 THE BOY WHO ROAD INTO THE SUNSET BY C. J. DENIS. Once upon a time it was not so very long ago, either. A little boy named Neville lived with his people in a house which was almost in the country. That is to say, it was just at the edge of the city, and at the back of the house was a rather large hill which was quite bald. Neville, who was fond of playing by himself, would often wander to the top of the bald hill, and if he stood right on top of it and looked one way toward the east, he could see right over the city, with all its tall buildings and domes and spires and smoking chimneys. But looking the other way, to the west, he could see for miles over the beautiful country, with its green fields and orchards and white roads and little farmhouses. One evening Neville was playing alone on the top of the hill, when he noticed that one of the very finest sunsets he had ever seen was just coming on. The sky in the west, a way over the broad country lands, was filled with little clouds of all sorts and shapes, and they were just beginning to take on the most wonderful colours. Neville had often before amused himself with watching clouds and the strange shapes into which they changed themselves, sometimes like great mountain ranges, sometimes like sea waves, and very often like elephants and lions and seals, and all manner of interesting things of that sort. But never before had he been able to make out so many animal shapes in the clouds. The sky was almost as good as a zoo. There were kangaroos and elephants and a hen with chickens, and wallabies and rabbits, and a funny man with large ears, and all sorts of other peculiar shapes. The sun was sinking behind a distant range of hills, where a golden light shone out as if through a gateway. It was so much like a great golden gateway that Neville felt a wondering what might be found on the other side of it. Suddenly, right in the middle of all the coloured clouds, he saw one little cloud which was perfectly white, and as he watched it, he noticed that it seemed to be shaped like a small horse. A very small horse it seemed at that distance, but as Neville gazed, it grew bigger and bigger, just as if it were coming toward him very fast, and he was almost certain he could see its legs moving. That startled him a little, and so he rubbed his eyes to make sure that they were not playing him tricks. When he looked again, he was more startled than ever, for the little white cloud was no longer a cloud, but a little white horse in real earnest. Besides, it had just left the sky, and was galloping down the mountain range which he could see away in the west. In two minutes it had left the range, and was coming across the fields towards him, jumping the fences, dodging under the trees, and racing across the plain with its white mane and tail tossing as it came. It seemed to be making straight for him. He was not really frightened, you must not think that about him, but he was just beginning to wonder if it were not nearly time to go home to dinner, when he noticed that the white horse had stopped, just at the foot of the bald hill. It was looking up at him, tossing its head and pawing the ground, the most beautiful white horse that he had ever seen, even in a circus. Then it appeared to get over its excitement and began to trot quietly up the hill toward him. I do not think anyone would have blamed Neville if he had decided then to go home to dinner at once. But he was rather a brave boy, and he was certainly very curious, so he just stood still and waited. And here is where the most wonderful part of the story begins. The white horse trotted up to Neville and spoke to him. That would surprise most people, and Neville was certainly as much surprised as anyone else would have been. What are you frightened of? asked the white horse in a loud voice. Now, Neville was just a little frightened by this time, but he was not going to show it, so he just said, Who's frightened? You're frightened, said the white horse, louder than ever. You're only a timid little boy. I thought when I saw you in the distance that you were one of the plucky ones, but I was mistaken. You're just a little cowardly custard. You'd better be careful who you're talking to, said Neville, suddenly losing his fear. Little boys do not always talk good grammar, otherwise he would have said whom, not whom. He hated to be called a cowardly custard. You'd better be careful, or I'll give you a bang. Aha! cried the white horse. Very brave all at once, aren't you? All the same. You're afraid to come near and stroke me. But I don't want to stroke you, said Neville. I thought not, replied the white horse. I thought not. The moment I got close to you, you're one of the frightened ones, and I've been wasting my time. Who's frightened? said Neville again. You asked that before, replied the white horse, and I told you. If you're not frightened, come along and stroke me. There's nothing to be afraid of. So Neville walked right up to the white horse and stroked his shoulder, and at once he felt that he had been foolish to hold back. For of all the smooth, soft, silky coats he had ever stroked, that of the white horse was certainly the smoothest and the softest and the silkiest. He felt that he could go on stroking it for hours. There, now, said the white horse, in a voice as soft and silky as his coat, there was nothing to be afraid of, was there? And I think that perhaps I was mistaken about you. I rather think you might be one of those daring boys that one reads about in stories. What about jumping on my back for a little ride? Neville ceased to stroke the white horse and drew back a little. I'm afraid they'll be expecting me home for dinner, he said. I'm very pleased indeed to have met you. Neville was always a polite little boy. The very thing, cried the white horse, jump on my back and I'll take you home. You liked stroking me, didn't you? Well, that's nothing to the ride you will enjoy, simply nothing. Why, all the boldest riders in the world would give their ears just for one little ride on my back. Now then, one, two, three, and up you go. Then before Neville quite knew what he was doing, he made a little run and leapt up a stride of the white horse. I live just over there, said Neville, pointing towards his home. But before he could say knife or even scissors, supposing he had wished to say either of these words, the white horse laughed a nasty hollow laugh sprang upwards from the ground and was soaring through the air toward the dying sunset, right away from home and dinner. Neville clung on tightly, for he was so high above the earth that to fall off would mean the end of him. And far beneath him he saw the green fields and the white road, which now seemed like a mere thread. That's not fair! Whoa, back! Whoa, back! he shouted to the white horse. But the white horse made no reply. Indeed, he seemed suddenly not so much like a white horse, as like a white cloud shaped like a horse, and Neville saw that he no longer sat upon the horse's silky coat, but upon something soft and downy like a white fleece, and it was slightly damp. Then he knew that he was riding upon a cloud, and as it was quite absurd to go on talking to a cloud, he ceased to cry out. He just sat tight and wondered what would happen next. He was high over a farmhouse now, one that he used to see from the bald hill. He knew it by the tall pine trees that grew round it, and down in the farmyard he saw a man with a bucket going out to feed the calves. Neville called loudly to him, but the man did not even look up. Now he was far beyond that farmhouse and above an orchard, where he saw the fruit trees standing in straight rows. And a few seconds later the mountain range was beneath him, and Neville knew that the cloud that looked like a horse was making straight for the golden gateway, which was now glowing dullly in a grey sky. He was riding into the sunset. Swiftly as the wind that drove it, the cloud-horse drifted over the mountain range. There was a sudden glow of golden light all about him, and then a flash of colour so wonderful that Neville could not bear to look. He closed his eyes, and as he did so he felt that the cloud-horse had come to a halt at last. So Neville sat upon the cloud, not daring to open his eyes for quite a long time. When at last he did look again, he almost fainted with the wonder of it. He was inside the sunset. But scarcely had he begun to enjoy the wonderful sight when he was startled by the sound of a funny, shrill little voice close by his side. Looking down, he saw a strange little man, no taller than a walking stick, and dressed from top to toe in golden yellow clothes. My stars, said the wee yellow man, how did you manage to get in here? Don't you know this is private? I'm very sorry, said Neville, but I couldn't help it. The cloud-horse brought me, you know. Ah, said the wee yellow man, he tricked you, did he? He's much too playful, that cloud-horse, and I must say he's put you in a pretty fix. Excuse me, said Neville, but do you mind telling me who you are? I cried the little yellow man. Why, I'm the last sunbeam, of course. I thought you knew that. My job, you know, is to shut up the show when the sunset is over, and it's pretty hard work, I can tell you, because I've got to keep on doing it all round the earth every few minutes or so, and it gets very tiresome at times. Would you believe it? I've never seen a door or a bright midday in all my life, just sunsets all the time, sunsets for breakfast, sunsets for dinner, sunsets for supper. And if I make the tidiest little slip, the head-scene shifter is down on me like a ton of bricks. Goodness me, said Neville, I didn't know you had scene-shifters here. Neville had been to see pantomimes, and therefore knew what a scene-shifter was. Then how do you think we shift the scenes? cried the wee yellow man rather crossily. Then he suddenly became very busy about nothing, as he whispered, Look out, here's the head-scene shifter coming now. Looking back, Neville saw, coming towards them, a man with very large ears. He was not a nice-looking man, and he was extremely like the cloud-man that Neville had sometimes seen in the sky, when he went to look at the sunset from the bald hill. Nelvin, Nelvin, roared the man with the large ears. Move yourself there, Goldie, we shut up the show here in a few minutes, and open at once on the next range. See