Child's Story Garden, - [ebook reader wifi .txt] 📗
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strange part about the matter was that when his wealth left him, as it
did some time before he died, and he became a poor old man, the people
seemed to forget that there ever had been a resemblance to the Great
Stone Face. Indeed, they said it was all a mistake, and the great man
was yet to come.
Suddenly through the valley there ran another rumor. Years before a
young man had left the valley, had gone into the world as a warrior, and
finally had become a great commander. Such had been his character and
life that the illustrious man was called by the name of Old
Blood-and-Thunder. This old general, being worn out with warfare,
decided to return to his native valley and spend his last days in peace.
But the most wonderful thing about Old Blood-and-Thunder was the fact
that all who knew him said that he was the man so long hoped for in the
valley, for he looked exactly like the Great Stone Face.
Great preparations, therefore, were made to receive the General—a
banquet was to be given and speeches made in his honor. On the day of
the festival Ernest, with all the others of the village, left their work
and went to the woods, where the banquet was held. A great crowd
surrounded the tables, so that Ernest at first could not see the great
man for whom he had waited and hoped so long, so he contented himself
with looking at the great face on the mountain side, which he could see
plainly through the trees. Meanwhile he could hear those around him
talking about Old Blood-and-Thunder and the Great Stone Face.
“‘Tis the same face, to a hair,” cried one man, clapping his hands for
joy.
“Wonderfully like, that’s a fact,” said another.
“Like! Why, I call it Old Blood-and-Thunder himself, in a monstrous
looking-glass,” cried a third.
Just then a silence fell on the crowd, for the General rose to speak,
and as he did so Ernest for the first time saw the hero. There he stood,
head and shoulders above the crowd, with the golden epaulets glittering
on his uniform. Long and eagerly Ernest gazed on his face, and then
beyond, to the one on the mountain side. Were they, indeed, alike?
Ernest saw in the warrior’s face only cruelty and hardness, with none of
the tender sympathy he knew so well in the other face.
“This is not the man,” sighed Ernest, as he turned sadly away. “Must we
wait longer yet?”
But as the great mountain rose before him, once again the lips seemed to
say: “Fear not, Ernest; fear not. He will come.”
The years sped swiftly by. Ernest still lived in the valley, a quiet and
gentle man, doing his work as best he knew. But gradually the people of
the village had come to know and feel that Ernest knew more than they.
Not a day passed by that the world was not better because this man,
humble as he was, had lived. He would always help a neighbor in need,
and the people had learned to know where to come for aid. His thoughts
were of things good and noble, and so his deeds and words were always
good.
By this time the people had seen their mistake in thinking Old
Blood-and-Thunder was the great man of prophecy; but now again there
were reports saying that without doubt the great man had at last
appeared. He, like Mr. Gathergold and Old Blood-and-Thunder, was a
native of the valley, but had left it as a young man, and had now become
a great man. He had not the rich man’s wealth, nor the honor of the
General, but he had a tongue which could speak more beautiful words than
the world had ever heard before. Great crowds flocked to hear him from
all parts of the country.
The people of the village were proud to think that they could claim the
great man, for it was said he bore an exact likeness to the Great Stone
Face—so much so that they called him “Old Stony Phiz.”
And now the illustrious man was once more coming to visit his native
land, and great preparations were made to receive him.
With great eagerness and hope Ernest waited for his coming, and on the
day appointed went with the crowd to meet him. The air was filled with
music and the shouts of the people, for now they felt that surely the
old prophecy was to be fulfilled.
Then the great man’s carriage came in view. There he sat, smiling and
bowing to the people, while they threw up their hats in wild excitement
and enthusiasm, and shouted: “Hoorah for Old Stony Phiz. The great man
has come at last.”
Ernest looked long at the man as he sat in his carriage, but finally
turned away sadly and slowly, and said: “The features are alike, but he
has not the heart nor the love and sympathy which make a face beautiful.
He is not the man, but he might have been, had he lived the best he
knew.”
Then again he turned to his great teacher on the mountain side, and, as
the late afternoon sun tinted all its features, it seemed to smile on
Ernest, and once more the lips seemed to speak:
“Lo, here I am, Ernest. I have waited longer than thou, and am not yet
weary. Fear not. The man will come.”
