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From the eBook “The Rainbow Cat” by Rose Fyleman
THERE was once a prince who was very brave, good and handsome. He was quite young, too, and before he settled down to learning how to rule the kingdom which would one day be his, he was sent by his father out a-travelling into the world.
The king gave his son a beautiful white horse and a bagful of big gold pieces, and told him to come back when the money was all spent.
His mother made him a blue velvet mantle embroidered with silver, and she also gave him a hat with a blue feather in it.
“I want my son to look nice when he goes out riding into the world,” she said.
He rode away on his white horse and turned to wave his hand to his mother and father
before he went over the hill-top.
“How handsome he looks,” said his mother, wiping away a tear or two.
“Well, that’s nothing to cry about,” said his father, and blew his nose. Then they went back into the palace and continued ruling.
The prince rode on and on.
Wherever he went people were very nice to him, even when he got beyond the borders of his own kingdom where he was no longer known.
It is not every day that a handsome prince comes riding along on a white horse, and moreover with a bagful of fine gold pieces to spend.
All the girls ran out to look at him as he passed, and when he stayed anywhere, even for a short time, people seemed to get to know about it at once and asked him to their houses and gave grand parties in his honour and made so much of him altogether that he was in some danger of getting thoroughly spoiled.
But he had been very well brought up, and he had a naturally amiable disposition.
Besides, he had always been told by his mother that if you are a prince you must try hard to behave as a prince should, and be modest, considerate, and very polite to everyone.
One morning close on midday, he came to a tiny village which he did not know at all.
He was rather hungry after his ride, and as he passed down the narrow little street he became aware of a delicious smell of new bread.
It came from the open door of the village baker’s, and as he glanced in he saw a pile of beautiful, crisp new rolls heaped up in a big white basket.
He got down off his horse and went in.
“I should like to buy one of those nice little rolls,” he said to the baker’s daughter, who stood behind the counter.
She was very pretty. She had blue, shining eyes and fair smooth hair, and when she smiled it was like sunshine on a flowery meadow.
The prince ate up his roll and then another and yet another, and while he ate he talked to the baker’s daughter. But no one can eat more than three rolls one after another, and at last he felt that the time had come to pay for what he had had and ride on his way.
But, as it happened, he had no small change, nothing but a gold piece such as those which he had in his bag.
The baker’s daughter hadn’t enough money in the whole shop to change such a big gold piece, her father having set off that very morning with all the money in the till in order to buy a sack of flour from the miller in the next village.
The Prince sampled the girls wares
She had never even seen so large a gold coin before. She wanted to give him the rolls for nothing, but of course he wouldn’t hear of that, and when he said it didn’t matter about the change she wouldn’t hear of that either.
“Then there’s nothing for it,” said the prince, “but for me to stay in the village until I have eaten as much as my gold piece will pay for.”
As a matter of fact he was really quite glad of an excuse to stay, the baker’s daughter was so very pretty, and he was getting a little tired of travelling.
He pottered about in the bakehouse all the afternoon and watched her making the dough for her delicious rolls.
He even offered to help her.
His blue mantle got rather floury, but he didn’t mind that in the least.
The baker’s daughter was rather worried that such a fine gentleman should get in such a mess.
She didn’t know he was a prince, otherwise she might have been more worried still.
In the evening, when the baker returned, the prince asked if he could put him up for a couple of nights.
The baker was a kindly and simple old soul. “Gladly, gladly,” he said, rubbing his hands together and smiling, for the village was a small one and they were very poor, and he was glad to make a little extra money.
The prince stayed a whole week at the baker’s house. By that time, what with the bread he had eaten—though he was careful not to eat much and always to choose the cheapest—and the price of his lodging, about half of the gold piece was spent, and the baker’s daughter was able to give him the change from the money she had taken in the shop.
So he had no excuse for staying any longer, which grieved him because he had grown very fond of the baker’s daughter and did not like leaving her.
But he had an idea that his mother and father would not think her a very suitable bride for him, for princes cannot always marry whom they please, and so he rode sadly away.
But the farther he went the sadder he became, and at the end of two months he could bear it no longer, and so one fine morning he turned his horse’s head round and rode back again the way he had come.
“She is good and clever and beautiful,” he said. “What more can one want in a wife? When my mother and father see her they will love her as much as I do and will be quite willing that I should marry her.” Which really was very optimistic of him.
But alas, when he came to the village and sought the baker’s shop, he was met by strange faces.
The baker had died a month since, he was told, and his daughter had left the village and gone out into the world to work for her living, for she could not manage the bakehouse by herself and there was none to help her now that her father was gone.
The prince was very, very troubled and unhappy. He tried to find out something more about her, but his efforts were fruitless; no one seemed to know what had become of her.
“I will search the world over till I find her,” he said, “even if it take me the whole of my life.”
He wandered on and on, always making fresh inquiries, always hoping to hear something of his lost love, but always in vain.
And at last he got back to his own kingdom.
When his mother and father saw him they were horrified to find how pale and thin he had grown.
“Travelling doesn’t seem to suit you, my son,” said his father, looking at him rather seriously and stroking his beard.
“The poor boy is tired out,” said his mother. “He’ll look better when he’s had a good rest and some proper food. I don’t suppose he’s ever had a really wholesome meal in those foreign parts.”
But the prince remained thin and sad and listless, and at last he told his father and mother the cause of his unhappiness. At first they were a little upset at the idea of his wanting to marry so humble a person as the daughter of a village baker—“But that of course,” thought the prince, “is only because they don’t know her.”
And after a time, when they saw how unhappy he was and that all the distractions with which they provided him were unavailing, and that his one idea was to go out into the world again and search for the baker’s daughter, they were so troubled that they felt they would be only too glad if he could have the wish of his heart fulfilled.
And then one day as the prince was sitting quietly at breakfast with his parents he jumped up suddenly with an expression of the greatest excitement and joy.
“What is it, my son?” said his astonished mother.
The prince couldn’t speak for a moment. For one thing he was too excited, and for another his mouth was full of bread, and I told you before how well brought up he was.
But he pointed to the dish of breakfast rolls and kept on nodding his head and swallowing as hard as he could.
The king and queen thought at first that sorrow had affected his brain, but the prince was able to explain very soon. “The rolls, the rolls,” he said. “Her rolls, hers. No one else could make them so good. She must be here.” And he rushed off to the kitchen without further ado.
And there, sure enough, he found the baker’s daughter, peeling potatoes over the sink.
By the merest chance she had taken a place as kitchen-maid in the king’s palace, though she hadn’t the faintest idea, when she did so, that the king’s son was the same person as the handsome stranger who had once stayed in her father’s house.
And though she had been there a month she had never seen him. How should she? King’s palaces are big places, and the kitchen-maids stay in the kitchen premises, so that she and the prince might never have come face to face at all if it had not happened that, owing to the illness of the royal roll-maker, she had undertaken to make the breakfast rolls that morning.
When the king and queen saw how sweet and beautiful she was they made no objection to her as a bride for their son, and so he asked her at once to marry him, which she consented to do, for she loved him as much as he loved her.
“I don’t know that I should have chosen a baker’s daughter for our son’s wife,” said the queen to her husband when they talked it over that evening. “But she’s certainly a charming girl, and quite nice people go into business nowadays.”
“She’ll make him an excellent wife,” said the king. “Those rolls were delicious.”
So they got married quite soon after. The wedding was a rather quiet one because the bride was in mourning for her father, whom she had loved dearly. All the same, it was a very nice affair, and everybody was most jolly and gay. The prince and his wife had a beautiful house not very far from the palace, and I think it is extremely likely that they lived happily ever after.