that you have that curtain down on time. Certain later, replied the little yellow man very humbly. Then the man with the large ears noticed Neville for the first time. He frowned darkly, and his big ears seemed to flap with annoyance. Who is this on our cloud-horse? he roared in his great angry voice. Just a little boy, said the yellow man, for Neville was far too frightened to speak. Just a little boy that the cloud-horse had been playing tricks on. I think he'd like to be getting home, just over by the bald hill, if you don't mind, sir. Certainly not, shouted the man with the large ears. The cloud-horse is not to go out there again to-night, nor the silly little boy either. I'm not going to have the sunset upset by any such silly nonsense. You mind what I say and attend to your work. And without another glance at Neville, the man with the large ears strode off to a range for the sunset on the next range, miles and miles away. Neville gazed at the wee yellow man hopelessly, and the wee yellow man gazed at Neville, and neither spoke a word until the man with the large ears was well out of the way. Then the last sunbeam grew quite cheerful again. Well, said he, you heard what the head-seen shifter said. You certainly can't go home by the way you came. The only thing for you to do is to go round. You'll just about have time to do it, if you hurry. Go round, repeated Neville in a puzzled voice. Go round what? Round where? Round the world, of course, replied the little yellow man. Round the world, cried Neville. Why, you must be making fun of me, and I think that is very unkind. Not a bit of it, laughed the little yellow man. You need not make such a fuss about it. Why, I go round the world once every day with the sunset. You have only to go a bit faster so as to do it in a few minutes, and with the cloud horse to help you, that's easily managed. Don't you worry about the cloud horse. He has got to do just whatever I tell him. Now, excuse me for one moment, and I'll give you full directions. With that, the wee yellow man went behind the pink cloud, and came back with a beautiful blue flower in his hand. This, he said, handing the flower to Neville, is a sky flower. It is made entirely out of a genuine piece of sky, and it is a talisman. That's a longer word for charm, you know, which takes you free round the world. The one thing you have to remember is that you mustn't, on any account, lose that flower until you get home again. Now just exactly what you have to do is to travel west and grace round the world until you catch up with this evening again. It is quite simple. Simple, cried Neville. Why, I don't understand it at all. Dear me, said the wee yellow man rather impatiently, you are very dense. Now listen carefully. The world, you know, turns round from west to east, and that makes it seem as if the sun is going round the world from east to west. Very well. So what you have to do is to ride west upon the cloud horse, much faster than the sun appears to travel, and catch him up again before he gets well away from here. The cloud horse is in good condition, and you should easily do it in a few minutes. A few minutes, gasped Neville. Keep quiet and listen, snapped the wee yellow man. A few miles west from here you will come into broad daylight. That will be afternoon. After that you will meet midday, and passing that you will reach the place where it is only dawn. That's about half way round the earth. Show the sky flower to the porter of the dawn, and he will let you through. Then you get to the half of the world where it is night, and you must race round that till you reach the place where it is only evening. That will be this evening, somewhere about here, for you will have taken only a few minutes altogether. And when you see your own home or the bald hill again, grasp the sky flower tightly in your hand, jump off the cloud horse, and you will float gracefully down to the earth. It won't hurt you. Then you can go home, and I hope you will not be late for dinner. But, began Neville, I can't understand. My time is valuable, said the wee yellow man as he shook hands. Goodbye, and a pleasant journey. With that he smacked the cloud horse smartly on the flank, and in a moment it was racing into the west at a most terrific pace. Of course now that aeroplanes have been invented, flying is not thought so wonderful as once it was. But loafing along through the air in a biplane or a monoplane at 80 or 100 miles an hour is a very tame business when you compare it with racing the day round the world on a cloud horse. And Neville is very probably the only person who has ever done that yet. Almost before he knew what had happened he had left evening far behind, and was riding in broad daylight. The cloud horse had ridden high in the air, and Neville saw the broad country with plains and hills and forest lands stretched far beneath him. An instant later and the land was no longer below him, but the wide sea sparkling in brilliant sunlight. Before he had time to notice very much he had reached midday high over a strange foreign land and was racing through the morning toward the dawn. So quickly did he go that there was little chance of seeing anything clearly, but he had glimpses of many strange sights. Many ships he saw upon the sea, small ships, and stately steamers crawling over the ocean like strange water beetles. Once, as the cloud horse drifted low, Neville saw a beautiful sailing ship with all sail set and strange looking men upon the deck. They looked very like pirates and perhaps they were, but Neville had no time to make sure for the very next minute he was over a wild land where he saw a horde of black men with spears and clubs hunting an elephant through a clearing in a great jungle. As he looked the elephant turned to charge the hunters, but what happened then Neville did not see, for in a moment more he was above a great city with crowds of people in the streets, people dressed in strange bright coloured clothes, and there were bells ringing and whistles blowing. Then a great desert spread beneath him with no living thing in sight but a great tawny lion prowling over the sand. Then came the sea again and more ships, and the light began to grow dim for he was nearly halfway round the earth and was approaching the dawn. Dimmer grew the light and dimmer yet, just as though evening were coming, and before him Neville saw the dawn like a silvery gateway in the sky. Straight toward it the cloud horse rushed and stopped so suddenly that Neville almost fell off. What's all this, what's all this? cried a small voice, and Neville saw beside the silver gateway a little man dressed from top to toe in silver grey. It was the porter of the dawn, sometimes called the first sunbeam. Before Neville could answer the little grey man had caught sight of the sky flower. Ah, you have the talisman, said he, pass in and don't stop to gossip because I'm very busy this morning. A pleasant journey, he added as he smacked the cloud horse on the shoulder, and in an instant Neville had passed through the dawn and plunged into the night. It was a dark night with no moon for the sky was overcast with dense clouds. Above these the cloud horse flew and overhead Neville saw the rushing stars, and below only the blackness of heavy clouds. But more often the cloud horse flew low, and then there was little to be seen. By the lights of moving ships Neville knew that sometimes he was above the sea. Sometimes twinkling lights in towns or solitary farms or the sudden blaze of a great city told him that the land was beneath him. Once through the blackness he saw a great forest fire upon an island and the light of it lit up the sea and showed the natives crowded upon the beach and in the shallows and some making off in canoes. Then darkness swallowed the cloud horse again and the blazing island was left far behind. After that Neville began to feel a little drowsy. Perhaps he did sleep a little, for the next thing he saw was a faint light in the sky before him, as though the dawn were coming. But he knew it must be the evening, because he was coming back to the place from which he had started and was catching up with the sun. You see, he had only been gone a few minutes. The cloud horse flew very low now and rapidly the darkness grew less. Then, long before he expected it, Neville saw the roof of his own home below him. He could see the garden in the twilight and his own dog sniffing about among the trees as though in search of him. Neville began to think about jumping now and he was rather nervous. He might land softly, and he might not. He only had the wee yellow man's word for that. Then, to his horror, he saw that they had passed his home and were over the bald hill. There was no time to lose. The cloud horse was taking him into the sunset again, and if he did, what would the head seam shifter say then? So grasping the sky-flower very tightly, Neville closed his eyes and jumped. He half expected to fall quickly and be dashed to pieces upon the earth, but instead he floated in the air like a feather, swaying and drifting and slowly sinking all the time towards the ground. It was a very pleasant sensation indeed. The bald hill was beneath him as he came slowly down, down, down. He could see the cloud horse now little more than a small white speck rushing on to catch the sunset, and still he sank down ever so slowly towards the top of the bald hill. His little dog had caught sight of him now and came rushing out the gate and up the bald hill, barking loudly, and he kept on, sinking nearer to the earth, down, down, nearer and nearer, and then quite suddenly he seemed to forget everything. The next thing Neville remembered was feeling something wet and warm upon his cheek. He opened his eyes and saw that the little dog was licking his face. Sitting up he looked about him. He was in the grass on the top of the bald hill. Night was very near and the first star was just beginning to twinkle. Then quite suddenly Neville remembered the cloud horse and the little yellow man and the little silver man and the head scene shifter and the wonderful journey and all the rest of it. Wow! What a remarkable dream! said Neville, stretching his arms, and as he did so the sky flower fell from his hand. So it was not a dream after all, for if it was how could he explain that sky flower? He picked it up and carried it very tenderly as he set off home to dinner, his little dog trotting at his heels. What a beautiful flower! said Neville's mother when he got home. Where ever did you get it? It is a piece of the genuine sky! said Neville proudly as he gave it to her. His mother smiled at him as she said. That is a very nice thing to say, and it certainly does look like a little piece of the sky. But of course it couldn't possibly be a real piece. Then Neville knew that if he were to tell the story of his wonderful ride, and tried to explain that he had been right around the world since he went out to play, his parents would find it very, very hard to believe. So he said nothing, but ate a very good dinner. But Neville's mother put the flower in a vase upon the mantle, and to this day it is still there, as fresh and bright as ever. It will not fade. Neville's mother thinks that it is a very strange and wonderful thing, and so it is. Since that day when Neville goes to the top of the bald hill to watch a sunset, he is almost sure that just as the golden light is fading, he can see a little yellow man by the gateway, and it seems to him that the little yellow man waves a cheery greeting. But whether this is so or not, Neville always waves back, and he feels very happy to think that he has a good friend inside the sunset. End of The Boy Who Road Into the Sunset by C. J. Dennis The Cow from a Child's Garden of Verses by Robert Louis Stevenson. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Sabine Ganeser. The Cow by Robert Louis Stevenson. The friendly cow, all red and white, I love with all my heart. She gives me cream with all her might to eat with apple chart. She wanders low wing here and there, and yet she cannot stray, all in the pleasant open air, the pleasant light of day, and blown by all the winds that pass, and wet with all the showers. She walks among the meadow grass and eats the meadow flowers. End of The Cow. Recording by Sabine Ganeser. The Culprit Faye by Charles M. Skinner. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Reading by Bologna Times. The Culprit Faye by Charles M. Skinner. The woodtick's drum convokes the elves at the noon of night on Cronus' top, and clambering out of their flower-cup beds and hammocks of cobweb, they fly to the meeting, not to freak about the grass or banquet at the mushroom table, but to hear sentence pass on the Faye, who, forgetting his vestal vow, has loved and earthly made. From his throne under a canopy of tulip petals, born on pillars of shell, the king commands silence, and with severe eye but softened voice, he tells the Culprit that while he has sworn the royal decree he has saved himself from the extreme penalty of imprisonment in walnut shells and cobweb dungeons, by loving a maid who is gentle and pure. So it shall be enough if he will go down to the Hudson and seize a drop from the bow of mist that a sturgeon leaves when he makes his leap, and after to kindle his darkened flamewood lamp at a meteor spark. The fairy bows and, without a word, slowly descends the rocky steep, for his wing is soiled and has lost its power. But once at the river he tugs a mane at a mussel shell till he has it afloat. Then, leaping in, he paddles out with a strong grass blade till he comes to the spot where the sturgeon swims, though the water sprites plague him and toss his boat, and the fish and the leeches bunt and drag. But suddenly the sturgeon shoots from the water, and air at the ark of mist that he tracks through the air has vanished. The sprite has caught a drop of the spray and a tiny blossom, and in this he washes clean his wings. The water goblins torment him no longer. They push his boat to the shore, where, alighting, he kisses his hand. Then, even as a bubble, he flies back to the mountaintop, dons his acorn helmet, his coarselet of beehide, his shield of ladybug shell, and grasping his lance, tipped with wasp sting, he bestrides his fire-fly steed, and off he goes like a flash. The world spreads out and then grows small, but he flies straight on. The ice-ghosts leer from the topmost clouds, and the mists surge round, but he shakes his lance and pipes his call, and at last he comes to the milky way, where the sky-sulfs lead him to their queen, who lies couched in a palace sealed with stars. Its dome held up by northern lights, and the curtains made of the morning's flush. Her mantle is twilight-purple, tied with threads of gold from the eastern dawn, and her face is as fair as a silver moon. She begs the fey to stay with her and taste forever the joys of heaven, but the nightly elf keeps down the beating of his heart, for he remembers a face on earth that is fairer than hers, and he begs to go. With a sigh she fits him with a car of cloud, with the fire-fly steed chained on behind, and he hurries away to the northern sky once the meteor comes, with roar and whirl, and as it passes it bursts to flame. He lights his lamp at a glowing spark, then wheels away to the fairyland. His king and his brothers hail him stoutly, with song and shout, and feast and dance, and the revel is kept till the eastern sky has a ready streak. Then the cock-crows shrill, and the faeces are gone. End of The Culprit Fae by Francis E. Crompton It's a welly, anxiatous thing, yosting chestnuts is, Rupert said, shaking his head seriously. Rupert is only four years old, but he is very fond of grand words. He speaks quite plainly and nicely, nurse says, accepting the Vs and ours. Only, of course, he cannot remember always just the shape of the big words, but he uses much grander ones than I do, though I am nearly six. But he is the nicest little boy in all the world, and we do love each other better than anybody else at all after mother and father. We made what Rupert calls an arranglement about always being friends with each other. That was the night we roasted the chestnuts. It was one of the most interesting things we had ever done, and then to be allowed to do it alone. You see, this was the way. It was the dreadfulest day we can remember in all our lives, because you know, first of all, mother was so ill, and then there was a birthday party we were to have gone to. And Sarah, who is the housemaid, said she didn't see why we couldn't go just the same, and nurse said very sharply, I'm not going to let them go, I can tell you with things as they are. And then she said in another kind of voice, just suppose they had to be sent for to go into the mistress. And then she went away again into mother's dressing room. That was another horrid thing that nobody seemed to be able to look after us at all. We could have got into all sorts of mischief if we had wanted, but everything was so dreadful that it made us not want. There were two doctors who went and came several times, and someone they called nurse, but she wasn't our nurse. And our nurse could not be in the nursery with us, but kept shutting herself up in mother's dressing room, and that made us be getting into everybody's way. So at last when evening came, nurse sent us down to the drawing room, because somebody had let the nursery fire go almost out, and she told us to stay there and be good, and father said he would perhaps come and sit with us by and by. But I don't know what we should have done there so long, if Sarah had not brought us a plate of chestnuts, and shown us how to roast them. We feel sure that nurse would not have allowed it by ourselves, and would have called it playing with fire. But father looked in at us once, and did not stop us at all, but only said we were very good, and Cook and Sarah kept looking into, and they were very kind, only rather quiet and queer. So that was how it was that we came to be allowed to be roasting chestnuts in the drawing room by ourselves, which does seem a little funny if you did not know about that dreadful day. There's only two left now, Rupert said. We hadn't eaten all the playful, of course, because so many of them, when they popped, had popped quite into the fire, and we were not to try to get them out. We had roasted one each for Sarah, and one for Cook, and for nurse, and for father, and of course the biggest of all for mother. We thought she might enjoy it when she got better. And they were all done, and there were only two left besides what we had eaten and lost. So we put them together on the bar to roast, and Rupert said, One for you, and one for me. Yours is the light one, and mine is the dark one. And I said, Yes, and let us do them as Sarah did with two of them, and try if they will keep together until they are properly done, and then it will be as if we kept good friends and loved each other always. So that was what Rupert called the anxiety atchist part, because, you know, one of them might have flown into the fire before the other was roasted, and we were so excited about it that I believe we should have cried. But they were the nicest chestnuts of all the playful, and that was the nicest thing of all that long day that had so many nasty ones in it. For the dark chestnut and the light one kept together all the time, and split quite quietly and comfortably, and began to have a lovely smell, and then we thought it was fair to rake them off. Those chestnuts were welly fond of each other, said Rupert in his solemnest way, while they were cooling in the fender, like you and me, Nella. And so we'll promise on our word of honors to be friends like them and love each other for always and always, I said. And we held each other's hands, and when the chestnuts were cooled and peeled, ate them up, and enjoyed the most of all the chestnuts. But after we had made that play last as long as we could, and it grew later and later, began to seem miserableer than ever, and nobody came to take us to bed, although it did feel so dreadfully like bedtime, and nobody brought us any bread and milk, and chestnuts did not really make a good supper, even if you have roasted them yourself. And I tried to tell Rupert the steadfast tin soldier, but he grew cross because I couldn't tell it as well as mother. So I said, well, let us lie down here on the rug, and perhaps if we make believe it will seem like going to bed. But Rupert said, how could he go to bed without saying his prayers, and he was so tired and crossed that I said, well, you say yours, and I'll hear them. And so Rupert knelt down on the rug and said his prayers, and I heard them. At least I mean we tried, but I couldn't always