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From The Little Green Goblin by James Ball Naylor.
Little Bob Taylor was mad, discouraged, and thoroughly miserable. Things had gone wrong—as things have the perverse habit of doing with mischievous, fun-loving boys of ten—and he was disgruntled, disgusted. The school year drawing to a close had been one of dreary drudgery; at least that was the retrospective view he took of it. And warm, sunshiny weather had come—the season for outdoor sports and vagrant rambles—and the end was not yet. Still he was a galley slave in the gilded barge of modern education; and open and desperate rebellion was in his heart.
One lesson was not disposed of before another intrusively presented itself, and tasks at home multiplied with a fecundity rivaling that of the evils of Pandora’s box. Yes, Bob was all out of sorts. School was a bore; tasks at home were a botheration, and life was a frank failure. He knew it; and what he knew he knew.
He had come from school on this particular day in an irritable, surly mood, to find that the lawn needed mowing, that the flower-beds needed weeding,—and just when he desired to steal away upon the wooded hillside back of the house and make buckeye whistles! He had demurred, grumbled and growled, and his father had rebuked him. Then he had complained of a headache, and his mother had given him a pill—a pill! think of it—and sent him off to bed.
Bob was out of sorts with himself
So here he was, tossing upon his own little bed in his own little room at the back of the house. It was twilight. The window was open, and the sweet fragrance of the honeysuckle flowers floated in to him. Birds were chirping and twittering as they settled themselves to rest among the sheltering boughs of the wild cherry tree just without, and the sounds of laughter and song came from the rooms beneath, where the other members of the family were making merry. Bob was hurt, grieved. Was there such a thing as justice in the whole world? He doubted it! And he wriggled and squirmed from one side of the bed to the other, kicked the footboard and dug his fists into the pillows—burning with anger and consuming with self-pity. At last the gathering storm of his contending emotions culminated in a downpour of tears, and weeping, he fell asleep.
“Hello! Hello, Bob! Hello, Bob Taylor!”
Bob popped up in bed, threw off the light coverings and stared about him. A broad band of moonlight streamed in at the open window, making the room almost as light as day. Not a sound was to be heard. The youngster peered into the shadowy corners and out into the black hallway, straining his ears. The clock down stairs struck ten deliberate, measured strokes.
“I thought I heard somebody calling me,” the lad muttered; “I must have been dreaming.”
He dropped back upon his pillows and closed his eyes.
“Hello, Bob!”
The boy again sprang to a sitting posture, as quick as a jack-in-a-box, his eyes and mouth wide open. He was startled, a little frightened.
“Hel—hello yourself!” he quavered.
“I’m helloing you,” the voice replied. “I’ve no need to hello myself; I’m awake.”
Bob looked all around, but could not locate the speaker.
“I’m awake, too,” he muttered; “at least I guess I am.”
“Yes, you’re awake all right enough now,” the voice said; “but I nearly yelled a lung loose getting you awake.”
“Well, where are you?” the boy cried.
A hoarse, rasping chuckle was the answer, apparently coming from the open window. Bob turned his eyes in that direction and blinked and stared, and blinked again; for there upon the sill, distinctly visible in the streaming white moonlight, stood the oddest, most grotesque figure the boy had ever beheld. Was it a dwarfed and deformed bit of humanity, or a gigantic frog masquerading in the garb of a man? Bob could not tell; so he ventured the very natural query:
“What are you?”
“I’m a goblin,” his nocturnal visitor made reply, in a harsh strident, parrot-like voice.
“A goblin?” Bob questioned.
“Yes.”
“Well, what’s a goblin?”
“Don’t you know?” in evident surprise.
“No.”
“Why, boy—boy! Your education has been sadly amiss.”
“I know it,” Bob replied with unction, his school grievances returning in full force to his mind. “But what is a goblin? Anything like a gobbler?”
“Stuff!” his visitor exclaimed in a tone of deep disgust. “Anything like a gobbler! Bob, you ought to be ashamed. Do I look anything like a turkey?”
“No, you look like a frog,” the boy laughed.
“Shut up!” the goblin croaked.
“I won’t!” snapped the boy.
“Look here!” cried the goblin. “Surely you know what goblins are. You’ve read of ’em—you’ve seen their pictures in books, haven’t you?”
“I think I have,” Bob said reflectively, “but I don’t know just what they are.”
“You know what a man is, don’t you?” the goblin queried.
“Of course.”
“Well, what is a man?”
“Huh?” the lad cried sharply.
“What is a man?”
“Why, a man’s a—a—a man,” Bob answered, lamely.
“Good—very good;” the goblin chuckled, interlocking his slim fingers over his protuberant abdomen and rocking himself to and fro upon his slender legs. “I see your schooling’s done you some good. Yes, a man’s a man, and a goblin’s a goblin. Understand? It’s all as clear as muddy water, when you think it over. Hey?”
“You explain things just like my teacher does,” the boy muttered peevishly.
“How’s that?” the goblin inquired, seating himself upon the sill and drawing his knees up to his chin.
“Why, when we ask him a question, he asks us one in return; and when we answer it, he tangles us all up and leaves us that way.”
“Does he?” the goblin grinned.
“Yes, he does,” sullenly.
“He must be a good teacher.”
“He is good—good for nothing,” snappishly.
The goblin hugged his slim shanks and laughed silently. He was a diminutive fellow, not more than a foot in height. His head was large; his body was pursy. A pair of big, waggling ears, a broad, flat nose, two small, pop eyes and a wide mouth made up his features. His dress consisted of a brimless, peaked cap, cutaway coat, long waistcoat, tight fitting trousers and a pair of tiny shoes—all of a vivid green color. His was indeed an uncouth and queer figure!
“Say!” Bob cried, suddenly.
“Huh?” the goblin ejaculated, throwing back his head and nimbly scratching his chin with the toe of his shoe.
“What are you called?”
“Sometimes I’m called the Little Green Goblin of Goblinville.”
“Oh!”
“Yes.”
“But what’s your name?”
“Fitz.”
“Fitz?”
“Yes.”
“Fitz what?”
“Fitz Mee.”
“Fits you?” laughed Bob. “I guess it does.”
“No!” rasped the goblin. “Not Fitz Hugh; Fitz Mee.”
“That’s what I said,” giggled the boy, “fits you.”
“I know you did; but I didn’t. I said Fitz Mee.”
“I can’t see the difference,” said Bob, with a puzzled shake of the head.
“Oh, you can’t!” sneered the goblin.
