Why buy the whole book when you can just buy the story?

 

The Drowned Buccaneer – This is the story of a New England treasure hunter keen to improve his lot. Did Captain Kidd really bury treasure on the coast of New England or not? The rumours still abound and people still seek his lost fortune.

Red cap found Singing - The Drowned BuccaneerRed cap found Singing

The Perlexity of Zadig – An ancient Persian tale. Zadig has an eye for detail, and when he describes events without having seen them, people become suspicious believing him to have magical powers.

The King and Queen rejoice at the pets return - The Perplexity of Zadig

The King and Queen rejoice at the pets return – The Perplexity of Zadig

 

The Return of the Dead Wife – a tale from the American Indians. A beloved wife dies and a brave is at a loss what to do without her. He travels north and makes a surprising find……

The Chief Finds his Wife is ill - The Dead Wife Returns

The Chief Finds his Wife is ill – The Dead Wife Returns

Young Amazon Snell – Hannah Snell always wanted to join the army but as a woman in the 1700’s was prevented from do so – until she hatches a plan. But will she get away with it? The true story of Hannah “Amazon” Snell in the early 18th C.

"A Toast!" The YOUNG AMAZON SNELL

“A Toast!” The YOUNG AMAZON SNELL

 

Rip Van Winkle – The original version of this all-time classic about the brow-beaten Rip van Winkle who went hinting and became “lost” for almost 20 years. Eelaborately illustrated by the great Arthur Rackham.

"Who are you" Rip Van Winkle

“Who are you” Rip Van Winkle

 

URL: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1_uSt1pOjiJgXeLdIIQy8MCGB8v4KJiIQbo2mFxQR8K0/pub

THE Leprechaun–that flash from elf-land–was perched comfortably upon the west window ledge, high up in Ardmore Tower. Dawn was just beginning to send misty, gray lights over the rolling land. Winds that have blown since the world began were blowing around the old Irish tower. It was the south wind, this morning, that was blowing the strongest–the wind from the good sea that washed the coast of Ardmore and the high-lands of Ireland. The strong, stone tower, tapering skyward, stood, as it stands today, like a silent sentinel on the “hill of the sheep”–the “great hill.” Below its conical top, two windows, east and west, looked out, and it’s on the ledge of the west one–mind you–that the Leprechaun was sitting. He had been sitting there since sundown. An iron bar, inside the tower, goes from the top of the west window to the top of the east window, and once, no one knows how long ago, seven small bells hung from this bar under the pinnacle. They are gone now, but in the old days they used to ring often.
(“That’s so,” said the Leprechaun. He was always saying “That’s so,” to agree with himself or other people–himself oftenest.)
The Tower of Ardmore, Ireland
This little elf, in red jacket and green breeches who spends most of his days and some of his nights making shoes for the fairy folk, has been working the past night on a pair of riding boots for the fairy prince who wants the boots by sunrise. Tap, tap, tap–goes the Leprechaun’s tiny hammer. Whish, whish, go his swift fingers. Hum, hum-m-m-m-, goes his little singing tune, for the Leprechaun could no more work without singing than you could sleep without shutting your eyes.
(“That’s so!” said the Leprechaun.)
 
He is only six inches high, and harder to catch than a will-o’-the-wisp. If one could ever succeed in catching him, and then could keep looking at him, he might tell–though not a bit willingly–where a wonderful crock of gold is. But do you think you could keep looking at him and at him alone? Why, just as you think you are looking at nothing else, he, somehow, makes you look away from him, and, ochone, he is gone! He’s that clever.
(“That’s so,” said the Leprechaun.)
Many an enchantment the Leprechaun can perform, for all he appears so simple as he pegs away at the riding boots. Yes, himself it is that can blight the corn or snip off hair most unexpectedly.
When he sits, cross-legged at his work, whether on a cornice of a roof or on a twig of the low bushes, it’s just as well not to let him know you are watching him. The Irish fairy folk are all like that, and draw magic out of earth and sea and sky, or else draw it out of nothing at all.
(“Do you hear that?” said the Leprechaun.)
 
