Child's Story Garden, - [ebook reader wifi .txt] 📗
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secret of building their nests. You will be sorry when they are gone and
will wish them back.”
But still the farmers shook their heads and said: “The birds must go.”
So the birds of Killingworth were driven away, until not a single note
was heard, and only empty nests were left. The little children of the
town were hoping each day to see their friends again, and a strange
stillness and loneliness seemed to fill the little town, for the music
in the air had ceased.
The summer came, and never before had it been so hot. The little insects
and worms which the little birds had always driven away covered every
tree and bush, eating the leaves until nothing was left but the bare
twigs. The streets were hot and shadeless. In the orchard the fruit
dropped, scorched and dried by the sun. When the grains were gathered
one-half of the crop had been destroyed by the insects. Now the old
farmers said among themselves:
“We have made a great mistake. We need the birds.”
One day in the early spring a strange sight was seen in the little town
of Killingworth. A great wagon covered with green branches was driven
down the main street, and among the branches were huge cages, and the
cages were filled with birds. Oh! they were all there—the robin, the
bluebird, the lark and the oriole—birds of every color and kind. When
the great wagon reached the town hall it stopped. The cages were taken
down from the branches of green, and little children, with eager hands
and happy eyes, threw open the doors. Out came the birds and away they
flew to field and orchard and wood, singing again and again:
“Oh! we are glad to be here! We are glad to be here!”
The little children sang, too, and the gray-haired farmers said: “The
birds must always stay in Killingworth.”
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow [Adapted]
THE MYTH OF PANIn a very faraway country, a long time ago, there lived a man who loved
music and little children and the birds and flowers. And the little
children loved Pan—for that was his name—because he told them such
beautiful stories and played on a set of pipes which he had made from
the reeds which grew by the river. Every evening, when it was time for
the sun to go to sleep and all the little stars to wake up, Pan would
take his pipes, go down to the river side, and play all the songs he
knew. Everybody could hear Pan’s music for miles and miles, but many of
them did not like his music, and wished that he would not play. Once
some of these people gathered together and planned how they could stop
Pan from playing his pipes, and while they were talking, some beetles
near by heard their plans. Now, one of these beetles had hurt his wing
at one time and had fallen down in the dust on the road, and could go no
farther. It was a very hot day, and the poor little beetle was almost
dead from the heat. Soon Pan came walking along and saw the beetle, and,
picking it up very carefully, he carried it on some green leaves to a
shady place, where he left it to rest and get well. The beetle had never
forgotten Pan’s kindness, and when he heard the plans these bad people
had made he said: “Come, friends, and go with me, for we must hurry and
tell Pan what the wicked people have planned, so that he will not be
there when they go to push him into the river.”
The beetles had only one day in which to reach Pan, for the evil people
were going to carry out their plans the next night, so they spread their
wings and flew as fast as they could fly. They could not travel far at a
time, because their wings grew very tired and their bodies were so
heavy. When they could fly no longer they would walk, and when they were
tired walking they would fly again. In this way they hurried on and on,
for the day was growing into night, and they could hear Pan playing his
beautiful songs way down by the river bank. They had almost reached him
when they heard what seemed to be a crowd of people running through the
bushes and among the trees, and it seemed that they were going toward
the river. Next there was a big splash and many voices talking loudly,
and after that—silence. When the beetles reached the place where Pan
always sat they could not find him; but there in the river were his
pipes, which he loved so well.
The people had reached Pan before the beetles, and had pushed him into
the river, and his pipes fell in, too, but Pan did not wait to get them.
He climbed out and ran as fast as his feet would carry him. The people
ran after him, but he leaped and bounded over the bushes and flowers,
and ran on and on. Sometimes they were almost upon him, but he always
out-ran them. He wished to hide, but could find no place. He could not
climb the trees, for the people could climb trees, too, and he could not
hide in the grass or under the bushes, for they would be sure to find
him there.
At last, along the river bank, he spied the little violets that had
closed their eyes, but were still gazing at the stars. One little violet
seemed to say to him, “I will hide you,” and it folded its little petals
around him. Pan was safe now, and from his hiding place he could hear
the people searching for him. They looked for a long time, but they did
not find him. He was happy and thankful, and, as he was very tired and
the soft petals of the violets made a pleasant resting place, he was
soon fast asleep.