“No, I can’t!”—bristling pugnaciously.
“Huh!”—contemptuously—“I say my name is Fitz Mee; you say it is Fitz Hugh; and you can’t see the difference, hey?”
“Oh, that’s what you mean—that your name is Fitz Mee,” grinned Bob.
“Of course it’s what I mean,” the goblin muttered gratingly; “it’s what I said; and a goblin always says what he means and means what he says.”
“Where’s your home?” the boy ventured to inquire.
“In Goblinville,” was the crisp reply.
“Goblinville?”
“Yes; the capital of Goblinland.”
“And where’s that?”
“A long distance east or a long distance west.”
“Well, which?”
“Either or both.”
“Oh, that can’t be!” Bob cried.
“It can’t?”
“Why, no.”
“Why can’t it?”
“The place can’t be east and west both—from here.”
“But it can, and it is,” the goblin insisted.
“Is that so?”—in profound wonder.
“Yes; it’s on the opposite side of the globe.”
“Oh, I see.”
The goblin nodded, batting his pop eyes.
“Well, what are you doing here?” Bob pursued.
“Talking to you,” grinned the goblin.
“I know that,” the lad grumbled irritably. “But what brought you here?”
“A balloon.”
“Oh, pshaw! What did you come here for?”
“For you.”
“For me?”
“Yes; you don’t like to live in this country, and I’ve come to take you to a better one.”
“To Goblinland?”
“Yes.”
“Is that a better country than this—for boys?”
“Yes, indeed.”
“In what way is it better?” Bob demanded, shrewdly. “Tell me about it.”
“Well,” the goblin went on to explain, unclasping his hands and stretching his slender legs full length upon the window-sill, “in your country a boy isn’t permitted to do what pleases him, but is compelled to do what pleases others. Isn’t that so?”
“Yes, it is,” the lad muttered.
“But in our land,” the goblin continued, “a boy isn’t permitted to do what pleases others, but is compelled to do what pleases himself.”
“Oh!” ejaculated Bob, surprised and pleased. “That’s great. I’d like to live in Goblinland.”
“Of course you would,” said the goblin, placing a finger alongside of his flat nose and winking a pop eye. “Your parents and your teacher don’t know how to treat you—don’t appreciate you; they don’t understand boys. You’d better come along with me.”
“I’ve a notion to,” Bob replied thoughtfully. Then, abruptly: “But how did you find out about me, that I was dissatisfied with things here?”
“Oh, we know everything that’s going on,” the goblin grinned; “we get wireless telephone messages from all over the world. Whenever anybody says anything—or thinks anything, even—we learn of it; and if they’re in trouble some one of us good little goblins sets off to help them.”
“Why, how good of you!” Bob murmured, in sincere admiration. “You chaps are a bully lot!”
“Yes, indeed,” the goblin giggled; “we’re a good-hearted lot—we are. Oh, you’ll just love and worship us when you learn all about us!”
And the little green sprite almost choked with some suppressed emotion.
“I’m going with you,” the boy said, with sudden decision. “Will your balloon carry two, though?”
“We can manage that,” said the goblin. “Come here to the window and take a squint at my aërial vehicle.”
Bob crawled to the foot of the bed and peeped out the window. There hung the goblin’s balloon, anchored to the window-sill by means of a rope and hook. The bag looked like a big fat feather bed and the car resembled a large Willow clothes-basket. The boy was surprised, and not a little disappointed.
“And you came here in that thing?” he asked, unable to conceal the contempt he felt for the primitive and clumsy-looking contraption.
“Of course I did,” Fitz Mee made answer.
“And how did you get from the basket to the window here?”
“Slid down the anchor-rope.”
“Oh!” Bob gave an understanding nod. “And you’re going to climb the rope, when you go?”
“Yes; can you climb it?”
“Why, I—I could climb it,” Bob replied, slowly shaking his head; “but I’m not going to.”
“You’re not?” cried the goblin.
“No.”
“Why?”
“I’m not going to risk my life in any such a balloon as that. It looks like an old feather bed.”
“It is a feather bed,” Fitz answered, complacently.
“WHAT!” exclaimed Fitz Mee
“What!”
The goblin nodded sagely.
“Whee!” the lad whistled. “You don’t mean what you say, do you? You mean it’s a bed tick filled with gas, don’t you?”
“I mean just what I say,” Fitz Mee replied, positively. “That balloon bag is a feather bed.”
“But a feather bed won’t float in the air,” Bob objected.
“Won’t it?” leered the goblin.
“No.”
“How do you know? Did you ever try one to see?”
“N—o.”
“Well, one feather, a downy feather, will fly in the air, and carry its own weight and a little more, won’t it?”
“Yes,” the lad admitted, wondering what the goblin was driving at.
“Then won’t thousands of feathers confined in a bag fly higher and lift more than one feather alone will?”
“No,” positively.
“Tut—tut!” snapped the goblin. “You don’t know anything of the law of physics, it appears. Won’t a thousand volumes of gas confined in a bag fly higher and lift more than one volume unconfined will?”
“Why, of course,” irritably.
“Well!”—triumphantly,—“don’t the same law apply to feathers? Say!”
“I—I don’t know,” Bob stammered, puzzled but unconvinced.
“To be sure it does,” the goblin continued, smoothly. “I know; I’ve tried it. And you can see for yourself that my balloon’s a success.”
“Yes, but it wouldn’t carry me,” Bob objected; “I’m too heavy.”
“I’ll have to shrink you,” Fitz Mee said quietly.
“Shrink me?” drawing back in alarm bordering on consternation.
“Yes; it won’t hurt you.”
“How—how’re you going to do it?”
“I’ll show you.”
The goblin got upon his feet, took a small bottle from his waistcoat pocket and deliberately unscrewed the top and shook out a tiny tablet.
“There,” he said, “take that.”
“Uk-uh!” grunted Bob, compressing his lips and shaking his head. “I don’t like to take pills.”
“This isn’t a pill,” Fitz explained, “it’s a tablet.”
“It’s all the same,” the boy declared obstinately.
“Won’t you take it?”
“No.”
“Then you can’t go with me.”
“I can’t?”
The goblin shook his head.
“Isn’t there some other way you can—can shrink me?”
Again Fitz Mee silently shook his head.
“W-e-ll,” Bob said slowly and reluctantly, “I’ll take it. But, say?”
“Well?”
“What’ll it do to me—just make me smaller?”
“That’s all.”
“How small will it make me?”