remember what came next. And then he remembered that he wanted mother, and burst out crying. So I did not know what to do anymore, and I could only huggle him as he calls it, and wipe his eyes on my frock, and we sat there and huggled each other. And I think we fell asleep in the chimney corner after that. At least the next thing we remember is being picked up by father and nurse, and nurse carried Rupert upstairs, and father carried me. And I said, we try to be good, father, but we were obliged to go to sleep on the floor, just there. We really and truly couldn't keep awake any longer. And father did not think it naughty, I am sure, for he kissed us both ever so many times at the nursery door with a great big hug, although we went away without speaking. And nurse undressed us as quickly as she could, and as Rupert calls it, excused our baths, for we were so dreadfully sleepy, and I did think once that nurse seemed to be crying, but I was too tired to notice any more. And that was the end of the dreadfulest day we have ever known. It began to be happier quite soon next day, for Granny came and stayed with us, and had time to love us very much. We told her about the chestnuts, and she thought it ever so nice. And she told us something too, two things, and one was very beautiful, and one was very dreadful. And the beautiful thing was that God had sent us a baby sister on that dreadful evening, but then he saw that he could take better care of her than even mother and nurse, and he loved her so much that he sent an angel to fetch her away again. And though we were sorry not to have the little sister, and that was another reason to make Rupert and me love each other all the more, Granny said, yet she told us how beautiful it was to know that baby Lucy would never do a naughty thing, or say a naughty word, but always be kept quite safe now. And the dreadful thing was, but I can only say it in a whisper, that God had almost taken mother away to be with baby Lucy too. But he looked down at us, and at father, Granny said, and was sorry for us, and I think the time when he was sorry was when Rupert was crying, and I was trying to hear his prayers, because he must have seen that I could not be like mother to Rupert, not however much I tried. And so he was sorry for us, and mother stayed. End of In The Chimney Corner, recording by Sean Michael Hoven, St. John's, Newfoundland, Canada. Max and Maurice by William Bush. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, visit LibriVox.org. Max and Maurice, a juvenile history in seven tricks, by William Bush. Ah, how oft we read or hear of boys we almost stand in fear of. For example, take these stories of two youths, Max and Maurice, who, instead of early turning their young minds to useful learning, often leered with horrid features at their lessons and their teachers. Look now at the empty head. He is for mischief, always ready. Teasing creatures, climbing fences, stealing apples, pears, and quences. Is, of course, a deal more pleasant, and far easier for the present than to sit in schools or churches, fixed like roosters on their perches. But oh dear, oh dear, oh deary, when the income's sad and dreary, tis a dreadful thing to tell that on Max and Maurice fell. All they did, this book, rehearses both in pictures and in verses. Trick first. To most people who have leisure, raising poultry gives us pleasure. First, because the eggs they lay us, for the care we take, repay us. Secondly, that now and then we can dine on roasted hen. Thirdly, of the hens and goose's feathers, men make various uses. Some folks like to rest their heads in the night on feather beds. One of these was widow Tibbetts, whom the cut you see exhibits. Hens were hers in number three, and a cock of majesty. Max and Maurice took a view, fell to thinking what to do. One, two, three, as soon as said, they have sliced a loaf of bread, cut each piece again in four, each a finger thick, no more. These two, two cross threads they tie, like a letter X they lie, in the widow's yard, with care stretched by those two rascals there. Scarce the cock had seen the sight, when he up in crew with might, cock a doodle doodle do, tack tack tack, the trio flew. Cock and hens, like fowls unfed, gobbled each a piece of bread. But they found on taking thought, each of them was badly caught. Every way they pull and twitch, this strange cat's cradle, too unhitch, up into the air they fly, Jiminy, oh Jimini. On a tree behold them dangling, in the agony of strangling, and their necks grow long and longer, and their groans grow strong and stronger. Each lays quickly, one egg more, then they cross to the other shore. Widow tidbits in her chamber, by these death cries, waked from slumber, rushes out with bodeful thought. Heavens, what sight her vision caught! From her eyes the tears are streaming, oh my dears, my toil, my dreaming, aw, life's fairest hope, says she, hangs upon that apple tree. Heart sick, you may well suppose, for the carving knife she goes, cuts the bodies from the bow, hanging cold and lifeless now, and in silence, bathed in tears, through her house door disappears. This was the bad boy's first trick, but the second follows quick, trick second. When the worthy widow tidbits, whom the cut below exhibits, had recovered on the morrow from the dreadful shock of sorrow, she, as soon as grief would let her think, began to think, to her better just to take the dead, the dear ones who in life were walking here once, and in a still noonday hour them well-roasted to devour. True, it did seem almost wicked when they lay so bare and naked, picked and singed before the blaze, they that once, in happier days, in the yard or garden ground, all day long went stretching round. Ah, frow tidbits wept anew, and poor Spitz was with her too. Max and Maurice smelled the savor, climbed the roof, cried each young shaver. Through the chimney now, with pleasure, they behold the tempting treasure, headless in the pan there lying, hissing, browning, steaming, frying. At that moment, down the cellar, dreaming not what soon befell her, widow tidbits went for sour-crout, which she would off devour, with exceeding great desire, warmed a little at the fire. Up there on the roof, meanwhile, they are doing things in style. Max already, with forethought, a long fishing line has brought. Snuptiwup, there goes, oh, chimney, one hen dangling up the chimney. Snuptiwup, a second bird, snuptiwup, up comes the third. Presto, number four they haul, snuptiwup, we have them all. Spitz looks on, we must allow, but he barks, row-row, row-row. But the rogues are down instant-er from the roof, and off they canter. Ha! I guess there'll be a humming. Here's the widow tidbits coming. Rooted stood she to the spot, when the pan her vision caught. Gone was every blessed bird. Horrid Spitz was her first word. Oh, you spits, you monster you, let me beat you black and blue. And the heavy ladle thwack comes down on poor Spitz's back. Loud he yells with agony, for he feels his conscience free. Max and Maurice, dinner over, in a hedge snored under cover. And of that great hand-feast now each has but a leg to show. This was now the second trick, but the third will follow quick. Trick third, through the town and country round, was one Mr. Buck renowned. Sunday coats and weekday sack coats, bobtails, swallowtails, and frock coats. Gators, breeches, hunting jackets, waistcoats with commodious pockets, and other things, too long to mention, claimed Mr. Taylor Buck's attention. Or if anything wanted doing in the way of darning, sewing, piecing, patching, if a button needed to be fixed or put on, anything of any kind, anywhere, before, behind. Master Buck could do the same, for it was his life's great aim. Therefore all the population held him high in estimation. Max and Maurice tried to invent ways to plague this worthy gent. Right before the sartor's dwelling ran a swift stream, roaring, swelling. This swift stream a bridge did span, and the road across it ran. Max and Maurice, not could all them, took a saw, when no one saw them. Ritzy ratzy riddle riddle, sawed a gap across the middle. When this feat was finished well, suddenly was heard a yell. Hello there, come out, you buck. Taylor, Taylor, muck, muck, muck. Buck could hear all sorts of jeering, jibes and jokes in silence hearing. But this insult roused such anger, nature couldn't stand it longer. Wild with fury, up he started, with his yardstick out he darted. For once more that frightful jeer, muck, muck, muck, rang loud and clear. On the bridge one leap he makes, crash, beneath his weight it breaks. Once more rings the cry, muck, muck, in, head foremost, plumps poor buck. While the scared boys were scandaddling, down the brook two geese came paddling. On the legs of these two geese, with a death clutch, buck did seize, and, with both geese well in hand, flutters out upon dry land. For the rest he did not find things exactly to his mind. Soon it proved poor buck had brought a dreadful bellyache from the water. Noble Mrs. Buck, she rises fully equal to the crisis, with a hot flat iron she draws the cold out famously. Soon it was in the mouths of men all through the town, bucks up again. This was the bad boy's third trick. But the fourth will follow quick. Trick fourth. An old saw runs somewhat so. Man must learn while here below. Not alone the ABC raises man in dignity. Not alone in reading, writing, reason finds a work in biting. Not alone to solve the double rule of three shall man take trouble. But must here, with pleasure, sages teach the wisdom of the ages. Of this wisdom an example to the world was Master Lample. For this cause, to Max and Maurice, this man was the chief of horrors. For a boy who loves bad tricks, wisdom's friendship never seeks. With the clerical profession, smoking always was a passion. And this habit without question, while it helps promote digestion, is a comfort no one can well begrudge a good old man. When the day's vexations close and he sits to seek, repose, Max and Maurice flinty-hearted on another trick have started, thinking how they may attack a poor old man through his tobacco. Once when Sunday morning breaking pious hearts to gladness waking, poured its light where in the temple at his organ sate air lample. These bad boys for mischief ready stole into the good man's study, where his darling Mirsham stands, this Max holds in both his hands. While young