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Storytelling. The cat that walked by himself and other stories
Collection
Юлия Вадимовна Белочкина
Folio World’s Classics
The storytelling method is the study of language with the help of short stories. Stories help to practice grammar and vocabulary, promote imagination, speaking, listening, and writing. This technique is perfect for different age groups, children, as well as teenagers, and adults.
The book contains stories and fairy tales by Flora Annie Steel, Ernest Thompson Seton, Katharine Pyle, Joseph Rudyard Kipling, Frances Freeling Broderip, W. H. Hudson, Louisa May Alcott, Edith Nesbit, Lucretia P. Hale, George Madden Martin for children and elementary school students.
The publishing layout has been saved in PDF A4 format.
Сборник
Storytelling. The cat that walked by himself and other stories
© Yu. Belochkina, compiling, 2021
© O. Huhalova-Mieshkova, graphic artist, 2021
© Folio Publishing House, brand series, 2020
Jack and the Beanstalk
by Flora Annie Steel
Once upon a time there lived a poor widow and her son Jack. One day, Jack’s mother told him to sell their only cow. Jack went to the market and on the way he met a man who wanted to buy his cow. Jack asked, “What will you give me in return for my cow?” The man answered, “I will give you five magic beans!” Jack took the magic beans and gave the man the cow. But when he reached home, Jack’s mother was very angry. She said, “You fool! He took away your cow and gave you some beans!” She threw the beans out of the window. Jack was very sad and went to sleep without dinner.
The next day, when Jack woke up in the morning and looked out of the window, he saw that a huge beanstalk had grown from his magic beans! He climbed up the beanstalk and reached a kingdom in the sky. There lived a giant and his wife. Jack went inside the house and found the giant’s wife in the kitchen. Jack said, “Could you please give me something to eat? I am so hungry!” The kind wife gave him bread and some milk.
While he was eating, the giant came home. The giant was very big and looked very fearsome. Jack was terrified and went and hid inside. The giant cried, “Fee-fi-fo-fum, I smell the blood of an Englishman. Be he alive, or be he dead, I’ll grind his bones to make my bread!” The wife said, “There is no boy in here!” So, the giant ate his food and then went to his room. He took out his sacks of gold coins, counted them, and kept them aside. Then he went to sleep. In the night, Jack crept out of his hiding place, took one sack of gold coins, and climbed down the beanstalk. At home, he gave the coins to his mother. His mother was very happy, and they lived well for some time.
Jack climbed the beanstalk and went to the giant’s house again. Once again, Jack asked the giant’s wife for food, but while he was eating, the giant returned. Jack leapt up in fright and went and hid under the bed. The giant cried, “Fee-fifo-fum, I smell the blood of an Englishman. Be he alive, or be he dead, I’ll grind his bones to make my bread!” The wife said, “There is no boy in here!” The giant ate his food and went to his room. There, he took out a hen. He shouted, “Lay!” and the hen laid a golden egg. When the giant fell asleep, Jack took the hen and climbed down the beanstalk. Jack’s mother was very happy with him.
After some days, Jack once again climbed the beanstalk and went to the giant’s castle. For the third time, Jack met the giant’s wife and asked for some food. Once again, the giant’s wife gave him bread and milk. But while Jack was eating, the giant came home. “Fee-fi-fo-fum, I smell the blood of an Englishman. Be he alive, or be he dead, I’ll grind his bones to make my bread!” cried the giant. “Don’t be silly! There is no boy in here!” said his wife.
The giant had a magical harp that could play beautiful songs. While the giant slept, Jack took the harp and was about to leave. Suddenly, the magic harp cried, “Help master! A boy is stealing me!” The giant woke up and saw Jack with the harp. Furious, he ran after Jack. But Jack was too fast for him. He ran down the beanstalk and reached home. The giant followed him down. Jack quickly ran inside his house and fetched an axe. He began to chop the beanstalk. The giant fell and died.
Jack and his mother were now very rich, and they lived happily ever after.
The Bogey-Beast
by Flora Annie Steel
There was once a woman who was very, very cheerful, though she had little to make her so; for she was old, and poor, and lonely. She lived in a little cottage and earned a scant living by running errands for her neighbours, getting a bite here, a sup there, as a reward for her services. So she made a shift to get on, and always looked as spry and cheery as if she had not a want in the world.
Now one summer evening, as she was trotting, full of smiles as ever, along the high road to her hovel, what should she see but a big black pot lying in the ditch!
“Goodness me!” she cried, “that would be just the very thing for me if I only had something to put in it! But I haven’t! Now, who could have left it in the ditch?”
And she looked about her, expecting the owner would not be far off, but she could see nobody.
“Maybe there is a hole in it,” she went on, “and that’s why it has been cast away. But it would do fine to put a flower in for my window; so I’ll just take it home with me.”
And with that, she lifted the lid and looked inside. “Mercy me!” she cried, fair amazed. “If it isn’t full of gold pieces. Here’s luck!”