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THE PRINCE AND THE BAKER’S DAUGHTER – A Free Story
From the eBook “The Rainbow Cat” by Rose Fyleman
ISBN: 9788835349068
URL/DownLoad Link: http://bit.ly/2ScrFPj
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TAGS: #Rainbowcat, #adventure, #action, #baker, #banquet, #beautiful, #bottom, #bramble-bush, #castle, #Cat, #Chief, #children, #daughter, #fairies, #fairy, #FairyGiant, #Fairyland, #flowers, #frightened, #gentleman, #giant, #giantess, #gold, #golden, #Golden-bright, #hawthorn, #King, #kingdom, #ladies, #laughter, #magic horse, #magic moon, #mandolin, #Marigold, #marriage, #Mellidora, #palace, #prince, #Princess, #Queen, #Rainbow, #river, #Rondel, #schoolmaster, #silver, #sunshine, #Tree-goblins, #valley, #wicked witch, #wife, #wizard, #rosefyleman
A Free Story from Abela Publishing
From “This Way to Christmas” by Ruth Sawyer
Two months had passed since David had come to the Hill Country—two months in which he had thrown himself with all the stoutness of heart he could muster into the new life and the things Johanna had promised. He had spent long, crisp November days with Barney in the woods, watching him fell the trees marked for fire-wood and learning to use his end of a cross-cut saw. When the snow came and the lumber roads were packed hard for sledding he had shared in the driving of the team and the piling of the logs. He had learned to skee and to snow-shoe; already he had dulled his skates on the pond above the beaver dam. Yet in spite of all these things, in spite of Barney’s good-natured comradeship and Johanna’s faithful care and love, the ache in his heart had grown deeper until his loneliness seemed to shut him in like the snow-capped hills about him. And now it was seven days before Christmas—and not a word had been said concerning it.
Christmas in the Hill Country
David had begun to wonder if in all that country of bare hilltops and empty valleys, of snow and fir-tree and wild creature, there was anything out of which one could possibly make a Christmas. And slowly the conviction had been borne in upon him that there was not. The very thought of the toy-stores in the city, of the windows with their displays of Christmas knickknacks, of the street booths covered with greens, of what the boys on the block were doing and talking about, of the memories of all the other Christmases that had been, brought unspeakable pangs to his soul. He wondered how he was ever going to stand it—this Christmas that was no Christmas.
And this is how it happened that at dusk-hour, seven days before Christmas, a very low-spirited boy of eight—going-on-nine—sat curled up on the window-seat of the lodge, looking out through the diamond panes and wishing with all his heart that he was somebody else in some other place and that it was some other time of the year.
Barney was always bedding down the horses at this time and Johanna was getting supper; and as there was never anything in particular for David to do it had become a custom with him to watch for the lighting of the lamps in the cabins of the “heathen.” There were four cabins—only one was a cottage; and he could see them all from the lodge by a mere change of position or window. Somehow he liked them, or thought he should like them if he knew them, in spite of all the unalluring things Johanna had said about them. According to her the families who lived in them were outcasts, speaking strange tongues and worshiping strange gods, and quite unfit to cross the door-steps of honest Christian folk. David hardly knew whether Barney shared this opinion or not. Barney teased Johanna a good deal and laughed at her remarks every time she aired her grievance: that there should be no decent neighbors like themselves on all that barren hilltop. In his own heart David clung persistently to the feeling that he should like them all if he ever got near enough to make their acquaintance.
It was always the “lunger’s” lamp that shone out first in the dusk. David could usually tell to the minute when it would be lighted by watching the shadow on the foot-hill. Johanna was uncertain from what country these neighbors had come, but she thought it was Portugal. And Portuguese! Words always failed her when she tried to convey to David the exact place that Portuguese held among the heathen; but he was under the impression that it must be very near the top. One of these neighbors was sick with bad lungs, so his family had come to try the open-air cure of the hills; and they had been here since early spring. David never saw their tiny spark of a light spring out against the dark of the gathering gloom that he did not make a wish that the “lunger” might be a good deal better the next day.
Across the ridge from the foot-hill lay the lumber-camp, and here David always looked for the second light. The camp was temporarily deserted, the company having decided to wait a year or two before cutting down any more timber, and the loggers had been sent to another camp farther north. Only the cook, an old negro, had remained behind to guard the property from fire and poachers, and he it was that lighted in his shack the solitary lamp that sent its twinkling greeting up to David every night.
Straight down the hill shone the third light from the trapper’s cabin, and it was always close to dark before that was lighted. What the trapper’s nationality was Johanna had never happened to specify; but she had often declared that he was one of those bad-looking dark men from the East—Asia, perhaps; and she had not a doubt that he had come to the woods to escape the law. David’s mental picture of him was something quite dreadful; and yet when his light sprang out of the dark and twinkled at him up the white slope he always found himself desperately sorry for the trapper, alone by himself with the creatures he had trapped or shot—and his thoughts.
The fourth light came through another window, shining up from the opposite slope of the hill—the slope that led toward the station and the village beyond. This was the flagman’s light and it hung in the little hut by the junction where the main railroad crossed the circuit line. It was always lighted when David looked for it, and he always sat watching until he should see the colored signal-lights swing out on the track beyond, for then he knew the flagman’s work was over for the day—that is, if all was well on the road. It happened sometimes, however, that there was a snow-slide down the ravine above the crossing, or sometimes a storm uprooted a tree and hurled it across the track, and then the flagman was on guard all night. Now, the flagman was German; and Johanna’s voice always took on a particularly forbidding and contemptuous tone whenever she spoke of him. David had often marveled at this, for in the city his father had friends who were German and they were very good friends. Once David had spoken his mind:
“I don’t see why you call him a heathen, Johanna, just because he was born in the country that’s making the war. It wasn’t his fault—and I don’t see why that’s any reason for treating him as if he had made the trouble himself.”
“Well, how do ye think we’d be treated if we were over there now in that heathen’s country? Sure, ye wouldn’t find them loving us any to speak of.” Johanna’s lips had curled scornfully. “Ye can take my word for it, laddy, if we were there the same as he’s here we would be counting ourselves lucky to be alive at all, and not expecting to be asked in for any tea-drinking parties.”
It troubled David, none the less, this strange unfriendliness of Johanna’s; and this night the weight of it hung particularly heavy upon him. He turned back to his window-nook with a heart made heavier by this condition of alienage. No family, no neighbors, no Christmas—it was a dreary outlook; and he could not picture a single face or a single hearthside behind those four lights that blinked at him in such a friendly fashion.
They posted the sign a dozen yards from the Trappers cabin
He realized suddenly that he was very tired. Half the day he had spent clearing a space on the beaver pond big enough for skating; and clearing off a day’s fall of snow with a shovel and a broom is hard work. He leaned against the window niche and pillowed his head on his arm. He guessed he would go to bed right after supper. Wouldn’t it be fun now, if he could wish himself into one of those cabins, whichever one he chose, and see what was happening there this minute? If he had found the locked-out fairy Johanna had talked so much about he might have learned wishing magic from him. What had happened to the fairy, anyway? Of course it was half a tale and half a joke; nevertheless the locked-out fairy had continued to seem very real to him through these two months of isolation, and wherever he had gone his eye had been always alert for some sign of him. Unbelievable as it may seem, the failure to find him had brought keen disappointment. David had speculated many times as to where he might be living, where he would find his food, how he would keep himself warm. A fairy’s clothes were very light, according to Johanna. Undoubtedly he had come over in just his green jerkin and knee-breeches, with stockings and slippers to match; and these were not fit covering for winter weather like this.
David smiled through half-shut eyes. The fairy might steal a pelt from the trapper’s supply; that would certainly keep him warm; and if he were anything of a tailor he could make himself a cap and a coat in no time. Or, better yet, he might pick out one that just fitted him and creep into it without having to make it over; a mink’s skin would be about the right size, or a squirrel’s. His smile deepened at his own conceit. Then something in the dusk outside caught his eye. Some small creature was hopping across the snow toward the lodge.