Maurice, scapegrace-born, climbs and gets the powder horn. And with speed the wicked soul pours the powder in the bowl, hush and quick, now right about, for already church is out. Lample closes the church door, glad to seek his home once more. All his service well got through, take his keys and music too, and his way delighted when's homeward to his silent friends. Full of gratitude he there lights his pipe and takes his chair. Ah, he says, no joy is found, like contentment on earth's round. Viz, wiz, bam! The pipe is burst, almost shattered into dust. Coffee pot and water jug, snuff box, ink stand, tumbler, mug, table, stove, and easy chair all are flying through the air in a lightning powder flash, with the most tremendous crash. When the smoke cloud lifts and clears, lample on his back appears. God be praised, still breathing there, only somewhat worse for where. Nose, hands, eyebrows, once like yours, now are black as any moors. Burned the last thin spear of hair, and his fate is holy bear. Who shall now the children guide, lead their steps to wisdom's side? Who shall now, for master lample, lead the service in the temple? Now that his old pipe is out, shattered, smashed, gone up the spout. Time will heal the rest once more, but the pipe's best days are o'er. This was the bad boy's fourth trick. But the fifth will follow quick, trick fifth. If in village, or in town, you've an uncle settled down, always treat him courteously, uncle will be pleased thereby. In the morning, morning to you, any errand I can do you? Fetch whatever he may need, pipe to smoke, and news to read. Or should some confounded thing prick his back, or bite, or sting? Nephew then will be nearby, ready to his help, to fly. Or a pinch of snuff, maybe. Sets him sneezing violently. Procet, uncle, good health to you. God be praised. Much good may it do you. Or he comes home late, for chance, pull his boots off, then at once. Fetch his slippers, and his cap, and warm gown his limbs to wrap. Be your constant care, good boy. What shall give your uncle joy? Max and Maurice, need I mention, had not any such intention. See, now, how they tried their wits, these bad boys on uncle Fritz. What kind of a bird, a maybug, was they knew, I dare say, in the trees they may be found, flying, crawling, wriggling round. Max and Maurice, great pains taking, from a tree these bugs are shaking. In their cornucopia papers, they collect these pinching creepers. Soon they are deposited, in the foot of uncle's bed. With his peaked nightcap on, uncle Fritz to bed has gone. Tucks the clothes in, shuts his eyes, and in sweetest slumber lies. Crits, crats, come to charters, single file from their night quarters. And the captain boldly goes, straight at uncle Fritz's nose. Bah! he cries, what have we here? Seizing that grim grenadier, uncle wild with fright, up springeth, and the bedclothes from him flingeth. Ach! he seizes two more scapegraces from his shin and nape. Crawling, flying, to and fro, round the buzzing rascals go. Wild with fury, uncle Fritz stamps and slashes them to bits. Oh, be joyful, all gone by is the maybug's devil tree. Uncle Fritz, his eyes can close, once again in sweet repose. This was the bad boy's fifth trick, but the sixth will follow quick. Trick sixth. Easter days have come again, when the pious baker men bake all sorts of sugar things, plum cakes, ginger cakes, and rings. Max and Maurice feel an ache in their sweet tooth for some cake. But the baker thoughtfully locks his shop and takes his key. Who would steal, then? This must do. Riggle down the chimney flue. Ratched. There come the boys by Jiminy, black as ravens, down the chimney. Puff into a chest they drop, full of flower up to the top. Out they crawl from undercover, just as white as chalk all over. But the cracknoles, precious treasure, on a shelf they spy with pleasure. Next, the chair breaks. Down they go, swap into a trow of dough. All enveloped, now in dough, see them monuments of woe. In the baker comes and snickers, when he sees the sugar lickers. One, two, three. The brats behold. Into two good brats are rolled. There's the oven, all red hot, shove them in, as quick as thought. Rough, out with them, from the heat. They are brown and good to eat. Now you think they've paid the debt. No, my friend, they're living yet. Nusper nusper, like two mice, through their roofs, they gnaw in a trice. And the baker cries, you bet, there's the rascals living yet. This was the boy's sixth trick, but the last will follow quick. Max and Maurice, I grow sick when I think of your last trick. Why must these two scallow-wags cut those gashes in the bags? See the farmer on his back carries corn off. In a sack, scarce has he begun to travel when the corn runs out like gravel. All at once he stops and cries. Darn it, I see where it lies. Ha, with what delighted eyes, Max and Maurice, he espies. Rabs, he opens wide his sack, shoves the rogues in, huck-a-pack. It grows warm with Max and Maurice, four to mill, the farmer hurries. Master Miller, hello, old man, grind me that as quick as you can. In with them, each wretched flopper headlong goes into the hopper. As the farmer turns his back, he hears the mill go creaky-cracky. Here you see the bits, post mortem, just as fate was pleased to sort them. Master Miller's ducks with speed gobbled up the coarse-grained feed. Conclusion In the village, not a word, not a sign of grief was heard. Widow, tidbits, speaking low, said, I thought it would be so. None but self, cried Buck, to blame. Mischief is not life's true aim. Then said gravely, teacher Lample. There again is an example. To be sure, bad thing for youth, said the baker, a sweet tooth. Even Uncle says, good folks, see what comes of stupid jokes. But the honest farmer, guy, what concern is that to I? Through the place, in short, there went one wide murmur of content. God be praised, the town is free, from this great rascality. End of Max and Maurice A Juvenile History in Seven Tricks Read by Dennis Sayers in Modesto, California for LibriVox. Perez the Mouse by Louis Coloma, translated by Lady Morton Perez the Mouse, adapted from the Spanish of Padre Louis Coloma, by Lady Morton. Once upon a time there lived a king called Bubby the First, who was very kind to poor children and mice. For the children he built a factory for making dolls and cardboard horses. For the benefit of the mice, he made wise laws to stop cats catching them, and absolutely forbade the use of mousetraps. Bubby began to reign when he was only six years old, under the care of his mother, who was very good and clever, and who watched over him and guided his steps, as good children are guided by their guardian angel. Bubby was a darling little boy, and when on great days they put on his gold crown and his embroidered robes, the gold of his crown was not brighter than his hair, nor the ermine of his robe softer than his cheeks and hands. He was just like a little Dresden China figure, which had been put to sit on a throne instead of standing on the chimney-piece. One day while the king was eating his bread and milk, one of his teeth began to wobble. There was a great fuss and the court doctors arrived in a hurry. They were all agreed that his majesty had begun to change his teeth, and at ten length they settled to pull out the loose one. They wanted the king to have laughing gas, as he did when his hair was cut, as he always fidgeted so. But Bubby was a brave little boy and made up his mind to have it out with nothing. The oldest of the court doctors tied a bit of red silk around the tooth, and then gave a tweak, and he pulled so cleverly that while the king was making a face, out came the tooth as round and white as a little pearl. Then there was another fuss as to what was to be done with it. But Bubby's mother, who as we have said was a very wise queen and very loyal to old customs, settled that the king should write a very polite letter and put it with the tooth in an envelope under his pillow that night, which has always been the proper thing to do ever since the world began. And no one has ever known Perez the mouse forget to come and fetch the tooth and leave a lovely present in its place. King Bubby found writing that letter a dreadful task, but he managed really quite well in the end, and only inked all his fingers, the tip of his nose, his left ear, his right shoe, and his bib. He went to bed very early that evening and ordered that all the light should be left in his room. He put the envelope under his pillow and sat up in bed, determined to keep awake to see Perez the mouse, even if he had to wait all night. Perez the mouse was a long time coming, so little king began to make up a little speech to say to him when he did arrive. After a bit Bubby began to open his eyes very wide, fighting against the miller who was trying to make him shut them. But they did shut at last, and the little boy slipped down into the warm bed clothes, his head on the pillow, with one arm over it, as a little bird tucks its head under its wing when it goes to sleep. Suddenly he felt something very soft just tickling his forehead, and sitting up quickly he saw in front of him standing on the pillow a tiny little mouse in a straw hat and slippers and big gold spectacles, a red satchel was slung across his back. King Bubby stared at him in astonishment, and Perez the mouse, seeing that his majesty was awake, took off his hat and made a very low bow, waiting to be spoken to. But the king said nothing, because he had quite forgotten all he had made up to say, and after thinking and thinking he faltered out at last, good night. Perez answered with a low bow, God give your majesty a very good one. These civil speeches quite broke the ice, and the king and the mouse became the greatest friends. It was easy to see that Perez was a mouse who was accustomed to polite society and to run about on soft carpets, as he had such very good manners. It was wonderful what a lot of things he could talk about, which made him a very pleasant companion. He had traveled through all the pipes and drains of the capital, and in the royal library alone he had eaten up three books in less than a week. He talked to about his family. He had two quite grown-up daughters, Adelaide and Elvira, and a son nearly grown up called Adolphus, who was studying for diplomacy in the drawer where the minister of state kept his most secret notes. He did not