“About my size,” grinned the goblin.
“Oo—h!” ejaculated Bob. “And will it make me as—as ugly as you are?” in grave concern.
The goblin clapped his hands over his stomach, wriggled this way and that and laughed till the tears ran down his fat cheeks.
“Oh—ho!” he gasped at last. “So you think me ugly, do you?”
“Yes, I do,” the lad admitted candidly, a little nettled.
“Well, that’s funny,” gurgled the goblin; “for that’s what I think of you. So you see the matter of looks is a matter of taste.”
“Huh!” Bob snorted contemptuously. “But will that tablet change my looks? That’s what I want to know.”
“No, it won’t,” was the reassuring reply.
“And will I always be small—like you?”
“Look here!” Fitz Mee croaked hoarsely. “If you’re going with me, stop asking fool questions and take this tablet.”
“Give it to me,” Bob muttered, in sheer desperation.
And he snatched the tablet and swallowed it.
Immediately he shrunk to the size of the goblin.
“My!” he cried. “It feels funny to be so little and light.”
He sprang from the bed to the window-sill, and anticly danced a jig in his night garment.
“Get into your clothes,” the goblin commanded, “and let’s be off.”
Bob nimbly leaped to the floor, tore off his night-robe and caught up his trousers. Then he paused, a look of comical consternation upon his apple face.
“What’s the matter?” giggled the goblin.
“Why—why,” the boy gasped, his mouth wide open, “my clothes are all a mile too big for me!”
Fitz Mee threw himself prone upon his stomach, pummeled and kicked the window-sill, and laughed uproariously.
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Just why were his clothes to large, and what happened next you may ask? Well you will have to download the Little Green Goblin to find out for yourself.
The Little Green Goblin by James Ball Naylor – the 12 adventures of Bob and the Little Green Goblin.
ISBN: 9788835375777
DOWNLOAD LINK: https://bit.ly/33XA2Uk
10% of the publisher’s profits are donated to charity.
Yesterday’s books for today’s Charities.
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KEYWORDS/TAGS: The Little Green Goblin, childrens fantasy, folklore, fairy tale, fable, action, adventure, young adult, young people, readers, bibliophile, Midnight Visit, Storm, Danger, Giant, Lost, Desert, Magnetize, magnetise, Spring, Encounter, Wireless Message, Headquarters, strange lands, aeronaut, aëronaut, air-tank, anchor, Arabs, balloon, beast, binoculars, Bob, bottom, boy-giant, camels, chemist, children, companion, comrade, country, croaked, desire, devils, ejaculated, electric, Epilepsy, factories, feather-bed, feathers, Fitz, goblin, Goblinland, Goblinville, gob-tabs, gold, lad, laugh, laughed, leopard, lion, lips, little, locker, magic, mayor, medicine, Mee, moonlight, mountain, needle, nuggets, oasis, ocean, officer, palace, parrot, pop, Portuguese, Roberty, Boberty, sheik, south, sprite, Taylor, thumb-screw, thunder, wild,
One day the dolls were left all to themselves.
Their little mistress had placed them all around the room and told them to be nice children while she was away.
And there they sat and never even so much as wiggled a finger, until their mistress had left the room.
Then the soldier dolly turned his head and solemnly winked at Raggedy Ann.
And when the front gate clicked and the dollies knew they were alone in the house, they all scrambled to their feet.
“Now let’s have a good time!” cried the tin soldier. “Let’s all go in search of something to eat!”
“Yes! Let’s all go in search of something to eat!” cried all the other dollies.
“When Mistress had me out playing with her this morning,” said Raggedy Ann, “she carried me by a door near the back of the house and I smelled something which smelled as if it would taste delicious!”
“Then you lead the way, Raggedy Ann!” cried the French dolly.
“I think it would be a good plan to elect Raggedy Ann as our leader on this expedition!” said the Indian doll.
At this all the other dolls clapped their hands together and shouted, “Hurrah! Raggedy Ann will be our leader.”
So Raggedy Ann, very proud indeed to have the confidence and love of all the other dollies, said that she would be very glad to be their leader.
“Follow me!” she cried as her wobbly legs carried her across the floor at a lively pace.
The other dollies followed, racing about the house until they came to the pantry door. “This is the place!” cried Raggedy Ann, and sure enough, all the dollies smelled something which they knew must be very good to eat.
But none of the dollies was tall enough to open the door and, although they pushed and pulled with all their might, the door remained tightly closed.
The dollies were talking and pulling and pushing and every once in a while one would fall over and the others would step on her in their efforts to open the door. Finally Raggedy Ann drew away from the others and sat down on the floor.
When the other dollies discovered Raggedy Ann sitting there, running her rag hands through her yarn hair, they knew she was thinking.
“Sh! Sh!” they said to each other and quietly went over near Raggedy Ann and sat down in front of her.
“There must be a way to get inside,” said Raggedy Ann.
“Raggedy says there must be a way to get inside!” cried all the dolls.
“I can’t seem to think clearly to-day,” said Raggedy Ann. “It feels as if my head were ripped.”
At this the French doll ran to Raggedy Ann and took off her bonnet. “Yes, there is a rip in your head, Raggedy!” she said and pulled a pin from her skirt and pinned up Raggedy’s head. “It’s not a very neat job, for I got some puckers in it!” she said.
“Oh that is ever so much better!” cried Raggedy Ann. “Now I can think quite clearly.”
“Now Raggedy can think quite clearly!” cried all the dolls.
“My thoughts must have leaked out the rip before!” said Raggedy Ann.
“They must have leaked out before, dear Raggedy!” cried all the other dolls.
“Now that I can think so clearly,” said Raggedy Ann, “I think the door must be locked and to get in we must unlock it!”
“That will be easy!” said the Dutch doll who says “Mamma” when he is tipped backward and forward, “For we will have the brave tin soldier shoot the key out of the lock!”
“I can easily do that!” cried the tin soldier, as he raised his gun.
“Oh, Raggedy Ann!” cried the French dolly. “Please do not let him shoot!”
“No!” said Raggedy Ann. “We must think of a quieter way!”
After thinking quite hard for a moment, Raggedy Ann jumped up and said: “I have it!” And she caught up the Jumping Jack and held him up to the door; then Jack slid up his stick and unlocked the door.
Then the dollies all pushed and the door swung open.
My! Such a scramble! The dolls piled over one another in their desire to be the first at the goodies.
They swarmed upon the pantry shelves and in their eagerness spilled a pitcher of cream which ran all over the French dolly’s dress.