David flattened his nose to the window to see better, and made out very distinctly the pointed ears, curved back, and long, bushy tail of a squirrel—a gray squirrel. At once he thought of some nuts in his jacket pocket, nuts left over from an after-dinner cracking. He dug for them successfully, and opening the window a little he dropped them out. Nearer came the squirrel, fearlessly eager, oblivious of the eyes that were watching him with growing interest. He reached the nuts and was nosing them about for the most appetizing when he sat up suddenly on his hind legs, clutching the nut of his choice between his forepaws, and cocking his head as he did so toward the window.
The effect on David was magical. He gave his eyes one insistent rub and then he opened the window wider.
“Come in,” he called, softly. “Please do come in!”
For he had seen under the alert little ears something quite different from the sharp nose and whiskers of the every-day squirrel. There were a pair of blue eyes that winked outrageously at him, while a round, smooth face wrinkled into smiles and a mouth knowingly grinned at him. It was the locked-out fairy at last!
He bobbed his head at David’s invitation, fastened his little white teeth firmly in the nut, and scrambled up the bush that grew just outside. A minute more and he was through the window and down beside David on the seat.
“Ah—ee, laddy, where have your eyes been this fortnight?” he asked. “I’ve whisked about ye and chattered down at ye from half a score o’ pine-trees—and ye never saw me!”
David colored shamefully.
“Never mind. ’Tis a compliment ye’ve been paying to my art,” and the fairy cocked his head and whisked his tail and hopped about in the most convincing fashion.
David held his sides and rocked back and forth with merriment. “It’s perfect,” he laughed; “simply perfect!”
“Aye, ’tis fair; but I’ve not mastered the knack o’ the tail yet. I can swing it grand, but I can’t curl it up stylish. I can fool the mortals easy enough, but ye should see the looks the squirrels give me sometimes when I’m after trying to show off before them.”
There was nothing but admiration in David’s look of response. “The coat fits you splendidly,” he said.
“Sure—’tis as snug as if it grew on me. But I miss my pockets, and I’m not liking the color as well as if it were green.”
David laughed again. “Why, I believe you are as Irish as Johanna.”
“And why shouldn’t I be? Faith, there are worse faults, I’m thinking. Now tell me, laddy, what’s ailing ye? Ye’ve been more than uncommon downhearted lately.”
“How did you know?”
“Could a wee fairy man be watching ye for a fortnight, coming and going, and not know?”
“Well, it’s lonesomeness; lonesomeness and Christmas.” David owned up to it bravely.
“’Tis easy guessing ye’re lonesome—that’s an ailment that’s growing chronic on this hillside. But what’s the matter with Christmas?”
“There isn’t any. There isn’t going to be any Christmas!” And having at last given utterance to his state of mind, David finished with a sorrowful wail.
“And why isn’t there, then? Tell me that.”
“You can’t make Christmas out of miles of snow and acres of fir-trees. What’s a boy going to do when there aren’t any stores or things to buy, or Christmas fixings, or people, and nobody goes about with secrets or surprises?”
The fairy pushed back the top of his head and the gray ears fell off like a fur hood, showing the fairy’s own tow head beneath. He reached for his thinking-lock and pulled it vigorously.
“I should say,” he said at last, “that a boy could do comfortably without them. Sure, weren’t there Christmases long before there were toy-shops? No, no, laddy. Christmas lies in the hearts and memories of good folk, and ye’ll find it wherever ye can find them!”
David shook his head doubtfully.
“I don’t see how that can be; but even suppose it’s true, there aren’t even good folk here.”
The fairy grinned derisively and wagged his furry paw in the direction of the lights shining on the hillside:
“What’s the meaning of that, and that, and that? Now I should be calling them good folk, the same as ye here.”
“Hush!” David looked furtively toward the door that led into the kitchen. “It wouldn’t do to let Johanna hear you. Why, she thinks—”
The fairy raised a silencing paw to his lips.
“Whist, there, laddy! If ye are after wanting to find Christmas ye’d best begin by passing on naught but kind sayings. Maybe ye are not knowing it, but they are the very cairn that mark the way to Christmas. Now I’ll drive a bargain with ye. If ye’ll start out and look for Christmas I’ll agree to help ye find the road to it.”
“Yes,” agreed David, eagerly.
“But there’s one thing ye must promise me. To put out of your mind for all time these notions that ye are bound to find Christmas hanging with the tinsel balls to the Christmas tree or tied to the end of a stocking. Ye must make up your mind to find it with your heart and not with your fingers and your eyes.”
“But,” objected David, “how can you have Christmas without Christmas things?”
“Ye can’t. But ye’ve got the wrong idea entirely about the things. Ye say now that it’s turkey and plum-cake and the presents ye give and the presents ye get; and I say ’tis thinkings and feelings and sayings and rememberings. I’m not meaning, mind ye, that there is anything the matter with the first lot, and there’s many a fine Christmas that has them in, but they’ll never make a Christmas of themselves, not in a thousand years. And what’s more, ye can do grand without them.”
David rubbed his forehead in abject bewilderment. It was all very hard to understand; and as far as he could see the fairy was pointing out a day that sounded like any ordinary day of the year and not at all like Christmas. But, thanks to Johanna, David had an absolute faith in the infallibility of fairies. If he said so it must be true; at least it was worth trying. So he held out his hand and the fairy laid a furry paw over the ball of his forefinger in solemn compact.
“It’s a bargain,” David said.
“It is that,” agreed the fairy. “And there’s nothing now to hinder my going.”
He pulled the gray ears over his tow head again until there was only a small part of fairy left.
“Don’t ye be forgetting,” he reminded David as he slipped through the window. “I’ll be on the watch out for ye the morrow.”
David watched him scramble down the bush, stopping a moment at the bottom to gather up the remainder of the nuts, which he stuffed away miraculously somewhere between his cheek and the fur. Then he raised a furry paw to his ear in a silent salute.
“Good-by,” said David, softly, “good-by. I’m so glad you came.”
And it seemed to him that he heard from over the snow the fairy’s good-by in Gaelic, just as Barney or Johanna might have said it: “Beanacht leat!”
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THE LOCKED OUT FAIRY from the eBook THIS WAY TO CHRISTMAS by RUTH SAWYER.
ISBN: 9788835362913
URL/Download Link: https://bit.ly/2JTVpg4
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A Free excerpt from “The New Year’s Bargain”
by Susan Coolidge author of “What Katy Did Next” etc.
AND now the last evening of November was come; and Winter, stealing a march on the departing Autumn, let loose, as if in a hurry to begin, his first storm upon the world. Strong winds raged in the Forest, driving the leaves in clouds before them, and snapping and rending the patient, tortured trees. Ink-black clouds scared away the Moon, when she tried to shine; sharp sleet struck the windows of the Woodman’s hut, like a myriad of tiny fists; and the blast wailed and moaned about the chimney, like the voice of one in pain.
Max and Thekla heard the uproar, and trembled, as they sat by the fire. Often before had they listened to storms with a certain pleasurable sense that home was rendered snugger by the contrast. But now they shivered and clung together, and tears were in Thekla’s eyes as she nestled her head upon her brother’s shoulder. The kitchen did not wear its usual cheery look. And no wonder! There was sorrow in the cottage; for dear old Grandfather, who had loved them both so fondly, and been so loved in return, was gone away forever!
Only a week before he had died, quietly, painlessly, with a smile on his lips, and blessing them at the last. The far-away neighbors had assembled; and with pitying looks and kind words had taken the aged form, and laid it to rest beside other graves where slept the friends of his youth. But still, in spite of the lonely house and the vacant chair, Thekla could not feel that Grandfather was far away; and every hour she silently did this thing or that because it would once have pleased him to have them done, and the thought that he still knew and was pleased comforted her. And perhaps Thekla was right in her innocent faith, for the friends we can no longer see may be nearer to us than we think.