say much about Mrs. Mouse, and the little king somehow fancied that she was rather vulgar. His majesty listened to all this with his mouth open. From time to time he put out his hand to try and catch Perez by the tail, but each time the mouse gave a sort of whisk and placed his tail out of reach, without being in the least rude. It was getting late and the king forgot to dismiss him, so Mr. Mouse cleverly hinted that he had to go that same night to a street not far off to fetch the tooth of a very poor little boy called Giles. It was rather a difficult, dangerous journey, because near there lived a very wicked cat called Don Pedro. The king yet once wanted to go to and beg Perez to take him. The mouse stood thinking it over and twisting his whiskers. The responsibility was very great, and moreover he was obliged to go back to his own house to fetch the present for little Giles. The king said he would like to go and see the mouse's home, which so much flattered Perez that he had once offered him a cup of tea and agreed to take him to see little Giles. Perez the mouse lived underneath a grocer shop near a big pile of gruyard cheeses which supplied the whole family with breakfast, dinner, and tea. Overjoyed, King Bubby jumped out of bed and began to dress himself. When all at once Perez the mouse sprang on his shoulder and put the tip of his tail into his majesty's nose, then a wonderful thing happened. The king sneezed very hard and turned into the most darling little mouse you ever saw. He was all soft and shiny and had wee green eyes like emeralds. Perez the mouse took him by the paw and disappeared with him down a tiny hole under the bed which had been hidden by the carpet. The way was dark and sticky, but they scampered along. Sometimes Perez the mouse stopped at some crossway and looked about before going on, which rather frightened the king and made him feel little shivers right down to the tip of his tail. And he knew that he was afraid, but he remembered that fear is natural to the prudent. To conquer it is to be courageous. So he would not let himself be frightened, which is being really brave. Once when he heard a tremendous noise, like dozens of motor omnibuses passing over his head, he whispered to ask Peter if that was where Don Pedro lived. But Mr. Mouse said no with his tail and on they went. After going down a gentle slope they came to a big cellar, which felt nice and warm and smelt very much of cheese. Behind a pile of gruyard cheese they found themselves face to face with the Huntley and Palmer biscuit tin, which was the home of the Perez family. Here they lived as happily as the rat of the fable did in the Dutch cheese. Perez the mouse introduced the king as a foreign tourist who was on a visit to the capital and the family welcomed him very cordially. The two Miss Mouses were at work with their governess, Miss Stilton, who was a very learned English mouse, and Mrs. Mouse was embroidering a beautiful smoking cap for her husband sitting by a bright fire made of raisin stalks. This happy family party delighted King Booby, Adelaide and Elvira made tea and poured out some into lovely wee cups made out of the skins of white beans. Then they had a little music. Adelaide sang Desdemona's song, O Willow Willow, in a way which much pleased the king, and Elvira recited about a little mouse who was ill of fever and a naughty kitten who wanted to pounce on it. After this Adolphus came in from the jockey club, where, to the sorrow of his father and mother, he wasted all his time playing cards with the mice from the foreign embassies. King Booby would willingly have stayed longer, but Perez, who had slipped away King Bap with his satchel on his back, and said it was time to start. So the king said goodbye very politely, and Mrs. Mouse gave him a kiss on each cheek in her homely way. Adelaide put out a paw in a laxadaisical fashion, and Elvira shook hands like a plump handle. While Miss Stilton made him a beautiful cheese of a curtsy, and then stared at him through her eyeglass until he was out of sight. Adolphus, too, was very gushing, and conducted him as far as the lid of the tin and offered to introduce him at the polo club, for which the king thanked him very much, thinking all the time that, though he might be a very smart young mouse, he was rather a bore. Then Booby and Perez the mouse again began their scamper, with such a quantity of precautions that the king was astonished. In front of them went a regiment of ferocious mice, soldiers whose bayonets made a fine needles gleamed in the darkness. Behind them came a second regiment, also armed to the teeth. Perez the mouse then confessed that he would not have undertaken this expedition without the soldier to protect the person of the young monarch. All of a sudden King Booby saw the guard in front, and disappeared on a little hole, through which came a faint light. This was the moment of danger. Perez the mouse slowly waggling his tail from side to side, put his head very cautiously through the hole, and looked around it. He then went back two steps, and finally, suddenly, seizing the king's paw, dashed through the hole like an arrow, crossed a big kitchen, and disappeared through another hole on the opposite side near the range. As one sees telegraph posts out of the train, so Booby saw that kitchen. By the hearth and the glow of the fire lay an enormous cat, the dreadful Don Pedro. Its great whiskers heaving up and down as it breathed. The guards silently formed up, from hole to hole ready to fire, to protect the king's route from the sleeping cat. It was all very grand and imposing. An ugly old woman sat in a chair, also asleep, with her knitting on her knee. Once through the hole the danger was over, and they had only to get upstairs, as this was where little Giles lived. Everything was open in his poor room, which was all cracks and droughts. King Booby scrambled on to the arm of Vesetel's chair, the only one in the room, and from there could see a picture of poverty, such as he had never dreamt of. The sloping roof joined the floor, so that one side a man could not have stood up right, and through the holes the cold air of dawn was coming, while icicles hung from the roof. The only furniture besides the chair was an empty bread basket hanging up, and in a corner of bed, of straw and rags, on which little Giles and his mother were laying fast asleep. Perez the mouse drew nearer, taking the king by the paw, and they could see how little Giles was huddled up in the rags, and how he was cuddled up against his mother for warmth, and it made the king so unhappy that he began to cry. Why had he never known that people were so poor? How was it that he had never been told that children were hungry and had to sleep on horrid beds? He did not want any blankets on his cot till every child in his kingdom had plenty of bed clothes to keep them warm. Perez the mouse brushed away tear with his paw, and then tried to comfort the king by showing him the bright gold coin he was going to put under little Giles' pillow in exchange for his first tooth. Just then Giles' mother woke and sat up in bed and looked at her little boy, who was still asleep. It was becoming light, and she had to earn some money by washing clothes in the river. She caught the sleeping Giles in her arms and made him kneel down under a picture of the infant Christ, which was pinned to the wall near the bed. The kinging Perez the mouse knelt down to, and so did the soldier mice who were waiting in the empty bread basket. The child began to pray. Our father, which art in heaven? Bubbie started and looked at Perez the mouse, who understood his astonishment, and fixed his piercing eyes on him, but never said a single word. On the return journey they were silent and preoccupied, and half an hour later the king was home in his nursery with Perez the mouse, who again put the tip of his tail into Bubbie's nose and made him sneeze. All at once he found himself safely back again in his own warm little cot, with the queen's arms around him, who woke him, as she always did, with a kiss. At first he thought it had been all a dream, but when he looked for the letter he had put under his pillow he found it was gone, and in its place was a case with the Order 33 of the Golden Fleece in Diamonds, a magnificent present from the generous Perez the mouse in exchange for his first tooth. Perhaps I'd better explain to English children that in King Bubbie's country the Order of the Golden Fleece is like our Order of the Garter, the greatest honor the king can give. The little king, however, paid no attention to his beautiful present, and let it lie unnoticed on the bed. While leaning on his elbow he lay very busy thinking. Then, suddenly, he asked the queen, in a very solemn voice, Mama, why do poor children say the same prayer as I do? Our father, which art in heaven, the queen answered, because he is as much their father as he is yours. Then said the king thoughtfully, We must be brothers. Yes, my darling, they are your brothers, answered the queen. Bubbie's eyes were filled with astonishment, and in a chokey voice he said, Then why am I a king and have everything I want, while they are poor and have nothing? The queen gave him a squeeze, and kissing him again on his forehead said, Because you are the eldest brother, which is what being king really means. You understand, darling? God has given you everything in order that your younger brother should want for nothing. I never knew this before, said Bubbie, shaking his head, and without thinking any more about his present, he began to say his prayers, as he did every morning, and as he prayed, it seemed to him that all the poor little boys in the kingdom came round him with their hands clasped, and that he, the eldest brother, spoke for them all when he prayed, Our father, which art in heaven. King Bubbie grew up to be a great ruler. He always asked God's help in all he did, and returned thanks for his happiness, ever saying, speaking for all his subjects, poor and rich, good and bad, our father, which art in heaven. And when he died, a very old man, and his good soul arrived at the gates of heaven, he knelt down and prayed as usual, our father, and as he prayed, the gates were opened wide by thousands of poor little children to whom he had been king, that is to say eldest brother here on earth. P.S. The Spanish story, which was written, once upon a time, to amuse a real little boy king, ends here, but I cannot help adding that it does not seem a pity not to try and get Perez the mouse to come to England. The only way to manage this will be to take great pains over your copies and spelling, so that when your first tooth comes out, you will be able to write a nice, tidy, polite letter to him. If you put it under your pillow at night, I am nearly sure you will find it gone and present in its place in the morning. Perhaps you may even feel the same little soft tickle on your forehead that King Bubbie did, but I do not promise for certain that you will see kind, Mr. Mouse, because he's rather shy. A-M-M. End of Perez the Mouse by Louis Coloma, translated by Lady Morton. Simple Simon by an Unknown Author. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, visit LibriVox.org. Simple Simon A-B-C-D-E-F-G-H-I-J-K-L-M-N-O-P-Q-R S-T-U-V-W-X-Y-Z Simple Simon Met a Pyman Going to the Fair. Said Simple Simon to the Pyman, Let me taste your wear. Said the Pyman to Simple Simon, Show me first your penny. Said Simple Simon to the Pyman, Indeed, I have not any. Simple Simon went a-fishing for to catch a whale. All the water he had got was in his mother's pail. Once Simon made a great snowball and brought it in to roast. He laid it down before the fire, and soon the ball was lost. Simple Simon went to look if plums grew on a thistle. He pricked his fingers very much, which made poor Simon whistle. He washed himself with blacking ball because he had no soap. Then said unto his mother, I'm a beauty now, I hope. He went to slide upon the ice before the ice would bear. Then in he plunged above his knees, which made poor Simon stare. He went to take a bird's nest that was built upon a bow. A branch gave way, and Simon fell into a dirty slew. He went to ride a spotted cow that had a little calf. She threw him down upon the ground, which made the people laugh. He went to catch a dicky bird and thought he could not fail, because he'd got a little salt to put upon its tail. Simple Simon went to hunting for to catch a hare. He wrote an ass about the streets, but couldn't find one there. Simon he to market went to buy a joint of meat. He tied it to his horse's tail to keep it clean and sweet. He went to shoot a wild duck, but wild duck flew away. Said Simon, I can't hit him, because he will not stay. He went to eat some honey out of a mustard pot. He bit his tongue until he cried. That was all the good he got. He went for water in a sieve, but soon it all ran through. And now, poor Simple Simon, bids you all adieu. B. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, zero. End of Simple Simon, read by Dennis Sayers in Modesto, California for LibriVox. Reading by Bologna Times. Down at my feet on the red tiles in front of a roaring great fire set a great black cat and a soft white angora pussy. They are named Ebony and Snowball, and are as different in nature as they are in color, but are devoted friends for all that. Possibly because of it. For where Snowball is timid, Ebony will bravely lead the way. While if Ebony is cross, Snowball will purr and coax and cuddle until he gradually grows peaceful and pleasant again. From the time he was a tiny kitten, Ebony had known no home, and such food as he had was picked up when and wherever he chanced to find it. He had won many and lost few of his many cat battles, but he did not like to fight, and never did it unless obliged to. Snowball had never struck or received a blow in all of her carefully guarded life. She was a finely bred angora that had taken many prizes at the cat shows, while her meals, far from being irregularly picked up, had always been brought to her on a silver tray as regularly as the sun rose, and considerably oftener. One bright cold November afternoon, Snowball was wandering restlessly around, looking for something, anything, some excitement. As she passed the Dresden saucer, filled with rich cream, she sniffed, and when she caught sight of her silk cushion basket, she fairly switched her tail. Even the favorite spot on the warm hearth failed to allure. Outside the wind blew the few remaining leaves from the trees, and tempting swirls to the pavement, but she could not play with them. She was shut indoors for fear she might be stolen or stray. Stray! She would have run away as soon as she found the chance. As she wandered into the broad hall, someone opened the front door to pass through it, and Miss Pussy saw and seized her chance. Like a flash she darted down the steps and up the street, never stopping until she was well out of sight of the house. Then she paused and looked curiously around. Close under the railing of a shabby area, not many blocks from Snowball's home, she spied three rough-coated gaunt cats greedily drinking from a dish of sooty skim milk. The saucer was thick and cracked, and, worse yet, had not been washed since it contained boiled onions, but to the pampered runaway it seemed far more desirable than the cream she had left untasted in her own Dresden china plate. As she edged slowly toward them the three waves paid no attention to her, beyond giving a warning growl or two, which Snowball, not understanding, that she could be unwelcome, mistook for their usual way of speaking. With a friendly pfff of greeting she drew near and lapped daintedly at the strongly flavored milk. Was it hunger or the feeling of liberty and comradeship that made it taste so good and made her for one short instant perfectly happy? Then a stinging blow on one ear followed immediately by a sharp slap on the side of her head from the big grey cat, sent her reeling dizzily away from the dish. She recovered herself and turned in abject terror, her one thought to escape from this uncalled-for abuse, but directly in her path stood the black-and-white cat with a lashing tail and flaming eyes. Another turn, and she was again confronted by the grey, crouching angrily, ready for another attack. Snowball's heart seemed to stand still, and she shut her eyes and waited for the end, when with one bound the black cat stood between her and her enemies. He began to battle instantly, and so vigorously, that it was impossible to stand before the whirlwind of flying claws and snapping teeth that he seemed to have become. Soon his opponents retired with inglorious haste, and he was victor. Snowball was saved. In the silence that followed, Snowball cautiously opened an eye and peeped around. Peace! and her deliverer again lapping at the puddle of blue milk that was spreading from the overturned saucer across the broken flagstones. He saw the timid glance and moved a little to one side with a gesture of friendly invitation. Gratefully, she crept to his side, the black-and-white noses bobbed, busily up and down together, as the pink tongues darted in and out, and the milk rapidly disappeared. That afternoon Snowball brought Ebony home with her, and seemed so fond of him that I could do no less than ask him to stay, and for the first time they sat in their now usual resting place, down at my feet on the warm red tiles. How do I know about the rescue? Ah, that's quite a story, too. Not today, dear. End of Snowball and Ebony by Mabel Humphrey. Or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org, recording by Patty Cunningham. The Three Billy Goats Gruff, a Norwegian fairy tale. Once upon a time there were three Billy Goats who were to go up to the hillside to make themselves fat, and the name of all three was Gruff. On the way up was a bridge over a burn they had to cross, and under the bridge lived a great ugly troll, with eyes as big as saucers, and a nose as long as a poker. So first of all came the youngest Billy Goat Gruff to cross the bridge. Trip, trap, trip, trap went the bridge. Who's that tripping over my bridge? roared the troll. Oh, it is only I, the tiniest Billy Goat Gruff, and I'm going up to the hillside to make myself fat, said the Billy Goat, with such a small voice. Now I'm coming to gobble you up, said the troll. Oh, no! Pray don't take me. I'm too little that I am, said the Billy Goat. Wait a bit till the second Billy Goat Gruff comes. He's much bigger. Well, be off with you, said the troll. A little while after came the second Billy Goat Gruff to cross the bridge. Trip, trap, trip, trap, trip, trap went the bridge. Who's that tripping over my bridge? roared the troll. Oh, it's the second Billy Goat Gruff, and I'm going up to the hillside to make myself fat, said the Billy Goat, who hadn't such a small voice. Now I'm coming to gobble you up, said the troll. Oh, no! Don't take me. Wait a little till the big Billy Goat Gruff comes. He's much bigger. Very well. Be off with you, said the troll. But just then up came the big Billy Goat Gruff. Trip, trap, trip, trap, trip, trap went the bridge, where the Billy Goat was so heavy that the bridge creaked and ground under him. Who's that tripping over my bridge? roared the troll. It is I, the big Billy Goat Gruff, said the Billy Goat, who had an ugly horse voice of his own. No, I'm coming to gobble you up, roared the troll. Well, come along. I've got two spears, and I'll poke your eyeballs out at your ears. I've got besides two curling stones, and I'll crush you to bits, body and bones. That was what the big Billy Goat said, and so he flew at the troll and poked his eyes out with his horns, and crushed him to bits, body and bones, and tossed him out into the burn, and after that he went up to the hillside. There the Billy Goats got so fat they were scarce able to walk home again. And if the fat hasn't fallen off them, why, they're still fat. And so, snip, snap, snout, this tale's told out. End of the Three Billy Goats Gruff. Recording by Patty Cunningham The White Hair and the Crocodiles by Ye Theodora Ozaki This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Bologna Times The White Hair and the Crocodiles by Ye Theodora Ozaki Long, long ago, when all the animals could talk, they lived in the province of Inaba in Japan, a little white hare. His home was on the island of Oki, and just across the sea was the mainland of Inaba. Now the hare wanted very much to cross over to Inaba. Day after day he would go out and sit on the shore and look longingly over the water in the direction of Inaba, and day after day he hoped to find some way of getting across. One day, as usual, the hare was standing on the beach, looking