The Indian doll found some corn bread and dipping it in the molasses he sat down for a good feast.
A jar of raspberry jam was overturned and the dollies ate of this until their faces were all purple.
The tin soldier fell from the shelf three times and bent one of his tin legs, but he scrambled right back up again.
Never had the dolls had so much fun and excitement, and they had all eaten their fill when they heard the click of the front gate.
They did not take time to climb from the shelves, but all rolled or jumped off to the floor and scrambled back to their room as fast as they could run, leaving a trail of bread crumbs and jam along the way.
Just as their mistress came into the room the dolls dropped in whatever positions they happened to be in.
“This is funny!” cried Mistress. “They were all left sitting in their places around the room! I wonder if Fido has been shaking them up!” Then she saw Raggedy Ann’s face and picked her up. “Why Raggedy Ann, you are all sticky! I do believe you are covered with jam!” and Mistress tasted Raggedy Ann’s hand. “Yes! It’s JAM! Shame on you, Raggedy Ann! You’ve been in the pantry and all the others, too!” and with this the dolls’ mistress dropped Raggedy Ann on the floor and left the room.
When she came back she had on an apron and her sleeves were rolled up.
She picked up all the sticky dolls and putting them in a basket she carried them out under the apple tree in the garden.
There she had placed her little tub and wringer and she took the dolls one at a time, and scrubbed them with a scrubbing brush and soused them up and down and this way and that in the soap suds until they were clean.
Then she hung them all out on the clothes-line in the sunshine to dry.
There the dolls hung all day, swinging and twisting about as the breeze swayed the clothes-line.
“I do believe she scrubbed my face so hard she wore off my smile!” said Raggedy Ann, after an hour of silence.
“No, it is still there!” said the tin solder, as the wind twisted him around so he could see Raggedy. “But I do believe my arms will never work without squeaking, they feel so rusted,” he added.
Just then the wind twisted the little Dutch doll and loosened his clothes-pin, so that he fell to the grass below with a sawdusty bump and as he rolled over he said, “Mamma!” in a squeaky voice.
Late in the afternoon the back door opened and the little mistress came out with a table and chairs. After setting the table she took all the dolls from the line and placed them about the table.
They had lemonade with grape jelly in it, which made it a beautiful lavender color, and little “Baby-teeny-weeny-cookies” with powdered sugar on them.
After this lovely dinner, the dollies were taken in the house, where they had their hair brushed and nice clean nighties put on.
Then they were placed in their beds and Mistress kissed each one good night and tiptoed from the room.
All the dolls lay as still as mice for a few minutes, then Raggedy Ann raised up on her cotton-stuffed elbows and said: “I have been thinking!”
“Sh!” said all the other dollies, “Raggedy has been thinking!”
“Yes,” said Raggedy Ann, “I have been thinking; our mistress gave us the nice dinner out under the trees to teach us a lesson. She wished us to know that we could have had all the goodies we wished, whenever we wished, if we had behaved ourselves. And our lesson was that we must never take without asking what we could always have for the asking! So let us all remember and try never again to do anything which might cause those who love us any unhappiness!”
“Let us all remember,” chimed all the other dollies.
And Raggedy Ann, with a merry twinkle in her shoe-button eyes, lay back in her little bed, her cotton head filled with thoughts of love and happiness.
From RAGGEDY ANN STORIES – 12 Illustrated Adventures of Raggedy Ann
Written and Illustrated by Johnny Gruelle
ISBN: 9788828375692
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KEYWORDS/TAGS: fairy tales, folklore, myths, legends, children’s stories, childrens stories, bygone era, fairydom, fairy kingdom, ethereal, fairy land, classic stories, children’s bedtime stories, happy place, happiness, laughter, Raggedy Ann, Learn A Lesson, Washing, Kite, Rescue, Fido, Paint, Painter, Trip, River, Strange Dolls, Kittens, Fairies, Gift, Chickens, rooster, cock, Mouse, mice, New Sisters, Marcella, country, house, grandma, grand mother
Written and Illustrated by Johnny Gruelle
This book is for all little boys and girls who love dolls and the stories of Raggedy Andy and Raggedy Ann.
Herein you will find 12 stories of Raggedy Ann, written and illustrated by Johnny Gruelle. A companion to the Raggedy Andy Stories, it starts with Marcella visiting her Grandma, who had a quaint old house in the country.
When she was there she liked to play up in the attic, for there were so many old forgotten things to find up there. One day, when she had grown tired of playing with the old spinning wheel, she curled up on an old horse-hair sofa to rest.
Across the room in a dark corner she spotted an old barrel tucked under the eaves. Wondering what was in it, she set off to explore. Pulling rags and sewing off-cuts from the barrel, like a picture of a very pretty little girl with long curls tied tightly back from her forehead and wearing a long dress and queer pantaloons. And then out of the heap she pulled an old rag doll with only one shoe-button eye and a painted nose and a smiling mouth. Her dress was of soft material, blue with pretty little flowers and dots all over it. And so begins the adventures of Raggedy Ann……
These 12 Raggedy Ann stories are further brought to life with the 67 exquisite illustrations in colour also by Johnny Gruelle. The adventures are:
Raggedy Ann Learns A Lesson
Raggedy Ann And The Washing
Raggedy Ann And The Kite
Raggedy Ann Rescues Fido
Raggedy Ann And The Painter
Raggedy Ann’s Trip On The River
Raggedy Ann And The Strange Dolls
Raggedy Ann And The Kittens
Raggedy Ann And The Fairies’ Gift
Raggedy Ann And The Chickens
Raggedy Ann And The Mouse
Raggedy Ann’s New Sisters
This volume is sure to keep you and your young ones enchanted for hours, if not because of the quantity of the content, then their quality. They will have you coming back for more time and again.