When an old tree is blown down, all the delicate grasses and sweet herbs which cluster at its foot are uprooted by the shock. So it was with these two little human flowers. The fall of their sheltering friend tore them from their accustomed place. Already the neighbors had talked over and settled what the children must do. Max was to be bound apprentice to a clockmaker in the distant town, and Thekla to live with a farmer’s dame who had offered to take and train her as a servant. The thought of parting was dreadful to them; and they had begged so hard and so tearfully to be allowed to stay together in the hut for a few weeks longer,—just till a new Ranger should take possession,—that at last, won by their distress, consent was given. There was wood and meal and vegetables enough in the cellar to keep them without expense to anybody. If the poor things liked to eat the stores themselves, instead of selling them, why it was a good plan, people said. So there the two sat on this stormy evening, alone in the lonely Forest, and expecting the arrival of December, last of that wonderful company who had made the year so strangely interesting.
They had not long to wait. There came a lull in the wind, and far off in the distance a voice was heard raised in a commanding tone, and gradually drawing nearer.
image“There! there!” were the first words they caught: “that will do. Leave the oaks alone, you rascals! Time enough for such pranks when I’m gone. As for that hemlock,—winds will be winds, I know, and what’s done can never be undone; but don’t let me catch you at another.” Here the voice ceased; then there was a rattling at the latch, and next moment the door opened, and in came a tall figure leaning on a staff, but moving so lightly and easily that it suggested anything rather than age or infirmity.
This was December, a fine, stately man, dressed in white and green, with a fur cloak flung about his shoulders and a hat decked with holly sprigs. Age and youth seemed funnily contrasted in his face; for, while hair and beard were white as hoar-frost, the cheeks were like ripe winter-apples, and the blue eyes sparkled with fun and fire. He entered with a sort of jolly rush; but, when he saw Thekla’s black frock and the traces of tears upon her cheeks, his mood changed at once. Closing the door gently, he sat down before the fire, and, holding out his hand with an expression of indescribable kindness, said in a tone full of sympathy, “My poor children!”
That was all: but in another moment Thekla’s arm was round his neck on one side, and Max’s on the other;—he had drawn them on to his knees, and they were sobbing out their griefs as if they had known him always. They told how sorry they were to part, how lonely the cottage seemed, how forlorn it was to be poor and at the mercy of others; and December listened, his eyes glistening with pity and his kind arms hugging them close. It was like having Grandfather back again, the children thought.
The new friend was wise. He did not interrupt or try to comfort till they had got quite through. It was wonderful what relief came just from telling all to somebody who cared to listen. By the time the story was over the boy and girl felt happier than for days; and not till then did December speak.
“Courage!” he said. “It’s always darkest just before day. Why, the Lord takes care of birds and cats and squirrels, of a whole world full of tiny winged creatures, and all the fishes of the sea. Do you suppose he will forget just you two, out of all the little ones whom he protects? Never! Why, I could tell you,—but I must not, it is not permitted,—only, even a Month may venture on a hint, and so I’ll just say, wait, and see what’s ahead!” And December ended this mysterious sentence with pursing up his lips very tight, winking hard with both eyes, and nodding his head in a singular and provoking manner.
“Oh, what?” cried the children.
“I shan’t say another word,” replied December. “No! you needn’t look at me with such big, imploring eyes: it’s no use. But just you keep up brave hearts, and trust in God,—and you’ll see! As for the Grandfather,” here his voice grew deep and solemn, like the sound of bells, “I know you miss him sorely; but don’t cry for him anymore. He has gone where he is young again; and, when your turn comes to go too, you will wonder that ever you shed a tear because he was made so very happy.”
December’s face became beautiful as he spoke these last words, and Thekla stole the other arm tenderly about his neck. A glittering chain hung there, with pendants shaped like icicles. Touching it, she started, it was so very cold.
“Is it made of ice?” she asked.
“Well, you can call it so, if you like,” responded December, smiling; “but I say ‘crystallized gases.’ It sounds better, I think.
“I hope it won’t put you out,” he went on, “if I should ask leave to read my story, instead of telling it. I am so very, very old, you see,”—here his eyes twinkled with fun,—“that my memory is almost gone; and, unless I write things down, I am always forgetting them.” Whereupon he pulled a roll of paper from his pocket, and perching a pair of spectacles with tortoise-shell rims on his nose, very high up, looked from under them at the children in a comical manner. Thekla and Max could not help laughing. In spite of his white hair, it seemed somehow a great joke that December should call himself so very, very old.
“It’s a cheerful kind of a story,” continued he. “I picked it out on purpose, for I guessed I should find you moping; and I thought something lively would be good for you.”
Thus speaking, December pushed the glasses up higher on his forehead, so as to be able to see well from beneath them, and began to read,—
“How the Cat kept Christmas.”
“What a queer name for a story!” said Thekla.
“Yes; and it was a queer Cat too,” replied December. “I knew her. Tortoise-shell, with long whiskers, and rather a ragged tail.”
Then he went on.
“The ringers were practising the Christmas chimes in low, muffled tones. High up, the steeple rocked in the wind, the clouds drifted rapidly over the moon, and clear and sharp the frost-film glittered on the roofs. The watchman on his round clapped and stamped to warm hands and feet, as he called the hour, ‘Eight o’clock, and all’s well!’ But, to the poor Cat crouched beneath the kitchen-window, all was not well.
“‘Oh dear!’ she sighed to herself, ‘what a thing it is to have a Step-mother! Once we were happy! The good Papa loved me, and I slept in Gretchen’s arms. The fire was bright in those days. Porringers of hot milk stood by it, and always a saucer full for me. Ah, dear days! The moment I saw that nose of hers, I knew they were over! Such a nose! so red, so long. Why did the Papa marry her? Men are so foolish. I hissed, I spit, I warned,—nobody listened, and here I am. The good Papa dares not protect me. Gretchen weeps: the Step-dame bars the door. Hew! what a wind! What a Christmas Eve! Poor Gretchen! Poor me!’ Overcome by her sorrows, the Cat gave a loud wail, which rang out into the chilly night. Then the door opened softly.
“‘Puss! puss!’ said a small voice, ‘where are you?’
“Pussy ran forward into view, and jumped and leaped at her mistress.
“‘Oh, my Katchen,’ went on the little one, ‘how cold it is! You will freeze! you will die. Oh, if I dared but let you in!’
“‘I’ll scratch her eyes out!’ muttered the Cat.
“‘Shall I throw my little red shawl to you from the window?’ continued Gretchen. ‘My poor one! my Kitty!’
“‘Gretchen!’ screamed a voice, ‘if you let that good-for-nothing Cat into the house, you taste the stick! Dost hear?’
“Gretchen turned pale. ‘O Kitty!’ was all she said. She gave a sob of despair. Then the door was shut.
“‘This is a nice business,’ thought the Cat. ‘Oh, the witch! I hope the mice will come down to-night, and steal the very teeth out of her head. But I’ll have vengeance yet. There’s that big gray rat in the cellar: I’ll strike a bargain with him,—life and liberty, provided he plagues her to death, eats the linen, claws the jam, gnaws bung-holes in the cask, and lets the beer out! We’ll see! Meantime, I shall freeze unless something is done. Let me explore.’
“High and low did the Cat search,—over the fence, under the vine,—but no shelter could be found. The vine was leafless, the fence gave no hiding-place. At last she bethought herself of the roof, which it was easy to mount by means of a long and sloping rain-trough. Perhaps there might be a warm chimney there,—no bad pillow on a wintry night.
“There proved to be a warmish one; and, curling into a ball, Puss laid herself to rest against it. Perhaps it was not warm enough, perhaps the remembrance of wrong was too bitter within her; certain it is she could not sleep. She wriggled, she twisted; she sent forth melancholy cries, which rang strangely across the icy roofs as if some ghost afflicted with toothache had gone there for an airing. Nine—ten—eleven—had sounded before she fell into her first doze,—the clock was on the stroke of twelve, when a scraping and scratching sound close by roused her. Was it some other cat? or the big rat from the cellar, scaling the wall? Raising herself cautiously, after the manner of cats, she listened.