towards the mainland across the water, when he saw a great crocodile swimming near the island. This is very lucky, thought the hare. Now I shall be able to get my wish. I will ask the crocodile to carry me across the sea. But he was doubtful whether the crocodile would consent to do what wanted. So he thought instead of asking a favour, he would try to get what he wanted by a trick. So with a loud voice he called to the crocodile and said, Oh, Mr. Crocodile, isn't it a lovely day? The crocodile, who had come out all by itself that day to enjoy the bright sunshine, was just beginning to feel a bit lonely when the hare's cheerful greeting broke the silence. The crocodile swam nearer the shore, very pleased to hear someone speak. I wonder who it was that spoke to me just now. Was it you, Mr. Hare? You must be very lonely all by yourself. Oh, no, I am not at all lonely, said the hare. But as it was such a fine day, I came out here to enjoy myself. Won't you stop and play with me a little while? The crocodile came out of the sea and sat on the shore, and the two played together for some time. Then the hare said, Mr. Crocodile, you live in the sea, and I live on this island, and we do not often meet. So I know very little about you. Tell me, do you think the number of your company is greater than mine? Of course, there are more crocodiles than hares, answered the crocodile. Can you not see that for yourself? You live on this small island, while I live in the sea, which spreads through all parts of the world. So if I call together all the crocodiles who dwell in the sea, you hares will be as nothing compared to us. The crocodile was very conceited. The hare, who meant to play a trick on the crocodile, said, Do you think it possible for you to call up enough crocodiles to form a line from this island across the sea to Inaba? The crocodile thought for a moment, and then answered, Of course it is possible. Then do try, said the artful hare, and I will count the number from here. The crocodile, who was very simple-minded, and who had the least idea that the hare intended to play a trick on him, agreed to do what the hare asked, and said, Wait a little while I go back into the sea and call my company together. The crocodile plunged into the sea, and was gone for some time. The hare, meanwhile, waited patiently on the shore. At last the crocodile appeared, bringing with him a large number of other crocodiles. Look, Mr. Hares, said the crocodile. It is nothing for my friends to form a line between here and Inaba. There are enough crocodiles to stretch from here, even as far as China or India. Did you ever see so many crocodiles? Then the whole company of crocodiles arranged themselves in the water, so as to form a bridge between the island of Oki and the mainland of Inaba. When the hare saw the bridge of crocodiles, he said, How splendid! I did not believe this was possible. Now let me count you all. To do this, however, with your permission, I must walk over on your backs to the other side, so please be so good as not to move, or else I shall fall into the sea and be drowned. So the hare hopped off the island onto the strange bridge of crocodiles, counting as he jumped from one crocodile's back to the other. Please keep quite still, or I shall not be able to count. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine. Thus the cunning hare walked right across to the mainland of Inaba. Not content with getting his wish, he began to jeer at the crocodiles instead of thanking them, and said, as he leapt off the last one's back, Oh, you stupid crocodiles, now I have done with you! And he was just about to run away as fast as he could. But he did not escape so easily, for so soon as the crocodiles understood that this was a trick played upon them by the hare, so as to enable him to cross the sea, and that the hare was now laughing at them for their stupidity. They became furiously angry, and made up their minds to take revenge. So some of them ran after the hare, and caught him. Then they all surrounded the poor little animal, and pulled out all his fur. He cried out loudly, and entreated them to spare him. But with each tuft of fur they pulled out, they said, Serve you right! When the crocodiles had pulled out the last bit of fur, they threw the poor hare on the beach, and all swam away laughing at what they had done. The hare was now in a pitiful plight. All his beautiful white fur had been pulled out, and his bare little body was quivering with pain, and bleeding all over. He could hardly move, and all he could do was to lie on the beach, quite helpless, and weep over the misfortune that had befallen him. Notwithstanding that it was his own fault that had brought all this misery and suffering upon the white hare of Inaba, any one seeing the poor little creature could not help feeling sorry for him in his sad condition, for the crocodiles had been very cruel in their revenge. Just at this time a number of men who looked like kings' sons happened to pass by, and seeing the hare lying on the beach crying stopped and asked what was the matter. The hare lifted up his head from between his paws and answered them, saying, I had a fight with some crocodiles, but I was beaten, and they pulled out all of my fur and left me to suffer here. That is why I am crying. Now one of these young men had a bad and spiteful disposition, but he feigned kindness and said to the hare, I feel very sorry for you. If you will only try it, I know of a remedy which will cure your sore body. Go and bathe yourself in the sea, and then come and sit in the wind. This will make your fur grow again, and you will be just as you were before. Then all the young men passed on. The hare was very pleased, thinking that he had found a cure. He went and bathed in the sea, and then came out, and sat where the wind can blow upon him. But as the wind blew and dried him, his skin became drawn and hardened, and the salt increased the pain so much that he rolled on the sand in his agony and cried aloud. Just then another king's son passed by, carrying a great bag on his back. He saw the hare and stopped and asked why he was crying so loudly. But the poor hare, remembering that he had been deceived by one very like the man who now spoke to him, did not answer, but continued to cry. But this man had a kind heart, and looked at the hare very pittingly, and said, You poor thing, I see that your fur is all pulled out, and that your skin is quite bare. Who can have treated you so cruelly? When the hare heard these kind words, he felt very grateful to the man, and encouraged by his gentle manner the hare told him all that had befallen him. The little animal had nothing from his friend, but told him frankly how he had played a trick on the crocodiles and how he had come across the bridge they had made, thinking that he wished to count their number, how he had geared at them for their stupidity, and then how the crocodiles had revenged themselves on him. Then he went on to say how he had been deceived by a party of men, who looked very like his kind friend. And the hare ended his long tale of woe by begging the man to give him some medicine that would cure him and make his fur grow again. When the hare had finished his story, the man was full of pity towards him, and said, I am very sorry for all you have suffered, but remember it was only the consequence of the deceit you practiced on the crocodiles. I know, answered the sorrowful hare, but I have repented and made up my mind never to use deceit again, so I beg you to show me how I may cure my sore body and make the fur grow again. Then I will tell you of a good remedy, said the man. First go and bathe well in that pond over there, and try to wash all the salt from your body. Then pick some of those cobbah flowers that are growing near the edge of the water. Spread them on the ground, and roll yourself on them. If you do this, the pollen will cause your fur to grow again, and you will be quite well in a little while. The hare was very glad to be the hare was very glad to be told what to do, so kindly. He crawled to the pond, pointed out to him, bathed well in it, then picked the cobbah flowers growing near the water, and rolled himself on them. To his amazement, even while he was doing this, he saw his nice white fur growing again, the pain ceased, and he felt just as he had done before all his misfortunes. The hare was overjoyed at his quick recovery, and went hopping joyfully towards the young man who had so helped him, and kneeling down at his feet, said, I cannot express my thanks for all you have done for me. It is my earnest wish to do something for you in return. Please tell me who you are. I am no king's son, as you think me. I am a fairy, and my name is Okoni Noshino Mikoto. And those beings who passed here before me are my brothers. They have heard of a beautiful princess called Yakami, who lives in this province of Inaba, and they are on their way to find her and to ask her to marry one of them. But on this expedition I am only an attendant, so I am walking behind them with this great big bag on my back. The hare humbled himself before this great fairy, Okoni Noshino Mikoto, whom many in that part of the land worshipped as a god. Oh, I did not know that you were Okoni Noshino Mikoto. How kind you have been to me. It is impossible to believe that that unkind fellow who sent me to bathe in the sea is one of your brothers. I am quite sure that the princess, whom your brothers have gone to seek, will refuse to be the bride of any of them, and will prefer you for your goodness of heart. I am quite sure that she will win her heart without intending to do so, and she will ask to be your bride. Okoni Noshino Mikoto took no notice of what the hare said, but bidding the little animal goodbye went on his way quickly, and soon overtook his brothers. He found them just entering the princess's gate. Just as the hare had said, the princess could not be persuaded to become the bride of any of the brothers, but when she looked at the kind brother's face she went straight up to him and said, to you I give myself, and so they were married. This is the end of the story. Okoni Noshino Mikoto is worshipped by the people in some parts of Japan as a god, and the hare has become famous as the white hare of Inaba, but what became of the crocodiles nobody knows. End of The White Hare and the Crocodiles