ISBN: 9788828375692
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KEYWORDS/TAGS: fairy tales, folklore, myths, legends, children’s stories, childrens stories, bygone era, fairydom, fairy kingdom, ethereal, fairy land, classic stories, children’s bedtime stories, happy place, happiness, laughter, Raggedy Ann, Learn A Lesson, Washing, Kite, Rescue, Fido, Paint, Painter, Trip, River, Strange Dolls, Kittens, Fairies, Gift, Chickens, rooster, cock, Mouse, mice, New Sisters, Marcella, country, house, grandma, grand mother
Long, long ago, as far back as the time when animals spoke, there lived a community of cats in a deserted house they had taken possession of not far from a large town. They had everything they could possibly desire for their comfort, they were well fed and well lodged, and if by any chance an unlucky mouse was stupid enough to venture in their way, they caught it, not to eat it, but for the pure pleasure of catching it. The old people of the town related how they had heard their parents speak of a time when the whole country was so overrun with rats and mice that there was not so much as a grain of corn nor an ear of maize to be gathered in the fields; and it might be out of gratitude to the cats who had rid the country of these plagues that their descendants were allowed to live in peace. No one knows where they got the money to pay for everything, nor who paid it, for all this happened so very long ago. But one thing is certain, they were rich enough to keep a servant; for though they lived very happily together, and did not scratch nor fight more than human beings would have done, they were not clever enough to do the housework themselves, and preferred at all events to have someone to cook their meat, which they would have scorned to eat raw. Not only were they very difficult to please about the housework, but most women quickly tired of living alone with only cats for companions, consequently they never kept a servant long; and it had become a saying in the town, when anyone found herself reduced to her last penny: ‘I will go and live with the cats,’ and so many a poor woman actually did.
Now Lizina was not happy at home, for her mother, who was a widow, was much fonder of her elder daughter; so that often the younger one fared very badly, and had not enough to eat, while the elder could have everything she desired, and if Lizina dared to complain she was certain to have a good beating.
At last the day came when she was at the end of her courage and patience, and exclaimed to her mother and sister:
‘As you hate me so much you will be glad to be rid of me, so I am going to live with the cats!’
‘Be off with you!’ cried her mother, seizing an old broom-handle from behind the door. Poor Lizina did not wait to be told twice, but ran off at once and never stopped till she reached the door of the cats’ house. Their cook had left them that very morning, with her face all scratched, the result of such a quarrel with the head of the house that he had very nearly scratched out her eyes. Lizina therefore was warmly welcomed, and she set to work at once to prepare the dinner, not without many misgivings as to the tastes of the cats, and whether she would be able to satisfy them.
Going to and fro about her work, she found herself frequently hindered by a constant succession of cats who appeared one after another in the kitchen to inspect the new servant; she had one in front of her feet, another perched on the back of her chair while she peeled the vegetables, a third sat on the table beside her, and five or six others prowled about among the pots and pans on the shelves against the wall. The air resounded with their purring, which meant that they were pleased with their new maid, but Lizina had not yet learned to understand their language, and often she did not know what they wanted her to do. However, as she was a good, kindhearted girl, she set to work to pick up the little kittens which tumbled about on the floor, she patched up quarrels, and nursed on her lap a big tabby—the oldest of the community—which had a lame paw. All these kindnesses could hardly fail to make a favourable impression on the cats, and it was even better after a while, when she had had time to grow accustomed to their strange ways. Never had the house been kept so clean, the meats so well served, nor the sick cats so well cared for. After a time they had a visit from an old cat, whom they called their father, who lived by himself in a barn at the top of the hill, and came down from time to time to inspect the little colony. He too was much taken with Lizina, and inquired, on first seeing her: ‘Are you well served by this nice, black-eyed little person?’ and the cats answered with one voice: ‘Oh, yes, Father Gatto, we have never had so good a servant!’
At each of his visits the answer was always the same; but after a time the old cat, who was very observant, noticed that the little maid had grown to look sadder and sadder. ‘What is the matter, my child has any one been unkind to you?’ he asked one day, when he found her crying in her kitchen. She burst into tears and answered between her sobs: ‘Oh, no! they are all very good to me; but I long for news from home, and I pine to see my mother and my sister.’
Old Gatto, being a sensible old cat, understood the little servant’s feelings. ‘You shall go home,’ he said, ‘and you shall not come back here unless you please. But first you must be rewarded for all your kind services to my children. Follow me down into the inner cellar, where you have never yet been, for I always keep it locked and carry the key away with me.’
Lizina looked round her in astonishment as they went down into the great vaulted cellar underneath the kitchen. Before her stood the big earthenware water jars, one of which contained oil, the other a liquid shining like gold. ‘In which of these jars shall I dip you?’ asked Father Gatto, with a grin that showed all his sharp white teeth, while his moustaches stood out straight on either side of his face. The little maid looked at the two jars from under her long dark lashes: ‘In the oil jar,’ she answered timidly, thinking to herself: ‘I could not ask to be bathed in gold.’
But Father Gatto replied: ‘No, no; you have deserved something better than that.’ And seizing her in his strong paws he plunged her into the liquid gold. Wonder of wonders! when Lizina came out of the jar she shone from head to foot like the sun in the heavens on a fine summer’s day. Her pretty pink cheeks and long black hair alone kept their natural colour, otherwise she had become like a statue of pure gold. Father Gatto purred loudly with satisfaction. ‘Go home,’ he said, ‘and see your mother and sisters; but take care if you hear the cock crow to turn towards it; if on the contrary the ass brays, you must look the other way.’
The little maid, having gratefully kissed the white paw of the old cat, set off for home; but just as she got near her mother’s house the cock crowed, and quickly she turned towards it. Immediately a beautiful golden star appeared on her forehead, crowning her glossy black hair. At the same time the ass began to bray, but Lizina took care not to look over the fence into the field where the donkey was feeding. Her mother and sister, who were in front of their house, uttered cries of admiration and astonishment when they saw her, and their cries became still louder when Lizina, taking her handkerchief from her pocket, drew out also a handful of gold.
For some days the mother and her two daughters lived very happily together, for Lizina had given them everything she had brought away except her golden clothing, for that would not come off, in spite of all the efforts of her sister, who was madly jealous of her good fortune. The golden star, too, could not be removed from her forehead. But all the gold pieces she drew from her pockets had found their way to her mother and sister.
‘I will go now and see what I can get out of the pussies,’ said Peppina, the elder girl, one morning, as she took Lizina’s basket and fastened her pockets into her own skirt. ‘I should like some of the cats’ gold for myself,’ she thought, as she left her mother’s house before the sun rose.
The cat colony had not yet taken another servant, for they knew they could never get one to replace Lizina, whose loss they had not yet ceased to mourn. When they heard that Peppina was her sister, they all ran to meet her. ‘She is not the least like her,’ the kittens whispered among themselves.
‘Hush, be quiet!’ the older cats said; ‘all servants cannot be pretty.’
No, decidedly she was not at all like Lizina. Even the most reasonable and large-minded of the cats soon acknowledged that.