Now this misty, windy dawn of a morning, thousands of days and nights ago, as the Leprechaun, up there on the gray, stone tower, tapped, tapped with his hammer, to finish the prince’s boots, promised by sunrise, his elfin mind capered around with many thoughts. The mists were beginning to shine in the dim light of early morning, and the Leprechaun’s thoughts, freshened by the south wind, were wafted over the whole land of Erin that stretched beyond the bogs and swamps, beyond the mounds and cromlechs, beyond the hills. He could tell you the colours of all the winds of Ireland. This south wind was white; the north wind, full of blackness; the west wind pale yellow, and the east wind was always a stirring, purple wind. The lesser winds, too, had their colours–yellow of furze, red of fire, gray of fog, green of meadow, brown of autumn leaves, and three more colours that mortals could not see. The Leprechaun, whenever he wished, could travel lightly on whatever wind was blowing and sing a tune as loud as any of them. This morning, in the misty dawn, it was his heart that did the travelling and it was his thoughts that sang tunes to match. When his eyes glanced from his work, toward the sea, his thoughts flew to Manannan Mac Lir, the old sea-god, riding along in his chariot, with thousands of his steeds shaking their manes as they galloped with him. For many a century, the great, slender, round tower had watched these steeds and the spirited charioteer. On many a moonlit night, it had seen invading bands crawl quietly to shore and stealthily march right up to the base of the tower with bad plans to surprise the unprotected people. Again and again the men of Ardmore had gathered their families, with provisions, safely, into the tall tower, barring the narrow door that was many feet high above the ground. There the weak ones and the women and children had lived, for days, until the invaders had been driven away. The Leprechaun laughed aloud as he thought of one stormy day when the old sea-god, Manannan Mac Lir, had bidden his horses keep the invaders from reaching the shore and the tower. The lively horses shook their manes and obeyed–ochone, but they obeyed!
 
Tap, tap, tap! The south wind, thought the Leprechaun, will be a strong one, this day! And the wind will draw music from the harps of all the Little Good Folk throughout Erin. As the Leprechaun, between his taps, looked westward, there was a break in the light morning vapor, like the gay snatch of song a maiden sings in the midst of her work; and, through the break, the elf’s long gaze swept across the river Blackwater, and beside Watergrasshill, over the moor-land to the Bochragh Mountains, and even as far as Mt. Mish. There was a tale about Mt. Mish that rushed in now upon his thinking–a tale about his ancestors, the Tuatha-de-Danann “the folk of the god whose mother is Dana.”
 
On a day, in the early age of the world, when gray moor-land and steep mountains began to blaze brilliant with purple heather and yellow furze, the Danaans, covering themselves with a fog, crept along the east coast to possess the country near Mt. Mish. Fiercely they fought with the inhabitants, the Firbolgs, and won. For a thousand years they held sway–these tall, fair-haired men of Greek descent who had come from the North. After the thousand years and one day more, new invaders, the Milesians, entering along the bank of the Inverskena River, swept up into the land, like the knowing conquerors that they were, to overcome the Danaans.
The Leprechaun now sang, with a little humming chant, the words that Amergin, chief druid of the Milesians, sang when he set his right foot on the soil of Erin:
 
                      I am the Wind that blows over the sea,
I am the Wave of the ocean;
I am the Murmur of the billows;
I am the Ox of the seven combats;
I am the Vulture upon the rock;
I am a Ray of the Sun;
I am the fairest of Plants;
. . . . . . . . . . .
When the Danaans had been conquered by the Milesians, they promised that they would dwell inside the hills or under the lakes, and that they would be invisible to mortals, except on rare occasions. This promise they had kept.
(“That’s so,” said the Leprechaun.)
 
The Leprechaun liked what the Danaans, his ancestors, had done next. The chief druid of the Danaans had raised his golden harp in the dazzling sunlight, the other druids had lifted their silver harps in the glittering morning air, and all the druids had played such deliciously enchanting melodies that the Danaans, in a long procession that seemed like a living green, had followed their leaders, laughing as they went, and singing like merry brooks or happy children. Into the mountains they had gone, disappearing before the very eyes of the Milesians. Forever afterwards they lived within the mountains and became the Ever-Living Living Ones in the Land of Youth.
 
