the monkey returned in a few minutes, and taking three more cheeses went off again. This time the man followed him. Holding the cheeses carefully in his arms, the monkey took his way through the woods till he came to the mouth of a cave, into which he ran. The cheese-maker slipped noiselessly after him. They went through a dark, winding passage, which led to a vaulted chamber hollowed in the solid rock. Here the monkey entered, while the man concealed himself behind a point of rock and peeped after him. The room was full of monkeys; and at the farther end sat the Monkey King, on a throne made of a huge mass of gold. The cheese-maker stared at that, for he had never seen such a sight. When the Monkey King saw the cheese, he howled with delight, seized the largest one, and gobbled it up.
When the cheese-maker saw that, he turned about and went home again, for he needed to see no more, having a head on his shoulders, and not a pumpkin.
“How now?” asked his wife. “You come back without the cheeses?”
“Hold your tongue, good wife!” he said. “Knowledge is better than cheese.”
“Truly!” said the wife, scornfully. “It must be a fine knowledge to be worth six of my best cheeses.”
The next night the man hid himself behind the door of the hut, and when the monkey-thief appeared, he sprang out and caught him by his long tail.
“Here, wife!” he cried, “bring me your shears, that I may cut off this fellow’s tail for a rope to beat him with.”
“Ai, ai!” screamed the monkey. “Do not cut off my handsome tail! Spare me, and I will give you whatever you wish.”
“Do you mean it?” asked the cheese-maker, giving the tail a twist.
“Ai, ai!” said the monkey, “I swear it, upon my honour!”
“Then,” said the cheese-maker, “go and bring me a lump of gold from the king’s throne as big as my fist, and you shall have your freedom and a cheese besides.”
The monkey, glad to escape so easily, hastened away, and soon returned with the lump of gold.
“What do you want of this yellow stuff?” he asked. “It is only fit to make chairs of.”
“Well, I may want to make a chair some day,” replied the cheese-maker. “The door will be locked after this,” he added; “but whenever your master wants cheese, you know how to get it.”
It happened, in this way, that the cheese-maker and his wife grew very rich; for the monkeys constantly came to buy cheese, and they always paid for it with heavy lumps of gold. Soon the straw hut disappeared, and in its stead rose a stately house of stone, with gardens and terraces about it. The cheese-maker wore a velvet coat, and his wife flaunted about in a satin gown; but still they never failed to make their cheeses twice a week.
“Why do you still make cheese?” asked the fine visitors who came to see them, rolling in gilded coaches. But the cheese-maker had one answer for them all: “Because I have a head on my shoulders, and not a pumpkin.”