The years hurried onward, and now they began to bring white hairs and
scatter them over the head of Ernest. They made wrinkles across his
forehead and furrows in his cheeks. He was an old man; but more than the
white hairs on his head were the beautiful thoughts in his mind, and the
loving words from his lips, and the kindly deeds from his hands. He was
no longer unknown. Great men from far and near came to see and talk with
him, and as they went away their hearts were better for having been with
him. He had become a preacher, and often, just as the sun set, he would
stand on a little knoll and talk with the people who crowded to hear the
words he spoke.
One evening, as Ernest sat at his doorstep, a friend came to talk with
him. He was a poet, and wrote of things which God had made, in language
so beautiful that one wished always to hear it. Ernest loved to read his
words, and this evening, as they sat together, he looked long and
earnestly at the poet and then up at the Great Stone Face, which seemed
to be smiling down upon them. Then he sighed and shook his head sadly.
“Why are you sad?” asked the poet.
Then Ernest told him of the prophecy which he had longed all his life to
see fulfilled. “And,” he said, “when I read your beautiful words, I
think surely you are worthy to be the man I have longed to see, and yet
I see no likeness.”
The poet sadly shook his head, and said: “No, Ernest. I am not worthy.
My words, indeed, may be beautiful, but my life has not been so great
and good as the words I write.”
Then, as sunset drew near, the two walked to the little knoll where
Ernest was to talk to the people.
He stood in a little niche, with the mountains above him, and the glory
of the evening sun shone around his silvered hair. At a distance could
be seen the Great Stone Pace, surrounded by a golden light.
As Ernest talked his face glowed with the depth of his feeling, and
suddenly the poet threw his arms above his head and shouted:
“Behold! Behold! Ernest is himself the likeness of the Great Stone
Face!”
Then all the people looked and saw that what the poet had said was true.
The prophecy was fulfilled. The Great Man had come at last.
Nathaniel Hawthorne [Adapted]
THE FIRST CHRISTMAS TREEIn a forest in the far, far East grew a great many pine trees. Most of
them were tall trees, higher than the houses that we see, and with wide,
strong branches. But there was one tree that was not nearly so tall as
the others; in fact, it was no taller than some of the children in the
kindergarten.
Now, the tall trees could see far, far out over the hilltops and into
the valleys, and they could hear all the noises that went on in the
world beyond the forest, but the Little Tree was so small and the other
trees grew so high and thick about it that it could not see nor hear
these things at all; but the other trees were very kind, and they would
stoop down and tell them to the Little Tree. One night in the winter
time there seemed to be something strange happening in the little town
among the hills, for the trees did not go to sleep after the sun went
down, but put their heads together and spoke in strange, low whispers
that were full of awe and wonder. The Little Tree, from its place close
down to the ground, did not understand what it was all about. It
listened awhile, and then lifted its head as high as ever it could and
shouted to its tall neighbor: “Will you not stoop and tell me what is
happening?” And the big tree stooped down and whispered: “The shepherds
out on the hilltops are telling strange stories while they watch their
sheep. The air is filled with sweet music, and there is a wonderful star
coming up in the east, traveling westward always, and the shepherds say
that they are waiting for it to stop and shine over a humble stable in
their little town. I have not heard why it is going to stop there, but I
will look again and listen.” So the tall tree lifted up its head again,
and reached far out so that it might hear more of the wonderful story.
Bye and bye it stooped down again, and whispered to the Little Tree:
“Oh, Little Tree, listen! There are angels among the shepherds on the
hills, and they are all talking together. They seem to be awaiting the
birth of a little child, who will be a king among the people, and the
beautiful star will shine above the stable where the little king will be
laid in a manger.” The tree again raised its head to listen, and the
Little Tree, much puzzled, thought within itself: “It is very strange,
indeed. * Oh, how I wish that I could see it all!”
It waited a little longer, and everything grew quiet, and a great peace
came upon the forest. * Then suddenly the town, and even the forest
was illuminated with a strange, white light that made everything as
bright as day, and the air was filled with the flutter of angels’ wings,
and with music such as the world had never heard before.
The people and the trees, even the stars in the heaven, lifted up their
voices and sang together * and the whole world was filled with music
and joy and love for the little Christ-child who had come to dwell upon
the earth.
The Little Tree was filled with fear and wonder, for so great was the
excitement that the other trees had almost forgotten it, and it could
not understand the mysterious sounds; but bye and bye its tall friend
said: “Listen, listen, Little Tree! Such
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