The Leprechaun knew well that he, and all his elf kin, were descendants of those very Danaans, who still lived in their underground palaces that blazed with light and laughter. Hadn’t the drean–the wise, small wren–that druid of birds, often told him what was going on down there? Hadn’t he himself been below the tower of Ardmore, where, in a glorious hall that belonged to the Ever-Living Living Ones, the Danaans held many a gay carousal? Didn’t he hear, at times, their bells ringing under the bog, on a quiet evening? And hadn’t he, more times than once, rung the sweet bells of Ardmore–these bells which never had been rung except by one whose real home was in the Land of Youth? In the Land of Youth was the Leprechaun’s home. (Ochone, I should say!) There it had been since the day that Oisin, son of Finn, journeyed to that land. For, on the same day, without Oisin’s knowledge, the Leprechaun had sped from the green hills of Erin, through a golden haze, to the country of the Ever-Living Living Ones. Oisin was his hero, his great hero, whom he had helped, invisibly, more than he had helped anyone else. The most valiant Danaan of all was Oisin, and Oisin he would follow to the world’s end.
(“That’s so,” said the Leprechaun, as he began the fancy stitching on the prince’s riding boots.)
Now, for the thousandth time, he told himself the story of Oisin, for he liked this tale best of all: how Oisin, when hunting, met the maiden, Niam of the Golden Hair, riding her snow-white steed; how, after she sang to him a song of the enchanting “land beyond dreams,” Oisin had ridden with her to the Land of Youth (and the Leprechaun, in the shape of a butterfly, had perched on the horse’s mane); how, in the realm of her father, the king, fearless Oisin had had brave adventures.
The Leprechaun Tower - Pixie 1
He rescued a princess from a giant; subdued the three Hounds of Erin (helped by the Leprechaun who confused the hounds), and found the magic harp–a harp next in wonder to the Dagda’s harp whose strings, when touched, would sing the story of the one who last touched them. He had even tilted with the king’s cupbearer to win a gold-hilted sword, and had done other worthy deeds. No time at all, it seemed to Oisin, that magical time, in the Land of Youth, but, at last, his heart longed to see his old home. So Niam of the Golden Hair gave him her snow-white steed to ride, but charged him three times that, when he should reach the familiar places of Erin, he must not, once, set foot upon the ground or he would never be able to return to the Land of Youth. Oisin bade her farewell and, with the Leprechaun as a butterfly still on the horse’s mane, he began his homeward journey.
As he was riding along, once more, through a beautiful vale of Erin, he saw men, much smaller than himself, trying in vain to push aside a huge boulder that had rolled from the hillside down upon their tilled land. In pity for these weaklings, he instantly jumped from his saddle to the ground (not heeding the Leprechaun who, in his own form, clung with all his might, to remind him of Niam’s warning) and, with one push, he sent the boulder out of the way. Alas! Even as the men were shouting praises to their god-like helper, it seemed to Oisin that darkness bore him to the earth. When he opened his eyes, lo, he was an old man, feeble, gray-headed, gray-bearded! The men whom he had helped, had with one accord run away; but the Leprechaun, astride a twig close by, whispered words of cheer and sang part of the song of the Danaans when they went into the mountains. Oisin then roused himself and said faintly, “I hear the voice of bells.” Then he added in a resolute tone, “Whenever I shall hear sweet bells ring, young will be my heart.” Since that day, the Leprechaun had often rung bells, especially the bells of Ardmore Tower, because he knew that Oisin would hear them and feel young again.
 
Tap, tap, tap,–and the Leprechaun’s work is done. It’s little that anyone can tell about him making shoes, or about Ireland’s heroes, or about its grassy mounds of mystery. He stands up now and stretches himself. If he felt like it, he could blow a blast on the tiny, curved horn, hanging at his side, and call, from the Underland, as many merry-hearted Danaans as he chose. He could cast spells, too, on the sea, beyond the ninth wave from shore. Instead, he whisks from the west window into the tower and out again, through the east window. There he stands for a few moments–his feet braced on the highest circular cornice, his back leaning against the sloping roof top–watching the rim of the sun rise over a mountainous cloud.
 
The sky of gold is changing to the pink of a wild rose. The gray mists, over moorland and mound, are scattering as quickly as the men whom Oisin helped.
 
The Leprechaun Tower - Pixie 2
The Round Tower of Ardmore again greeted the sun, as the Leprechaun, hugging tightly the riding boots promised to the fairy prince at sunrise, swiftly slid down a sunbeam to the top of the oak tree, where the prince was waiting.
 
“Here they are, Your Highness,” said the elf, with a bow.
The prince smiled, as he took the boots, and gave the Leprechaun a piece of gold. “You’ve kept your promise,” he said.
“That’s so,” answered the Leprechaun. Then he sprang up on the rollicking south wind and flew away.
 