And so it was, brimful of great gold coins. Well, at first she simply stood stock-still, wondering if she was standing on her head or her heels. Then she began saying: “Lawks! But I do feel rich. I feel awful rich!”
After she had said this many times, she began to wonder how she was to get her treasure home. It was too heavy for her to carry, and she could see no better way than to tie the end of her shawl to it and drag it behind her like a go-cart.
“It will soon be dark,” she said to herself as she trotted along. “So much the better! The neighbours will not see what I’m bringing home, and I shall have all the night to myself, and be able to think what I’ll do! Mayhap I’ll buy a grand house and just sit by the fire with a cup o’ tea and do no work at all like a queen. Or maybe I’ll bury it at the garden foot and just keep a bit in the old china teapot on the chimney-piece. Or maybe – Goody! Goody! I feel that grand I don’t know myself.”
By this time she was a bit tired of dragging such a heavy weight, and, stopping to rest a while, turned to look at her treasure.
And lo! It wasn’t a pot of gold at all! It was nothing but a lump of silver.
She stared at it, and rubbed her eyes, and stared at it again.
“Well! I never!” she said at last. “And me thinking it was a pot of gold! I must have been dreaming. But this is luck! Silver is far less trouble – easier to mind, and not so easy stolen. Them gold pieces would have been the death o’ me, and with this great lump of silver” – So she went off again planning what she would do, and feeling as rich as rich, until becoming a bit tired again she stopped to rest and gave a look round to see if her treasure was safe; and she saw nothing but a great lump of iron!
“Well! I never!” says she again. “And I mistaking it for silver! I must have been dreaming. But this is luck! It’s real convenient. I can get penny pieces for old iron, and penny pieces are a deal handier for me than your gold and silver. Why! I should never have slept a wink for fear of being robbed. But a penny piece comes in useful, and I shall sell that iron for a lot and be real rich – rolling rich.”
So on she trotted, full of plans as to how she would spend her penny pieces, till once more she stopped to rest and looked round to see her treasure was safe. And this time she saw nothing but a big stone.
“Well! I never!” she cried, full of smiles. “And to think I mistook it for iron. I must have been dreaming. But here’s luck indeed, and me wanting a stone terrible bad to stick open the gate. Eh, my! But it’s a change for the better! It’s a fine thing to have good luck.”
So, all in a hurry to see how the stone would keep the gate open, she trotted off down the hill till she came to her own cottage. She unlatched the gate and then turned to unfasten her shawl from the stone which lay on the path behind her. Aye! It was a stone, sure enough. There was plenty light to see it lying there, douce and peaceable as a stone should.
So she bent over it to unfasten the shawl end, when – ”Oh my!” All of a sudden it gave a jump, a squeal, and in one moment was as big as a haystack. Then it let down four great lanky legs and threw out two long ears, nourished a great long tail, and romped off, kicking and squealing and whinnying and laughing like a naughty, mischievous boy!
The old woman stared after it till it was fairly out of sight, then she burst out laughing too.
“Well!” she chuckled, “I am in luck! Quite the luckiest body hereabouts. Fancy my seeing the Bogey-Beast all to myself, and making myself so free with it, too! My goodness! I do feel that uplifted – that GRAND!” -
So she went into her cottage and spent the evening chuckling over her good luck.
The ten trails
by Ernest Thompson Seton
Once there were two Indians who went out together to hunt. Hapeda was very strong and swift and a wonderful bowman. Chatun was much weaker and carried a weaker bow; but he was very patient.
As they went through the hills they came on the fresh track of a small Deer. Chatun said: “My brother, I shall follow that.”
But Hapeda said: “You may if you like, but a mighty hunter like me wants bigger game.”
So they parted.
Hapeda went on for an hour or more and found the track of ten large Elk going different ways. He took the trail of the largest and followed for a long way, but not coming up with it, he said: “That one is evidently traveling. I should have taken one of the others.”
So he went back to the place where he first found it, and took up the trail of another. After a hunt of over an hour in which he failed to get a shot, he said: “I have followed another traveler. I’ll go back and take up the trail of one that is feeding.”
But again, after a short pursuit, he gave up that one to go back and try another that seemed more promising. Thus he spent a whole day trying each of the trails for a short time, and at night came back to camp with nothing, to find that Chatun, though his inferior in all other ways, had proved wiser. He had stuck doggedly to the trail of the one little Deer, and now had its carcass safely in camp.
Moral: The Prize is always at the end of the trail.
The three wishes
by Katharine Pyle
Once upon a time a poor man took his ax and went out into the forest to cut wood. He was a lazy fellow, so as soon as he was in the forest he began to look about to see which tree would be the easiest to cut down. At last he found one that was hollow inside, as he could tell by knocking upon it with his ax.
“It ought not to take long to cut this down,” said he to himself. He raised his ax and struck the tree such a blow that the splinters flew.
At once, the bark opened and a little old fairy with a long beard came running out of the tree.
“What do you mean by chopping into my house?” he cried; and his eyes shone like red hot sparks, he was so angry.
“I did not know it was your house,” said the man.
“Well, it is my house, and I’ll thank you to let it alone,” cried the fairy.