The very first day she shut the kitchen door in the face of the tom-cats who used to enjoy watching Lizina at her work, and a young and mischievous cat who jumped in by the open kitchen window and alighted on the table got such a blow with the rolling-pin that he squalled for an hour.
With every day that passed the household became more and more aware of its misfortune.
The work was as badly done as the servant was surly and disagreeable; in the corners of the rooms there were collected heaps of dust; spiders’ webs hung from the ceilings and in front of the window-panes; the beds were hardly ever made, and the feather beds, so beloved by the old and feeble cats, had never once been shaken since Lizina left the house. At Father Gatto’s next visit he found the whole colony in a state of uproar.
‘Caesar has one paw so badly swollen that it looks as if it were broken,’ said one. ‘Peppina kicked him with her great wooden shoes on. Hector has an abscess in his back where a wooden chair was flung at him; and Agrippina’s three little kittens have died of hunger beside their mother, because Peppina forgot them in their basket up in the attic. There is no putting up with the creature—do send her away, Father Gatto! Lizina herself would not be angry with us; she must know very well what her sister is like.’
‘Come here,’ said Father Gatto, in his most severe tones to Peppina. And he took her down into the cellar and showed her the same two great jars that he had showed Lizina. ‘In which of these shall I dip you?’ he asked; and she made haste to answer: ‘In the liquid gold,’ for she was no more modest than she was good and kind.
Father Gatto’s yellow eyes darted fire. ‘You have not deserved it,’ he uttered, in a voice like thunder, and seizing her he flung her into the jar of oil, where she was nearly suffocated. When she came to the surface screaming and struggling, the vengeful cat seized her again and rolled her in the ash-heap on the floor; then when she rose, dirty, blinded, and disgusting to behold, he thrust her from the door, saying: ‘Begone, and when you meet a braying ass be careful to turn your head towards it.’
Stumbling and raging, Peppina set off for home, thinking herself fortunate to find a stick by the wayside with which to support herself. She was within sight of her mother’s house when she heard in the meadow on the right, the voice of a donkey loudly braying. Quickly she turned her head towards it, and at the same time put her hand up to her forehead, where, waving like a plume, was a donkey’s tail. She ran home to her mother at the top of her speed, yelling with rage and despair; and it took Lizina two hours with a big basin of hot water and two cakes of soap to get rid of the layer of ashes with which Father Gatto had adorned her. As for the donkey’s tail, it was impossible to get rid of that; it was as firmly fixed on her forehead as was the golden star on Lizina’s. Their mother was furious. She first beat Lizina unmercifully with the broom, then she took her to the mouth of the well and lowered her into it, leaving her at the bottom weeping and crying for help.
Before this happened, however, the king’s son in passing the mother’s house had seen Lizina sitting sewing in the parlour, and had been dazzled by her beauty. After coming back two or three times, he at last ventured to approach the window and to whisper in the softest voice: ‘Lovely maiden, will you be my bride?’ and she had answered: ‘I will.’
Next morning, when the prince arrived to claim his bride, he found her wrapped in a large white veil. ‘It is so that maidens are received from their parents’ hands,’ said the mother, who hoped to make the king’s son marry Peppina in place of her sister, and had fastened the donkey’s tail round her head like a lock of hair under the veil. The prince was young and a little timid, so he made no objections, and seated Peppina in the carriage beside him.
Their way led past the old house inhabited by the cats, who were all at the window, for the report had got about that the prince was going to marry the most beautiful maiden in the world, on whose forehead shone a golden star, and they knew that this could only be their adored Lizina. As the carriage slowly passed in front of the old house, where cats from all parts of world seemed to be gathered a song burst from every throat:!
Mew, mew, mew! Prince, look quick behind you! In the well is fair Lizina, And you’ve got nothing but Peppina.
When he heard this the coachman, who understood the cat’s language better than the prince, his master, stopped his horses and asked:
‘Does your highness know what the grimalkins are saying?’ and the song broke forth again louder than ever.
With a turn of his hand the prince threw back the veil, and discovered the puffed-up, swollen face of Peppina, with the donkey’s tail twisted round her head. ‘Ah, traitress!’ he exclaimed, and ordering the horses to be turned round, he drove the elder daughter, quivering with rage, to the old woman who had sought to deceive him. With his hand on the hilt of his sword he demanded Lizina in so terrific a voice that the mother hastened to the well to draw her prisoner out. Lizina’s clothing and her star shone so brilliantly that when the prince led her home to the king, his father, the whole palace was lit up. Next day they were married, and lived happy ever after; and all the cats, headed by old Father Gatto, were present at the wedding.
From: THE CRIMSON FAIRY BOOK compiled by Andrew Lang
ISBN: 9781909302112
http://abelapublishing.com/andrew-langs-crimson-fairy-book_p27279437.htm
The Crimson Fairy Book
There were six falcons living in a nest, five of whom were still too young to fly, when it so happened that both the parent birds were shot in one day. The young brood waited anxiously for their return; but night came, and they were left without parents and without food.
Gray Eagle, the eldest, and the only one whose feathers had become stout enough to enable him to leave the nest, took his place at the head of the family, and assumed the duty of stifling their cries and providing the little household with food, in which he was very successful. But, after a short time had passed, by an unlucky mischance, while out on a foraging excursion, he got one of his wings broken. This was the more to be regretted, as the season had arrived when they were soon to go to a southern country to pass the winter, and the children were only waiting to become a little stronger and more expert on the wing to set out on the journey.
Finding that their elder brother did not return, they resolved to go in search of him. After beating up and down the country for the better part of a whole day, they at last found him, sorely wounded and unable to fly, lodged in the upper branches of a sycamore-tree.
“Brothers,” said Gray Eagle, as soon as they were gathered around, and questioned him as to the extent of his injuries, “an accident has befallen me, but let not this prevent your going to a warmer climate. Winter is rapidly approaching, and you cannot remain here. It is better that I alone should die, than for you all to suffer on my account.”
“No, no,” they replied, with one voice. “We will not forsake you. We will share your sufferings; we will abandon our journey, and take care of you as you did of us before we were able to take care of ourselves. If the chill climate kills you, it shall kill us. Do you think we can so soon forget your brotherly care, which has equalled a father’s, and even a mother’s kindness? Whether you live or die, we will live or die with you.”
They sought out a hollow tree to winter in, and contrived to carry their wounded nest-mate thither; and before the rigor of the season had set in, they had, by diligence and economy, stored up food enough to carry them through the winter months.