From: Tower Legends
ISBN: 9781907256349

ISSN: 2397-9607 Issue 30

In Issue 30 of the Baba Indaba Children’s Stories, Baba Indaba narrates the Aesop’s fable about an old lion who pretends to be ill. But is he as ill as he is making out to be? Look out for the moral at the end of the story.

It is believed that folklore and tales are believed to have originated in India and made their way overland along the Silk and Spice routes and through Central Asia before arriving in Europe. Even so, this does not cover African folklore, legends and tales, which seem to have originated from an altogether separate reservoir of lore and legend.

This book also has a “Where in the World – Look it Up” section, where young readers are challenged to look up a place on a map somewhere in the world. The place, town or city is relevant to the story, on map. HINT – use Google maps.

Baba Indaba is a fictitious Zulu storyteller who narrates children’s stories from around the world. Baba Indaba translates as “Father of Stories”.

URL: https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Aesop_THE_OLD_LION_AND_THE_JACKAL_An_Aesop_s_Fable?id=hbH6CwAAQBAJ

Baba Indaba Children's Stories Issue 30

The Old Lion and the Jackal – An Aesop’s Fable

ISSN: 2397-9607 Issue 29

In Issue 29 of the Baba Indaba Children’s Stories, Baba Indaba narrates the South African tale of the council of the birds and the reason, the decision they made and why the Whitecrow never speaks. Remember to look out for the moral in the story! This story is alternatively known as “Tink Tinkie”.

It is believed that folklore and tales are believed to have originated in India and made their way overland along the Silk and Spice routes and through Central Asia before arriving in Europe. Even so this does not cover African folklore, legends and tales, which originated from an altogether separate reservoir of lore and legend.

This book also has a “Where in the World – Look it Up” section, where young readers are challenged to look up a place on a map somewhere in the world. The place, town or city is relevant to the story, on map. HINT – use Google maps.

Baba Indaba is a fictitious Zulu storyteller who narrates children’s stories from around the world. Baba Indaba translates as “Father of Stories”.

 

https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Anon_E_Mouse_WHY_THE_WHITECROW_NEVER_SPEAKS_A_Sout?id=lqr6CwAAQBAJ

 

baba indaba childrens stories issue 29

Why the Whitecrow Never Speaks – Tink Tinkie

ISSN: 2397-9607 Issue 28

In Issue 28 of the Baba Indaba Children’s Stories, Baba Indaba narrates the Aesop’s fable about the Eagle and the Crow. The crow is misguided and thinks he is an eagle, with disastrous circumstances. Remember to look out for the moral in the tale!

It is believed that folklore and tales are believed to have originated in India and made their way overland along the Silk and Spice routes and through Central Asia before arriving in Europe.

This book also has a “Where in the World – Look it Up” section, where young readers are challenged to look up a place on a map somewhere in the world. The place, town or city is relevant to the story, on map. HINT – use Google maps.

Baba Indaba is a fictitious Zulu storyteller who narrates children’s stories from around the world. Baba Indaba translates as “Father of Stories”.

 

https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Aesop_THE_EAGLE_AND_THE_CROW_An_Aesop_s_Fable_for?id=lp76CwAAQBAJ

 

The Eagle and the Crow - Baba Indaba Children's Stories Issue 28

The Eagle and the Crow – An Aesop’s Fable

ISSN: 2397-9607 Issue 27

In Issue 27 of the Baba Indaba Children’s Stories, Baba Indaba narrates the Persian tale of the Soothsayer’s Wife and the (poor) Hodja. – a teacher of sorts who wants to improve his lot in life. But just how does the Hodja succeed?

It is believed that folklore and tales are believed to have originated in India and made their way overland along the Silk and Spice routes and through Central Asia before arriving in Europe.

This book also has a “Where in the World – Look it Up” section, where young readers are challenged to look up a place on a map somewhere in the world. The place, town or city is relevant to the story, on map. HINT – use Google maps.

Baba Indaba is a fictitious Zulu storyteller who narrates children’s stories from around the world. Baba Indaba translates as “Father of Stories”.

https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Anon_E_Mouse_THE_SOOTHSAYERS_WIFE_AND_THE_HODJA_A?id=_176CwAAQBAJ

The Soothsayer’s Wife and the Hodja – A Persian Folktale narrated by Baba Indaba – Issue 27

ISSN: 2397-9607 Issue 26
In Issue 26 of the Baba Indaba Children’s Stories, Baba Indaba narrates the Aesop’s fable of the Wolf and the Kid. A kid goat was frolicking and playing so much he did not hear the call to go home. The wolf sees the lone goat and sees a chance for dinner. Some quick thinking is required, but what happens? Look for the moral in the story.