Away back on the river bank, where Pan always sat, were the beetles.
They were very sorry that they had not reached him in time to tell him
that the people were coming, and that they could not get his pipes out
of the water, where they had fallen. And, though they never saw him
again, they always remembered him and the beautiful music he used to
play.
One day some little children were picking violets by the river, and they
found one little violet that had eyes just like Pan’s eyes. They took it
home and named it Pan’s Eye, in memory of their old friend, but, as that
was rather a hard name for the little children to say, they called it
Pansy.
THE BELL OF ATRIIn the little town of Atri, which was nestled on the side of a wooded
hill, there was a strange custom.
The king had one day brought to the town a great bell, which he hung in
the market place beneath a shed, protected from the sun and rain. Then
he went forth with all his knightly train through the streets of Atri
and proclaimed to all the people that whenever a wrong was done to any
one, he should go to the market place and ring the great bell, and
immediately the king would see that the wrong was righted.
Many years had gone by. Many times the great bell had rung in the little
town of Atri, and, as the king had said, the wrongs of which it told,
were always righted.
In time, however, the great rope by which the bell was rung, unraveled
at the end and was unwound, thread by thread. For a long time it
remained this way, while the great bell hung silent. But close by, a
grape-vine grew, and, reaching upward, finally entwined its tendrils
around the ragged end of the bell rope, making it strong and firm again
as it grew around it, up toward the great bell itself.
Now, in the town of Atri there lived a knight, who, in his younger days,
had loved to ride and hunt; but as he grew old he cared no more for
these things. He sold his lands, his horses and hounds, for he now loved
only the gold which the sale of them brought to him. This he hoarded and
saved, living poorly, that he might save the more.
Only one thing he kept—his favorite horse, who had served him
faithfully all his life. But even this faithful friend he kept in a poor
old stable, often allowing him to go cold and hungry.
Finally the old man said: “Why should I keep this beast now? He is old
and lazy, and no longer of any use to me. Besides, his food costs me
much that I might save for myself. I will turn him out and let him find
food where he can.”
So the faithful old horse, who had served his master all his days, was
turned out without a home. He wandered through the streets of the town,
trying to find something to eat. Often the dogs barked at him, and the
cold winds made him shiver as he wandered about, hungry and homeless,
with no one to care for him.
One summer afternoon, when all the drowsy little town seemed sleeping,
the tones of the great bell rang out, loud and clear, waking the people
from their naps and calling them forth to see who was ringing the bell
of justice.
The judge, with a great crowd following, hurried to the market place,
but when they came near, they stopped in surprise. No man was near, who
might have rung the bell; no one but a thin old horse, who stood quietly
munching the vine which grew around the bell rope. He had spied the
green leaves growing there, and, being hungry, had reached for them,
thus ringing the great bell of Atri, and calling forth the judge and all
the people.
“‘Tis the old knight’s horse,” the people cried. Then many told the tale
of how the old horse had been turned out to starve, while his master
hoarded and saved his gold.
“The horse has rung the bell for justice, and justice he shall have,”
said the judge. “Go, bring the old knight to me.”
The knight was hurried to the place, where, before all the people, the
judge censured him for his cruel treatment of his faithful old horse,
and asked him to give a reason for it.
“The old beast is useless,” said his master. “He is mine, and I have a
right to do with him as I wish.”
“Not so,” said the judge. “He has served you faithfully all his life. He
can not speak to tell of his wrongs, so we must speak for him. Go, now;
take him home. Build a new stable and care for him well.”
The old knight walked slowly home, while the horse was led behind by the
crowd.
So the Great Bell of Atri had righted one more wrong, for it was even as
the judge had commanded. The faithful old horse lived in comfort all the
rest of his life, for his master, in caring for him, learned to love him
again, and treated him as only a faithful friend should be treated.
When the king heard the story he said:
“Surely, never will the bell ring in a better cause than in speaking for
a suffering dumb creature who can not speak for himself.”
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow [Adapted]
THE ANXIOUS LEAFOnce
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