To make the provisions they had laid in last the better, it was agreed among them that two of their number should go south; leaving the other three to watch over, feed, and protect their wounded brother. The travelers set forth, sorry to leave home, but resolved that the first promise of spring should bring them back again. At the close of day, the three brothers who remained, mounting to the very peak of the tree, and bearing Gray Eagle in their arms, watched them, as they vanished away southward, till their forms blended with the air and were wholly lost to sight.
Their next business was to set the household in order, and this, with the judicious direction of Gray Eagle, who was propped up in a snug fork, with soft cushions of dry moss, they speedily accomplished. One of the sisters, for there were two of these, took upon herself the charge of nursing Gray Eagle, preparing his food, bringing him water, and changing his pillows when he grew tired of one position. She also looked to it that the house itself was kept in a tidy condition, and that the pantry was supplied with food. The second brother was assigned the duty of physician, and he was to prescribe such herbs and other medicines as the state of the health of Gray Eagle seemed to require. As the second brother had no other invalid on his visiting-list, he devoted the time not given to the cure of his patient, to the killing of game wherewith to stock the house-keeper’s larder; so that, whatever he did, he was always busy in the line of professional dutykilling or curing. On his hunting excursions, Doctor Falcon carried with him his youngest brother, who, being a foolish young fellow, and inexperienced in the ways of the world, it was not thought safe to trust alone.
In due time, what with good nursing, and good feeding, and good air, Gray Eagle recovered from his wound, and he repaid the kindness of his brothers by giving them such advice and instruction in the art of hunting as his age and experience qualified him to impart. As spring advanced, they began to look about for the means of replenishing their store-house, whose supplies were running low; and they were all quite successful in their quest except the youngest, whose name was Peepi, or the Pigeon-Hawk, and who had of late begun to set up for himself.
Being small and foolish, and feather-headed, flying hither and yonder without any set purpose, it so happened that Peepi always came home, so to phrase it, with an empty game-bag, and his pinions terribly rumpled.
At last Gray Eagle spoke to him, and demanded the cause of his ill-luck.
“It is not my smallness nor weakness of body,” Peepi answered, “that prevents my bringing home provender as well as my brothers. I am all the time on the wing, hither and thither. I kill ducks and other birds every time I go out; but just as I get to the woods, on my way home, I am met by a large ko-ko-ho, who robs me of my prey; and,” added Peepi, with great energy, “it’s my settled opinion that the villain lies in wait for the very purpose of doing so.”
“I have no doubt you are right, Brother Peepi,” rejoined Gray Eagle. “I know this pirate his name is White Owl; and now that I feel my strength fully recovered, I will go out with you to-morrow and help you look after this greedy bush-ranger.”
The next day they went forth in company, and arrived at a fine fresh-water lake. Gray Eagle seated himself hard by, while Peepi started out, and soon pounced upon a duck.
“Well done!” thought his brother, who saw his success; but just as little Peepi was getting to land with his prize, up sailed a large white owl from a tree where he, too, had been watching, and laid claim to it. He was on the point of wresting it from Peepi, when Gray Eagle, calling out to the intruder to desist, rushed up, and, fixing his talons in both sides of the owl, without further introduction or ceremony, flew away with him.
The little Pigeon-Hawk followed closely, with the duck under his wing, rejoiced and happy to think that he had something to carry home at last. He was naturally much vexed with the owl, and had no sooner delivered over the duck to his sister, the housekeeper, than he flew in the owl’s face, and, venting an abundance of reproachful terms, would, in his passion, have torn the very eyes out of the White Owl’s head.
“Softly, Peepi,” said the Gray Eagle, stepping in between them. “Don’t be in such a huff, my little brother, nor exhibit so revengeful a temper. Do you not know that we are to forgive our enemies? White Owl, you may go; but let this be a lesson to you, not to play the tyrant over those who may chance to be weaker than yourself.”
So, after adding to this much more good advice, and telling him what kind of herbs would cure his wounds, Gray Eagle dismissed White Owl, and the four brothers and sisters sat down to supper.
The next day, betimes, in the morning, before the household had fairly rubbed the cobwebs out of the corners of their eyes, there came a knock at the front doorwhich was a dry branch that lay down before the hollow of the tree in which they lodgedand being called to come in, who should make their appearance but the two nest-mates, who had just returned from the South, where they had been wintering. There was great rejoicing over their return, and now that they were all happily re-united, each one soon chose a mate and began to keep house in the woods for himself.
Spring had now revisited the North. The cold winds had all blown themselves away, the ice had melted, the streams were open, and smiled as they looked at the blue sky once more; and the forests, far and wide, in their green mantle, echoed every cheerful sound.
But it is in vain that spring returns, and that the heart of Nature is opened in bounty, if we are not thankful to the Master of Life, who has preserved us through the winter. Nor does that man answer the end for which he was made who does not show a kind and charitable feeling to all who are in want or sickness, especially to his blood relations.
The love and harmony of Gray Eagle and his brothers continued. They never forgot each other. Every week, on the fourth afternoon of the week (for that was the time when they had found their wounded elder brother), they had a meeting in the hollow of the old sycamore-tree, when they talked over family matters, and advised with each other, as brothers should, about their affairs.
ISBN: 978-1-907302-65-5
ONCE upon a time there lived a man whose one wish and prayer was to get rich. Day and night he thought of nothing else, and at last his prayers were granted, and he became very wealthy. Now being so rich, and having so much to lose, he felt that it would be a terrible thing to die and leave all his possessions behind; so he made up his mind to set out in search of a land where there was no death. He got ready for his journey, took leave of his wife, and started. Whenever he came to a new country the first question that he asked was whether people died in that land, and when he heard that they did, he set out again on his quest. At last he reached a country where he was told that the people did not even know the meaning of the word death. Our traveller was delighted when he heard this, and said:
‘But surely there are great numbers of people in your land, if no one ever dies?’
`No,’ they replied, `there are not great numbers, for you see from time to time a voice is heard calling first one and then another, and whoever hears that voice gets up and goes away, and never comes back.’
`And do they see the person who calls them,’ he asked, `or do they only hear his voice?’
`They both see and hear him,’ was the answer.
Well, the man was amazed when he heard that the people were stupid enough to follow the voice, though they knew that if they went when it called them they would never return. And he went back to his own home and got all his possessions together, and, taking his wife and family, he set out resolved to go and live in that country where the people did not die, but where instead they heard a voice calling them, which they followed into a land from which they never returned. For he had made up his own mind that when he or any of his family heard that voice they would pay no heed to it, however loudly it called.