It is believed that folklore and tales are believed to have originated in India and made their way overland along the Silk and Spice routes and through Central Asia before arriving in Europe. It is thought that Aesop collected his fables at the Western terminus of the Silk Route in Greece millennia ago.

This book also has a “Where in the World – Look it Up” section, where young readers are challenged to look up a place on a map somewhere in the world. The place, town or city is relevant to the story, on map. HINT – use Google maps.

Baba Indaba is a fictitious Zulu storyteller who narrates children’s stories from around the world. Baba Indaba translates as “Father of Stories”.

https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Aesop_THE_WOLF_AND_THE_KID_an_Aesop_s_Fable_for_ch?id=k1P6CwAAQBAJ

The Wolf and the Kid - A Baba Indaba Children's Story issue 26

The Wolf and the Kid – an Aesop’s Fable

A unique SPECIAL OFFER of 32 BRAZILIAN FOLK AND FAIRY TALES from the land of the 2016 Olympics

Discounted by 25% PLUS FREE SHIPPING

Amazonian tales of Giants, monkeys, how night came and more

Two Illustrated PERFECT BOUND paperbacks printed from certified sustainable forests to ISO Specification

BUY HERE >> http://abelapublishing.com/30-brazilian-folk-and-fairy-tales–olympics-special-offer_p31485781.htm

 

Herein you will find 30 uniquely Brazilian tales from the land of the 2016 Olympics. It should be noted that there are not many volumes of Brazilian Folklore to be found. But within these two unique volumes – Brazilian Fairy Tales and Tales of Giants from Brazil, you will find 30 stories from that vast and amazing country compiled especially by Elsie Spicer Eells. As Spicer-Eells puts it, “Brazil is the land of giant fruits and giant flowers. Of course it is the land of giant stories too.”

 

Stories like HOW NIGHT CAME, HOW THE RABBIT LOST HIS TAIL, HOW THE TOAD GOT HIS BRUISES, WHY THE LAMB IS MEEK, THE PRINCESS OF THE SPRINGS, THE FOUNTAIN OF GIANT LAND, THE LITTLE SISTER OF THE GIANTS, THE GIANTS PUPIL and many, many more.

Residents of the Amazonian forests know that the animals of the forest and the birds which flit through the trees each have their own language. To them the beasts break silence and talk like humans. For them, the magic wonders of these tales stand forth as testament and living truth that the animals do speak to humans, if only we would take the time to stop and listen to what they have to say. These volumes are an interpretation of but a few of the stories they have told.

 

So, find a comfy chair, and when you get bored with yet another program on the Olympics, sit back with a hot toddy, and enjoy a change of scenery and a change of pace with these 30 unique and authentic Brazilian folk stories and fairy tales while the narrator drones away listening to the sound of their own voice.

 

Cover

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tales of Giants from Brazil - with rescued princess he made his escape9781910882764 Tales of Giants from Brazil - cover

Fairy Tales from Brazil - Cover

Fairy Tales from Brazil – Cover

How Night CameTales of Giants from Brazil - a most beautiful princess

ONCE long ago there lived a king who had a stupid son. His father sent him to school for many years hoping that he might learn something there. His teachers all gave him up as hopelessly stupid, and with one accord they said, It is no use trying to teach this lad out of books. It is just a waste of our valuable time.

At length the king called together all the wisest men of his kingdom to consult with them as to the best way to make the prince wise and clever. They talked the matter over for a year and a day. It was the unanimous opinion of the wise men of the kingdom that the lad should be sent on a journey through many lands. In this way he might learn many of the things which his teachers had not been able to teach him out of books.

Accordingly the prince was equipped for his journey. He was given fine raiment, a splendid black horse upon which to ride, and a great bag full of money. Thus prepared, he started forth from the palace one bright morning with the blessing of the king, his father, and of all the wise men of the kingdom.

The prince journeyed through many lands. In one country he learned one thing, and in another country he learned another thing. There was no country or kingdom so small or poor that it did not have something to teach the prince. And the prince, though he had been so insufferably stupid at his books, learned the lessons of his journey with an open mind.