“No: it was neither rat nor cat. Light hoofs as of goats were climbing the tiles, bells tinkled, a small sledge came in view. Swift as light it flew along, paused at the next chimney, and a little old man jumped out. His face shone in the moonlight like a jolly red apple, his fat body was wrapped in fur, on his back was a bag. Puss had never seen him before; but she knew him well. It was St. Nicholas, the patron saint of Christmas.
“Down the chimney he went, with a motion like a bird’s; up again as fast. Then advancing, he searched in his bag. His kind face looked puzzled. The Cat saw his hesitation, and sprang forward.
“‘Well, Puss,’ said the Saint, ‘what cheer?’
“‘Bad,’ said the Cat, no ways abashed at finding herself in such company. ‘But never mind me, if only you’ve something nice for Gretchen. Such a dear child, St. Nicholas, and such a step-mother! Do put your hand in the pouch, and fetch out something pretty for her,—oh do! there’s a kind Saint!’ And she rubbed her soft fur coaxingly against his legs.
“‘Ah! a dear child and a step-mother, eh?’ said St. Nicholas. ‘Let me look again. Certainly! here’s something for Gretchen.—Wo-ho, reindeer! quiet a moment!’ And down the chimney he whipped, a present in his hand,—what, the Cat couldn’t see.
“Coming back, ‘Now about yourself?’ he asked, gathering up the reins. ‘What keeps you on the cold roof all night? Something must be done, you know: matters can’t be left this way. Wish a wish, if you have one. I’m in a humor for pleasing everybody while I’m about it.’
“So the Cat told her story. ‘And for a wish,’ she said, ‘if your Saintship would only permit me to slip in under your furs, and go along, I should be proud and happy. They look very warm and comfortable. I should sleep; or, if not, it would be most interesting to watch your Worship at work. And I take very little room,’ she added piteously.
“So the Cat told her story. ‘
And for a wish,’ she said, ‘if your Saintship would only permit me
to slip in under your furs, and go along,’—‘
Why, jump in at once,’ said St. Nicholas.”
“‘Is that all? Why, jump in at once,’ said kind St. Nicholas: ‘there is room for forty cats like you. My sledge is never full. Ho! ho! it would be a pretty joke if it were!’ And he laughed a jolly laugh.
“So Pussy jumped in. ‘You must let me out in the morning early,’ said she, ‘because Gretchen will be anxious.’
“‘Oh, yes!’ replied the Saint, smiling queerly, ‘I’ll let you out in the morning. I’m like a bat, you know, and never fly except by night.’
“Off they went, the magic stillness of the flight broken only by the tinkling bells. First one chimney, then another; bag after bag full of toys and sweets; here a doll, there a diamond ring, here only a pair of warm stockings. Everybody had something, except in a few houses over whose roofs St. Nicholas paused a moment with a look half sad, half angry, and left nothing. People lived there who knew him little, and loved him less.
“Through the air,—more towns,—more villages. Now the sea was below them, the cold, moon-lit sea. Then again land came in sight,—towers and steeples, halls and hamlets; and the work began again. A wild longing to explore seized the Cat. She begged the Saint to take her down one specially wide chimney on his shoulder. He did so. The nursery within looked strange and foreign; but the little sleeping face in bed was like Gretchen’s, and Pussy felt at home. A whole bag full of presents was left here. And then, hey! presto! they were off again to countless homes,—to roofs so poor and low that only a Saint would have thought of visiting them, to stately palaces, to cellars and toll-gates and lonely attics; at last to a church, dim, and fragrant with ivy-leaves and twisted evergreen, where their errand was to feed a robin who had there found shelter, and was sleeping on the topmost bough. How his beads of eyes sparkled as the Saint awoke him! and how eagerly he pecked the store of good red berries which were his Christmas present, though he had hung up no stocking, and evidently expected nothing. To small, to great, to rich and poor alike, the good Saint had an errand. Little ones smiled in their sleep as he moved by, birds in hidden coverts twittered and chirped, bells faintly tinkled and chimed as in dream, the air sent up incense of aromatic smells, flying fairies made room for the sledge to pass; the world, unconscious what it did, breathed benediction, and in turn received a blessing as it slept,—a Christmas blessing.
“Off again. More sea, tumbling and tossed; then a great steamship, down whose funnel St. Nicholas dropped a parcel or two. Then another country, with atmosphere heavy with savory scents,—of doughnuts, of pumpkin pies, of apple turnovers, all of which had been cooked the day before. These dainties stay on earth, and are eaten; but their smell goes up into the clouds, and the ghosts dine upon it. The Cat licked her lips. Flying gives appetite. ‘When morning comes,’ she thought, ‘Gretchen will smuggle me a breakfast.’ But morning was long in coming, and there were many little ones to serve in that wonderful new land.
“And now, another continent passed, another ocean came in view. Island after island rose and sank; but the sledge did not stop. Then a shore was seen, with groves of trees, fan-shaped and curious; with rivers whose waters bore fleets of strange misshapen boats, in whose masts hung many-colored lanterns; and cities of odd build, whose spires and pinnacles were noisy with bells. But neither here did the sledge stop. Once only it dipped, and deposited a package in a modest dwelling. ‘A Missionary lives there,’ said the Saint. ‘This is China. Don’t you smell the tea?’
“On and on for hundred of leagues. No stay, no errand. St. Nicholas looked sad, for all his round face. ‘So many little children,’ he muttered, ‘and none of them mine!’ And then he cheered again, as, reining his deer upon a hut amid the frozen snows of Siberia, he left a rude toy for an exile’s child. ‘Dear little thing!’ he said, ‘she will smile in the morning when she wakes.’
“And now the air grew warm and soft. Great cities were below them, and groves of flowering trees. Some balmy fragrance wrapped the land. A vast building swept into sight, whose sides and roof and spires were traced in glittering lines of fire. It was a church hung with lamps. Odors sweet and heavy met their noses. St. Nicholas sneezed, and shook his head impatiently. ‘Confound that incense!’ he said. ‘It’s the loveliest country in the world, only a fellow can’t breathe in it!’ And then he forgot his discomfort in his work.
“Another country, and more smells,—of burning twigs, pungent and spicy; of candles just blown out. These set the Cat to coughing; but St. Nicholas minded them not at all. ‘I like them,’ he declared: ‘I like everything about a Christmas-tree,—singed evergreen, smoking tallow, and all. The sniff of it is like a bouquet of flowers to me. And the children,—bless them!—how they do enjoy it! They don’t object to the smell!’ He ended with a chuckle.
“And now the dawn began. The moon grew pale and wan; the stars hid themselves; dark things took form and shape, and were less dark; yellow gleams crept up the sky; the world looked more alive. And, among the roofs over which they were now driving, the Cat spied one which seemed familiar. It was! There stood the well-known chimney, with the thin, starved curl of smoke, telling of someone awake within. There was the little window which was Gretchen’s own. With a mew of delight, she leaped to the roof. The Saint laughed. ‘Good-by!’ he shouted, shook his reins, and was off. Whither the Cat knew not, nor could guess; for where St. Nicholas hides himself during the year is one of the secrets which no man knows.
“Down the long spout ran Puss, with an airy bound. There was the door; and close to it she stationed herself, impatient of the opening. She had not long to wait. In a moment the latch was raised, and a face peeped timidly out,—Gretchen’s face,—pale and swollen with crying. When she saw the Cat, she gave a loud scream, and caught her in her arms.
“‘O Katchen!’ she cried, hugging her close. ‘Where have you been all this time? I thought you were dead! I did, I did, my Katchen!’
“Pussy stared, as well she might.
“‘All day yesterday,’ went on the little one, ‘and all night long. I cried and cried,—how I cried, my Kitty! It wasn’t a bit a nice Christmas, though the Christ-child brought me such a doll! I could think of nothing but my Katchen, lost all day long.’