After he had settled down in his new home, and had got everything in order about him, he warned his wife and family that, unless they wanted to die, they must on no account listen to a voice which they might someday hear calling them.
For some years everything went well with them, and they lived happily in their new home. But one day, while they were all sit-ting together round the table, his wife suddenly started up, exclaiming in a loud voice:
`I am coming! I am coming!’
And she began to look round the room for her fur coat, but her husband jumped up, and taking firm hold of her by the hand, held her fast, and reproached her, saying:
`Don’t you remember what I told you? Stay where you are unless you wish to die.’
`But don’t you hear that voice calling me?’ she answered. `I am merely going to see why I am wanted. I shall come back directly.’
So she fought and struggled to get away from her husband, and to go where the voice summoned. But he would not let her go, and had all the doors of the house shut and bolted. When she saw that he had done this, she said:
‘Very well, dear husband, I shall do what you wish, and remain where I am.’
So her husband believed that it was all right, and that she had thought better of it, and had got over her mad impulse to obey the voice. But a few minutes later she made a sudden dash for one of the doors, opened it and darted out, followed by her husband. He caught her by the fur coat, and begged and implored her not to go, for if she did she would certainly never return. She said nothing, but let her arms fall backwards, and suddenly bending herself forward, she slipped out of the coat, leaving it in her husband’s hands. He, poor man, seemed turned to stone as he gazed after her hurrying away from him, and calling at the top of her voice, as she ran:
`I am coming! I am coming!’
When she was quite out of sight her husband recovered his wits and went back into his house, murmuring:
`If she is so foolish as to wish to die, I can’t help it. I warned and implored her to pay no heed to that voice, however loudly it might call.’
Well, days and weeks and months and years passed, and nothing happened to disturb the peace of the household. But one day the man was at the barber’s as usual, being shaved. The shop was full of people, and his chin had just been covered with a lather of soap, when, suddenly starting up from the chair, he called out in a loud voice:
`I won’t come, do you hear? I won’t come!’
The barber and the other people in the shop listened to him with amazement. But again looking towards the door, he exclaimed:
`I tell you, once and for all, I do not mean to come, so go away.’
And a few minutes later he called out again:
`Go away, I tell you, or it will be the worse for you. You may call as much as you like but you will never get me to come.’
And he got so angry that you might have thought that someone was actually standing at the door, tormenting him. At last he jumped up, and caught the razor out of the barber’s hand, exclaiming:
`Give me that razor, and I’ll teach him to let people alone for the future.’
And he rushed out of the house as if he were running after someone, whom no one else saw. The barber, determined not to lose his razor, pursued the man, and they both continued running at full speed till they had got well out of the town, when all of a sudden the man fell head foremost down a precipice, and never was seen again. So he too, like the others, had been forced against his will to follow the voice that called him.
The barber, who went home whistling and congratulating himself on the escape he had made, described what had happened, and it was noised abroad in the country that the people who had gone away, and had never returned, had all fallen into that pit; for till then they had never known what had happened to those who had heard the voice and obeyed its call.
But when crowds of people went out from the town to examine the ill-fated pit that had swallowed up such numbers, and yet never seemed to be full, they could discover nothing. All that they could see was a vast plain, that looked as if it had been there since the beginning of the world. And from that time the people of the country began to die like ordinary mortals all the world over.
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A Town Mouse once visited a relative who lived in the country. For lunch the Country Mouse served wheat stalks, roots, and acorns, with a dash of cold water for drink. The Town Mouse ate very sparingly, nibbling a little of this and a little of that, and by her manner making it very plain that she ate the simple food only to be polite.
After the meal the friends had a long talk, or rather the Town Mouse talked about her life in the city while the Country Mouse listened. They then went to bed in a cozy nest in the hedgerow and slept in quiet and comfort until morning. In her sleep the Country
Mouse dreamed she was a Town Mouse with all the luxuries and delights of city life that her friend had described for her. So the next day when the Town Mouse asked the Country Mouse to go home with her to the city, she gladly said yes.
When they reached the mansion in which the Town Mouse lived, they found on the table in the dining room the leavings of a very fine banquet. There were sweetmeats and jellies, pastries, delicious cheeses, indeed, the most tempting foods that a Mouse can imagine. But just as the Country Mouse was about to nibble a dainty bit of pastry, she heard a Cat mew loudly and scratch at the door. In great fear the Mice scurried to a hiding place, where they lay quite still for a long time, hardly daring to breathe. When at last they ventured back to the feast, the door opened suddenly and in came the servants to clear the table, followed by the House Dog.
The Country Mouse stopped in the Town Mouse’s den only long enough to pick up her carpet bag and umbrella.
“You may have luxuries and dainties that I have not,” she said as she hurried away, “but I prefer my plain food and simple life in the country with the peace and security that go with it.”
Poverty with security is better than plenty in the midst of fear and uncertainty.
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From: ÆSOP’S FABLES FOR CHILDREN
URL: http://www.abelapublishing.com/aesops-fables-for-children_p23332601.htm
33% of the profit from the sale of this book will be donated to CECILY’S FUND, a charity educating and supporting Zambian children orphaned by aids.
Folklore, fairy tales, folk tales, moral tales,Æsop,Æsop’s fables,Children,Cecily’s Fund,Cecily,Aesop,aesop’s fables,town mouse, country mouse, town,country,mouse
A Farmer was driving his wagon along a miry country road after a heavy rain. The horses could hardly drag the load through the deep mud, and at last came to a standstill when one of the wheels sank to the hub in a rut.
The farmer climbed down from his seat and stood beside the wagon looking at it but without making the least effort to get it out of the rut. All he did was to curse his bad luck and call loudly on Hercules to come to his aid. Then, it is said, Hercules really did appear, saying:
“Put your shoulder to the wheel, man, and urge on your horses. Do you think you can move the wagon by simply looking at it and whining about it? Hercules will not help unless you make some effort to help yourself.”
And when the farmer put his shoulder to the wheel and urged on the horses, the wagon moved very readily, and soon the Farmer was riding along in great content and with a good lesson learned.
Self help is the best help.
Heaven helps those who help themselves.
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From: ÆSOP’S FABLES FOR CHILDREN
Available as a PDF eBook at: http://www.abelapublishing.com/aesop.html
33% of the profit from the sale of this book will be donated to CECILY’S FUND, a charity educating and supporting Zambian children orphaned by aids.
Folklore and Fairytales - Free Stories for Children 