“Very well,” said the man. “I’d just as lieve cut down some other tree. I’ll chop down the one over yonder.”
“That is well,” said the fairy. “I see that you are an obliging fellow, after all. I have it in my mind to reward you for sparing my house, so the next three wishes you and your wife make shall come true, whatever they are; and that is your reward.”
Then the fairy went back into the tree again and pulled the bark together behind him.
The man stood looking at the tree and scratching his head. “Now that is a curious thing,” said he. Then he sat down and began to wonder what he should wish for. He thought and he thought, but he could decide on nothing. “I’ll just go home and talk it over with my wife,” said he; so he shouldered his ax, and set off for home. As soon as he came in at the door he began to bawl for his wife, and she came in a hurry, for she did not know what had happened to him.
He told his story and his wife listened.
“This is a fine thing to have happen to us,” said she. “Now we must be very careful what we wish for.”
They sat down one on each side of the fire to talk it over. They thought of ever so many things they would like to have – a bag of gold, and a coach and four, and a fine house to live in, and fine clothes to wear, but nothing seemed just the right thing to choose.
They talked so long that they grew hungry.
“Well, here we sit,” said the man, “and not a thing cooked for dinner. I wish we had one of those fine black puddings you used to make.”
No sooner had he spoken than there was a great thumping and bumping in the chimney and a great black pudding fell down on the hearth before him.
“What is this?” cried the man staring.
“Oh, you oaf! You stupid!” shrieked his wife. “It’s the pudding you wished for. There’s one of our wishes wasted. I wish the pudding were stuck on the end of your nose! It would serve you right!”
The moment she said this the pudding flew up and stuck to the man’s nose, and there it was and he couldn’t get it off; the man pulled and tugged, and his wife pulled and tugged, but it was all of no use.
“Well, there’s no help for it,” said the husband; “we’ll have to wish it off again.”
His wife begun to cry and bawl.
“No, no,” she cried. “We only have one wish left, and we can’t waste it that way. Let’s wish ourselves the richest people in the world.”
But to this the man would not agree. He wanted the pudding off his nose, whatever it cost. So at last the wife was obliged to let him have his own way.
“I wish the pudding was off my nose again,” said the man, and that was the third of their wishes.
So all the good they had of the fairy’s gift was a black pudding for dinner; but then it was the best black pudding they had ever eaten.
“And after all,” said the man, “there’s nothing much better in the world to wish for than a full stomach.”
The nail
by Katharine Pyle
A merchant had been trading in a far city and had made much money, which he was now bringing home with him. He rode in haste, for he knew he would not feel easy until he had locked away the gold in his strong room at home.
Toward the middle of the morning, he stopped at an inn to give his horse water.
“Sir,” said the ostler who waited on him, “a nail is loose in your horse’s shoe.”
“No matter,” answered the merchant. “I am in haste, and the shoe must go as it is till I get home.”
A little later he stopped at another inn. “Sir,” said the ostler, “your horse’s shoe is loose; shall I not take him to the blacksmith near by and have the shoe fastened on?”
“No,” answered the merchant, “I have not time to wait. I must be home before nightfall.”
The merchant rode still farther, but presently his horse began to limp. It limped more and more, until at last, in the very midst of a deep forest, it stumbled and fell, and could not get up again.
The merchant was in despair. Dusk was coming on, and there seemed nothing for it but to spend the night in the forest. However, he discovered a house near by, and the old woman who was in charge of it promised him food and a lodging for the night.
When the merchant went up to bed he put his bag of gold under his pillow. He meant to watch all night, but he was very tired, and presently, in spite of himself his eyes closed and he fell into a deep sleep.
Now this house belonged to a band of robbers, and the old woman was their housekeeper. Soon after the merchant was asleep the robbers came home. The housekeeper told them of the rich man who had come to the house while they were away, and of how she had given him a bed for the night.
The robbers went up to the merchant’s room and finding him asleep they stole the bag of money from under his pillow, and made off with it.
In the morning, when the merchant awoke, he felt under his pillow for the bag, but it was gone. He called aloud, but no one answered. He searched the house from top to bottom, but could find nobody.
So the merchant lost both his gold and his horse. “And all,” said he, “because I was in such haste that I would not stop for a nail to be put in my horse’s shoe. It is a true saying – ‘the more haste the less speed.’”
Mother Hulda
by Katharine Pyle
There was once a widow who had two daughters; the elder of the girls was cross and ugly, but the mother loved her dearly because she was exactly like herself, and also because she was her own daughter. The younger girl was only her stepdaughter, and because of this, and also because the girl was good and pretty, the mother hated her, and did all she could to make her miserable.
One day the good daughter sat by the well spinning, and as she spun she wept because she was so unhappy. The tears blinded her eyes, and presently she pricked her finger, and a drop of blood fell on the flax. The girl was frightened, for she feared her stepmother would scold her when she saw the flax, so she stooped over the edge of the well to try to wash the blood off it. But the spindle slipped from her hand and sank down and down through the water until it was lost to sight.