“Puss stood bewildered. Were her night’s adventures a dream? Had she ever studied geography, she might have guessed that chasing morning round the world is a sure way to lose your reckoning. As it was, she could only venture on a plaintive, inquiring ‘Mew?’ Hunger was more engrossing than curiosity. She devoured breakfast, dinner, supper, all at once. The Stepmother had more reason than ever when she grumbled at being ‘eaten out of house and home by a beast.’ But Gretchen’s tears the day before had so moved her Father, that he took courage to declare that Puss must be restored to her former privileges. Warm corner, dainty mess, and the protecting arms of her little mistress became hers again, and are hers to this day.
“And that was St. Nicholas’s Christmas present to the Cat.
“Well,” said December, rolling up the paper, “how do you like my story?”
“So much! oh, so much!” the children cried. “It was almost the nicest of all.”
“As for my present,” he went on, “I am not going to give you that just now. It shall come on the Christmas-tree. And mind you look bright, and greet the Christ-child with a smile, or he will be grieved, and go away sorrowful.”
“I don’t believe we shall have any tree this year,” said Thekla, sadly. “There isn’t anything to put on it. And beside”—but her voice faltered. Grandfather had always helped to dress the tree.
“Oh, but,” cried December, “this will never do. Why, you must have a tree! Never mind if there isn’t anything to put on it. The Christ-child and I will see to that. Now I’ll tell you,—you just cut a nice fir-bough, and set it here against the door, and I’ll pledge my word, as an honest Month, that something shall come from outside and fall upon it. Do you give me your promise that you will?”
They promised,—half doubtful, half believing. And then December asked for the can, and, turning it upside down, poured out the last particles of sand.
“Dear! dear!” he said reflectively, “what a blessing that these are not lost! How the babies would have cried at being forced to go to bed half an hour sooner on Christmas night! And the Anthem would have been cut short on the blessed morning too, and the bells been cheated of their chime. It’s a great mercy I have got them safely back.”
“Good-by! good-by!” cried the children, following him to the door.
He stooped, and kissed both the round faces.
“Good-by!” he said. “Remember Christmas Eve.”
“‘O Katchen!’ she said, ‘where have you been?’”
===============
Chapter 12 from “The New Year’s Bargain” by Susan Coolidge author of “What Katy Did Next” etc.
ISBN: 9788835399308
CLICK the Download Link: https://bit.ly/2UE1Zhb
===============
TABS/KEYWORDS: The New Years Bargain, Max, Thekla, folklore, fairy tale, fairytale, myth, legend, fable, storyteller, narrator, Little one, child, children’s, cried, old. Good, great, come ye away, voices, poor, Grandfather, woods, forest, April, Dotty, cat, brown, hair, girls, boy, march September, red, August, fairy, squirrel, wild, friends, brother, snow, November, sun, turkey, sketch, laughter, flowers, December, Greedy, boat, Bargain, Months, Bear, Little Tot, Maria, May, Little Housekeepers, Last of the Fairies, Little Spark, Desert Island, Nippie Nutcracker, Chusey, Christmas, Conclusion, What was on the Tree
Belling the Cat – – Baba Indaba Childrens Stories # 90
ISSN: 2397-9607 Issue 90
In Issue 90 of the Baba Indaba Children’s Stories, Baba Indaba narrates the Aesop’s fable of BELLING THE CAT. A fable about mice who, despite talking a good talk, find it a bit more difficult to implement their plans for Belling The Cat. Download and read this story to find out just what went on.
BUY ANY 4 BABA INDABA CHILDREN’S STORIES FOR ONLY $1
33% of the profit from the sale of this book will be donated to charities.
INCLUDES LINKS TO 8 FREE STORIES TO DOWNLOADS
Each issue 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”.
The Cat Who became Head Forrester – Baba Indaba Childrens Stories # 89
ISSN: 2397-9607 Issue 89
In Issue 89 of the Baba Indaba Children’s Stories, Baba Indaba narrates the Russian tale of THE CAT WHO BECAME HEAD-FORESTER. One day a forester sews his one-eyed, one eared cat into a hessian sack and takes it into the forest and throws it away. The cat escapes and goes on to achieve great things. Download and read this story to find out just what happened after that.
BUY ANY 4 BABA INDABA CHILDREN’S STORIES FOR ONLY $1
33% of the profit from the sale of this book will be donated to charities.
INCLUDES LINKS TO 8 FREE STORIES TO DOWNLOADS
Each issue 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”.
A Tale of Tontlawald – Baba Indaba Childrens Stories # 88
ISSN: 2397-9607 Issue 88
In Issue 88 of the Baba Indaba Children’s Stories, Baba Indaba narrates the Estonian tale of Tontlawald (Tontla Forest or Tontla Woods.) The story goes thus, a peasant had remarried, and he and his new wife quarreled, and she abused her stepdaughter Elsa. One day, the children were gathering strawberries when a boy realised they had wandered in to Tontlawald; the rest ran off, but Elsa did not think the woods could be worse than her stepmother. She met a little black dog with a silver collar, and a maiden dressed in silk who asked her to stay and be her friend….. Download and read the stories to find out just what happened after that.
BUY ANY 4 BABA INDABA CHILDREN’S STORIES FOR ONLY $1
33% of the profit from the sale of this book will be donated to charities.
INCLUDES LINKS TO 8 FREE STORIES TO DOWNLOADS
Each issue 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”.
Two Welsh Fables – Baba Indaba Childrens Stories # 87
ISSN: 2397-9607 Issue 87
In Issue 87 of the Baba Indaba Children’s Stories, Baba Indaba narrates the Welsh tales of A STRANGE OTTER and MELANGELL’S LAMBS. Two men chase and catch a red-skinned otter, but all is not what it seems to be. In Melangell’s Lambs, Baba narrates the story of runaway Princess Melangell who ends up in Wales. Download and read the stories to find out just what happened after that.
BUY ANY 4 BABA INDABA CHILDREN’S STORIES FOR ONLY $1
33% of the profit from the sale of this book will be donated to charities.
INCLUDES LINKS TO 8 FREE STORIES TO DOWNLOADS
Each issue 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”.
The Darning Needle – Baba Indaba Childrens Stories # 86
ISSN: 2397-9607 Issue 86
In Issue 86 of the Baba Indaba Children’s Stories, Baba Indaba narrates Hans Christian Andersen’s tale about the darning needle who though she was the most important needle in her mistresses sewing box – until one day she is dropped. Download and read the story to find out just what happened after that.
BUY ANY 4 BABA INDABA CHILDREN’S STORIES FOR ONLY $1
33% of the profit from the sale of this book will be donated to charities.
INCLUDES LINKS TO 8 FREE STORIES TO DOWNLOADS
Each issue 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”.
Son of Adam – Cover
ISSN: 2397-9607 Issue 81
In Issue 81 of the Baba Indaba Children’s Stories, Baba Indaba narrates the ancient Tibetan tale of a land owner who takes pity on one of his lowest paid employees. He gives him a place at his table and says he may eat from any dish except the covered dish in the middle of the table.
Well, were the employees able to resist temptation? Download and read the story to find out what happened.
BUY ANY 4 BABA INDABA CHILDREN’S STORIES FOR ONLY $1
33% of the profit from the sale of this book will be donated to charities.
INCLUDES LINKS TO 8 FREE STORIES TO DOWNLOADS
Each issue 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”.
Almost a year ago I started a project to keep alive and bring to the world those old and forgotten children’s stories as individual stories. No longer will you have to buy a whole book of stories to have access to just one story.
To make it more interesting, I created a fictional persona to narrate the stories based on a tribal storyteller, in this case a Zulu tribal storyteller. His name is Baba Indaba, pronounced Baaba Indaaba, which means “Father of Stories” and he lived in KwaZulu-Natal during the Victorian era. A free downloadable description of Baba Indaba can be found on Google Play and Google Books.