After long wanderings the prince arrived at a city where there was an auction going on. A singing bird was being offered for sale. What is the special advantage of this singing bird? asked the prince.

This bird, at the command of its owner, will sing a song which will put to sleep anyone who listens to it, was the reply.

The prince decided that the bird was worth purchasing. The next thing which was offered for sale was a beetle. What is the special advantage of this beetle? asked the prince.

This beetle will gnaw its way through any wall in the world, was the reply.

The prince purchased the beetle. Then a butterfly was offered for sale. What is the special advantage of owning this butterfly? asked the prince.

This butterfly is strong enough to bear upon its wings any weight which is put upon them, was the answer.

The prince bought the butterfly. With his bird and beetle and butterfly he travelled on and on until he became lost in the jungle. The foliage was so dense that he could not see his way, so he climbed to the top of the tallest tree he saw. From its summit he spied in the distance what looked like a mountain; but, when he had journeyed near to it, he saw that it was really the wall which surrounds the land of the giants.

A great giant whose head reached to the clouds stood on the wall as guard. A song from the singing bird put this guard to sleep immediately. The beetle soon had gnawed an entrance through the wall. Through this opening the prince entered the land of the giants.

The very first person whom the prince saw in the land of the giants was a lovely captive princess. The opening which the beetle had made in the wall led directly to the dungeon in which she was confined.

The prince had learned many things on his journey, and among the lessons he had learned was this one: Always rescue a fair maiden in distress. He immediately asked what he could do to rescue the beautiful captive princess.

You can never succeed in rescuing me, I fear, replied the princess. At the door of this palace there is a giant on guard who never sleeps.

Never mind, replied the prince. Ill put him to sleep.

Just at that moment the giant himself strode into the dungeon. He had heard voices there. Sing, my little bird, sing, commanded the prince to his singing bird.

At the first burst of melody the giant went to sleep there in the dungeon, though he had never before taken a wink of sleep in all his life.

This beetle of mine has gnawed an entrance through the great wall which surrounds the land of the giants, said the prince to the captive princess. To escape well not have to climb the high wall.

What of the guard who stands on top of the wall with his head reaching up to the clouds? asked the princess. Will he not spy us?

My singing bird has put him to sleep, too, replied the prince. If we hurry out he will not yet be awake.

I have been confined here in this dungeon so long that I fear I have forgotten how to walk, said the princess.

Never mind, replied the prince. My butterfly will bear you upon his wings.

With the lovely princess borne safely upon the butterflys wings the prince swiftly escaped from the land of the giants. The giant on the wall yawned in his sleep as they looked up at him. He is good for another hours nap, remarked the prince.

 

Tales of Giants from Brazil - with rescued princess he made his escape

The prince returned to his fathers kingdom as soon as he could find the way back. He took with him the lovely princess, and the singing bird, and the gnawing beetle, and the strong-winged butterfly.

His father and all the people of the kingdom received him with great joy. Never again will the prince of our kingdom be called stupid, said the wise men when they heard the account of his adventures. With his singing bird and his gnawing beetle and his strong-winged butterfly he has become the cleverest youth in the land.

 

For more info and to buy: http://abelapublishing.com/30-brazilian-folk-and-fairy-tales–olympics-special-offer_p31485781.htm

In Issue 25 of the Baba Indaba Children’s Stories, Baba Indaba narrates the West African folktale about Miss Salt and Miss Pepper and their friends the Sauces and the Onion Leaves. They hear of a handsome youth and go off to see if they can win his attention. On the way poor little Onion Leaves is mocked and asked to walk elsewhere because she smells so much. Walking by herself Onion Leaves helps an old lady whom the others ignored – with surprising results. Look out for the moral of the tale.
 
INCLUDES LINKS TO DOWNLOAD 8 FREE STORIES
 
It is believed that folklore and tales are believed to have originated in India and made their way overland along the Silk and Spice routes and through Central Asia before arriving in Europe. But African folklore has altogether different origins.
 
This book also has a “Where in the World – Look it Up” section, where young readers are challenged to look up a place on a map somewhere in the world. The place, town or city is relevant to the story, on map. HINT – use Google maps.
 
Baba Indaba is a fictitious Zulu storyteller who narrates children’s stories from around the world. Baba Indaba translates as “Father of Stories”.
 
ISSN: 2397-9607 Issue 25
 
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