As at today the first 260 stories have been loaded in PDF and ePUB formats. Each story sells for US$0.25 – or you can buy 4 for US$1.00
The UK price is £0.20 or 4 for £0.80. For all other countries, Google works out what the equivalent price in your country is.
At least 5 new stories will be added to this collection every week.
PLEASE LIKE and SHARE this with your FB friends especially those who are teachers or have children of their own.
Below you will find a list of all 260 stories to date listed by the region they originated in.
The URL/link to review the stories, and/or to buy, is https://goo.gl/J5TX98
Each story also includes LINKS TO DOWNLOAD 8 FREE BABA INDABA STORIES as well as a “WHERE IN THE WORLD – LOOK IT UP” educational 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. Our HINT is: use Google maps.
AFRICA
Book 01 – The Stars and The Road of Stars
Book 02 – Why the Hare has a Split Nose
Book 06 – Anansi and the Lion
Book 07 – Two Anansi Stories
Book 10 – The Lost message
Book 111 A STORY ABOUT A MAIDEN AND A PUMPKIN
Book 122 The Story of OSIRIS
Book 16 – THE GIRL OF THE EARLY RACE WHO MADE STARS
Book 19 – THE STORY ABOUT A BEAUTIFUL MAIDEN
Book 220 WHY THE HONEY BADGER IS SO KEEN ON HONEY
Book 25 – Miss Salt Miss Pepper
Book 29 – Why the Whitecrow Never Speaks
Book 43 – Why A Bushman Throws Earth Into the Air
Book 46 – Two Bushmen Tales – HOW A SNAKE ANNOUNCES A DEATH IN THE FAMILY & THE RESURRECTION OF THE OSTRICH
Book 69 A LION’S STORY
Book 83 The Giant and the Cause of Thunder
AESOP’s FABLES – Rewritten for Children
Book 08 – The Tortoise and the Ducks
Book 117 TWO AESOPS FABLES – The Astrologer & The Fox and the Pheasants
Book 127 A Cat and Mouse in Partnership
Book 21 – How the Turtle Saved his Own Life
Book 26 – The Wolf and the Kid
Book 30 – The Old Lion and the Jackal
Book 37 – A Cocks Breakfast
Book 28 – THE EAGLE AND THE CROW
Book 61 – Horse and Turtle
Book 62 THE JACKAL AND THE HYENA
Book 78 Two Aesops Fables
Book 90 BELLING THE CAT
AUSTRALASIAN – Aboriginal, Maori, Polynesian
Book 221 The Story of Hine Moa
Book 52 – How the Fish got into Water
Book 82 The Story of Ahuula
NORTH AMERICAS – American Indian, Americana, Alaska & Hawaii
Book 114 The Giant Dog
Book 119 UNKTOMI AND THE ARROWHEADS
Book 18 – The Star Maiden
Book 182 BOKWEWA, THE HUMPBACK
Book 191 WUNZH – THE FATHER OF INDIAN CORN
Book 198 THE RETURN OF THE DEAD WIFE
Book 200 RIP VAN WINKLE
Book 201 THE WONDERFUL BASKET
Book 204 GROWING-UP-LIKE-ONE-WHO-HAS-A-GRANDMOTHER
Book 207 THE STORY OF DJUN
Book 208 BLACKSKIN
Book 212 LAND-OTTER THE INDIAN
Book 217 THE CHIEF’S DAUGHTER
Book 238 THE ADVENTURES OF FIRE-DRILL’S SON
Book 245 The Loot of Loma – American Indian
Book 31 – Two American Indian Stories – A Bashful Courtship & Why The Birch-Tree Wears Slashes In It’s Bark
Book 32 – A BET BETWEEN THE COOYOKO AND THE FOX
Book 42 – A Dinner and its Consequences
Book 60 A HOPI RAID ON A NAVAHO DANCE
Book 63 Journies to the Skeleton House
Book 64 A KATCINA RACE CONTEST BETWEEN THE WµLPI AND THE ORAÖBI
Book 67 A Legend of Manabozho
Book 70 A LITTLE BRAVE AND THE MEDICINE WOMAN
BRITISH – English, Welsh, Scots & Irish
Book 09 – The Three Sillies
Book 101 A Voyage to Lilliput
Book 102 Black Brown and Gray
Book 104 Lazy Jack
Book 109 Nansi Llwyd and the Dog of Darkness
Book 112 THE Milk White Doo and a poem
Book 118 Tom Tit Tot
Book 12 – The Tale of the Hoodie
Book 123 ‘HAME, HAME, HAME, WHERE I FAIN WAD BE’
Book 124 MORE FAITHFUL THAN FAVOURED
Book 130 A NIGHT IN THE KITCHEN (HCA)
Book 132 BEOWULF
Book 133 Two Medieval Stories
Book 134 CHILDE HORN
Book 135 GUY OF WARWICK
Book 136 PRESTER JOHN
Book 137 Cherry
Book 146 THE PHYNODDERREE – Isle of Man
Book 153 A STRANGE TIGER
Book 151 A Rats Tale
Book 155 A White Trout
Book 158 LITTLE THUMB
Book 159 THE MASTER CAT
Book 161 ADVENTURES OF GILLA NA CHRECK AN GOUR
Book 165 ALL CHANGE
Book 166 BINNORIE
Book 168 Birth of Fin MacCumhail
Book 170 BLACK STAIRS ON FIRE
Book 171 Two Ghostly Tales
Book 172 AN BRAON SUAN OR
Book 178 DAY-DREAMING
Book 179 EARL MARs DAUGHTER
Book 183 CAUTH MORRISY LOOKING FOR SERVICE
Book 199 YOUNG AMAZON SNELL
Book 202 AN OLD-WORLD GHOST
Book 203 THE GENTLEMAN HIGHWAYMAN
Book 205 BLIND JACK OF KNARESBOROUGH
Book 206 BLIND JACK – More Adventures
Book 213 THE DISINHERITING OF A SON
Book 247 MR. VINEGAR
Book 250 THE SHEPHERD OF LAUDERDALE
Book 257 – THE CHURCH THE DEVIL STOLE & THE PARSON AND THE CLERK – Two Co
Book 258 – Two Cornish Legends – The Weaver Of Dean Combe And The Demon Who Helped Drake
Book 259 – Two Cornish Legends – The Samson Of Tavistock And The Midnight Hunter Of The Moor
Book 260 – Two Cornish Legends – The Piskie’s Funeral and The Lost Land of Lyonesse
Book 33 – A Mouthful of Silence
Book 45 – Two Welsh Fables – The Fable Of Gwrgan Farfdrwch & The Story Of The Pig-Trough
Book 54 A Ghostly Rehearsal
Book 57 A Good Action
Book 65 A LEGEND OF KNOCKMANY
Book 66 The Legend of Lough Mask
Book 71 A LOST PARADISE
Book 75 A Pottle O’ Brains
Book 76 A Phantom Funeral
Book 77 A Puzzle
Book 87 TWO WELSH FABLES – A Strange Otter & Melangell’s Lambs
Book 91 Cap O Rushes
Book 92 The Legend of Beth Gellert
Book 93 DAME PRIDGETT AND THE FAIRIES
CENTRAL AMERICA – Caribbean, Mexican, Pre-Columbian, Atlantean
Book 138 PRINCESS BLUEGREEN OF THE SEVEN CITIES
Book 173 Bimini and the Fountain of Youth
Book 34 – The Maya Creation Story
Book 38 – The Creation Story of the Mixtecs
Book 48 – The Death Of Tupac King of the Inca
Book 51 – THE STORY OF NEZAHUALPILLI KING OF TEXCOCO
Book 56 The Lost Island
Book 72 The MYTH OF MANCO CCAPAC INCA
Book 73 The Rise and Fall of the Toltec Empire
Book 74 ZLATOVLASKA THE GOLDEN-HAIRED
Book 80 The Fugitive Prince
EUROPE – Eastern, Western & Scandinavia
Book 04 – The Watchmaker
Book 100 HANSEL AND GRETTEL
Book 105 MASTER AND PUPIL
Book 107 MOTHER HOLLE
book 115 A Very Naughty Boy
book 120 Vasilica The Brave
Book 121 ANDROCLES AND THE LION
Book 125 ‘TOM’ AN ADVENTURE IN THE LIFE OF A BEAR IN PARIS
Book 126 A (NOTHER) STORY OF A FROG
Book 139 Twopence Halfpenny – Gypsy
Book 143 THE JUDGMENT OF THE FLOWERS – Spain
Book 149 A PACK OF RAGAMUFFINS
Book 150 IN HONOUR OF A RAVEN
Book 152 FELICIA AND THE POT OF PINKS
Book 156 THE LITTLE GLASS SLIPPER or CINDERELLA
Book 157 THE SLEEPING BEAUTY IN THE WOODS
Book 160 BLUE BEARD
Book 162 BEASTS BESIEGED
Book 163 AINO’S FATE
Book 164 BEAUTY AND THE BEAST
Book 167 ALLERLEIRAUH or THE MANY-FURRED CREATURE
Book 169 ALPHEGE OR THE GREEN MONKEY
Book 174 BLOCKHEAD-HANS
Book 175 CANNETELLA (GFB)
Book 176 CHARCOAL NILS AND THE TROLL-WOMAN
Book 177 DAPPLEGRIM
Book 180 EMELYAN THE FOOL
Book 181 AN IMPOSSIBLE ENCHANTMENT (GFB)
Book 184 DOGS OVER THE WATER
Book 186 Aschenputtel
Book 187 BOYISLAV YOUNGEST OF TWELVE
Book 188 GAZELLE the TORTOISE
Book 189 HEART OF ICE
Book 190 ILMARINEN FORGES THE SAMPO
Book 192 VASSILISSA THE CUNNING AND THE TSAR OF THE SEA
Book 193 VIRGILIUS THE SORCERER (VFB)
Book 194 WAINAMOINEN AND YOUKAHAINEN
Book 195 YELENA THE WISE
Book 196 THE DROWNED BUCCANEER
Book 209 THE PETS OF AURORE DUPIN
Book 210 AURORE DUPIN AT PLAY
Book 211 HOW AURORE DUPIN LEARNs TO RIDE
Book 214 THE SIEGE OF RHODES
Book 216 BEAUTY AND THE BEAST
Book 218 THE BOYHOOD OF LEONARDO
Book 219 THE ADVENTURES OF A SPANISH NUN
Book 154 A THE STORY OF THREE WONDERFUL BEGGARS
Book 237 Pandoras Box
Book 24 – Salt – A Baba Yaga story
Book 243 AMYS AND AMYLE (Red Romance Book)
Book 246 CINDERELLA or the Little Glass Slipper
Book 251 DONKEY SKIN
Book 248 THree princesses of whiteland (Norway)
Book 249 Famine Among the Gnomes – Norse
Book 36 – A Clever Lass
Book 41 – The Wind Rider
Book 39 – The Wolves Skoll and Hati
Book 44 – A Dozen At A Blow
Book 55 A GIFT FROM FRIGGA
Book 53 A French Puck
Book 59 A Gullible World
Book 85 Baba Yaga and the Girl with a Kind Heart
Book 86 A Story About a Darning Needle
Book 88 A Tale of Tontawald
Book 89 THE CAT WHO BECAME HEAD-FORESTER
Book 95 Gertrudes Bird
Book 96 A VISITOR FROM PARADISE
Book 98 FIN MacCUMHAIL and the KNIGHT of the FULL AXE
Book 99 GENTLE DORA
FAIRY STORIES
Book 103 HOW ETHNE LEFT THE LAND OF THE FAIRIES
Book 108 Minnikin
Book 113 The Fairy Frog
Book 128 A FAIRY’S BLUNDER
Book 140 The Fairy Child
Book 141 The Fairy Cure
Book 142 The Fairy Nurse
Book 144 The Kite That Went to the Moon
Book 145 The Pen Fairy
Book 147 The Rubber Fairy
Book 148 Twelfth Night Fairy
Book 185 FAIRER-THAN-A-FAIRY
Book 232 Twelve Fairy Stories Bumper edition
Book 234 Tinyboy and Other Stories
Book 235 The Leaf Fairy and Other Stories
Book 236 The Rain Fairy and Other Stories
Book 252 THE ELF MAIDEN
Book 49 – A Fairy Borrowing
Book 50 – A Fairy Dog
Book 94 FAIRY TRANSPORTATION
FAR EAST – Burma, China, Japan
Book 106 – A TRADITIONAL PHYSICIAN CALLED JIVAKA
Book 11 – The Moon that Shone on the Porcelain Pagoda
Book 110 The Sparrow with the Slit Tongue
Book 116 OF THE MAIDEN SSUWARANDARI
Book 129 A Laung Khit
Book 13 – The Monkey and the Crocodile
Book 131 Aladdin and the Magic Lamp
Book 22 -The Elephant Girlie Face
Book 35 – TIKI-PU AND WIO-WANI
Book 47 – Two Burmese Tales – A DISRESPECTFUL DAUGHTER & THE THREE SISTERS
Book 58 – A Greedy King
Book 68 A Lesson for Kings
Book 79 A Rabbit Story
Book 81 A Son of Adam
Book 84 – Two Burmese Folktales – A SAD FATE & FRIENDS
INDIA – India, Bangladesh, Pakistan
Book 03 – The Evil Eye of Sani
Book 14 – CONKIAJGHARUNA
Book 23 – The Broken Pot
Book 233 Tiger Tom
Book 244 The Son of Seven Queens
MIDDLE EAST – Arabian Nights, Persian, Turkish, Jewish, Armenian
Book 05 – The Pixie of the Well
Book 15 – Ameen and the Ghool
Book 17 – The Story of Bostanai – Persian
Book 197 THE PERPLEXITY OF ZADIG – Babylon
Book 20 – ARA AND SEMIRAMIS – Armenian
Book 215 THE PRINCESS OF BABYLON
Book 222 THE THREE CALENDERS – Arabian Nights
Book 223 THE FISHERMAN AND THE GENIE – Arabian Nights
Book 224 THE STORY OF THE KING OF THE EBONY ISLES – Arabian Nights
Book 225 Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves – Arabian Nights
Book 226 THE STORY OF THE MAGIC HORSE – Arabian Nights
Book 227 THE STORY OF THE WICKED HALF-BROTHERS – Arabian Nights
Book 228 HOW THE CAMEL GOT HIS HUMP – Arabian
Book 229 THE CAT THAT WALKED BY HIMSELF – Arabian
Book 230 THE STORY OF THE MERCHANT AND THE JINNEE – Arabian
Book 231 THE STORY OF THE FISHERMAN – Arabian
Book 239 THE STORY OF THE THREE APPLES
Book 241 THE STORY OF NOOR-ED-DEEN AND ENEES-EL-JELEES
Book 242 THE SUMERIAN STORY OF THE GREAT FLOOD
Book 240 THE STORY OF THE HUMPBACK
Book 253 THE STORY OF THE PORTER AND THE LADIES OF BAGHDAD
Book 254 THE STORY OF THE FIRST ROYAL MENDICANT – Arabian Nights
Book 255 THE STORY OF THE SECOND ROYAL MENDICANT – Arabian Nights
Book 256 THE STORY OF THE THIRD ROYAL MENDICANT – Arabian Nights
Book 27 – The Soothsayer
Book 40 – An Armenian Story and an Armenian Poem
Book 97 Little Hyacinths Kiosk
A sample of 25 Baba Indaba Children’s Stories Covers
Folklore and Fairytales - Free Stories for Children 