 The Water Babe by Gertrude Landa from Jewish Fairytales and Legends. Floating in a basket on the River Nile, Princess Bathia, the daughter of Pharaoh, King of Egypt, found a tiny little water babe. Princess Bathia was a widow and had no children, and she was so delighted that she took the child home to the palace and brought it up as her own. She called the babe Moses. He was a pretty little boy, full of fun and frolic as he grew up, and he became a favorite with everybody in the palace. And the cruel King Pharaoh, who had ordered that all the Hebrew boy babes should be drowned, loved to play with them. His ministers of state and magicians, however, frowned when they saw Moses as soon as he could tattle and talk, making a playmate of the king. They warned Pharaoh that it was dangerous to give a strange child such privileges, but Princess Bathia only laughed at them. So did her mother, the queen, and King Pharaoh, took no notice. When Moses was three years old, Princess Bathia gave a birthday party in his honor. It was really a big banquet, and it was attended by the king and queen and all the courtiers. Moses was seated at the head of the table, and his eyes opened very wide with wonderment at everything he saw. It seemed such a ridiculous lot of solemn fuss to him. He would rather have played on the floor or climbed on to the table, but of course they would not allow him. What does all this mean, he asked of the king, who was seated next to him? Tell me! And he playfully pulled King Pharaoh's beard. The courtiers looked on horrified, and Bilam, the chief magician, cried out, Beware, O king! This is not play. He'd not these words, my father, said the princess, Bilam is ever warning thee. If thou wert to take notice of all that he says, thou wouldst not have a moment's peace. Take our little babe on thy knee, and play with him. To please the princess, King Pharaoh did so, and Moses amused himself by playing with the glittering jewels on his majesty's robes. Then he looked up and stared hard at the king's head. What is that, he asked, pointing? That is the royal crown, answered Pharaoh. No, it is not, it is only a funny hat, replied Moses. Beware, chimed in Bilam solemnly. Let me put the hat on, said Moses, reaching up his little hands, and before they could stop him, he had taken the crown from the king's head, and had put it on his own. This bathya and the queen laughed merrily, but Bilam looked very brave. Your majesty, he said, in a voice trembling with passion. This is not the foolish play of a babe. This child, remember, is not as other children. Came he not from the river? There is meaning in his action. Already does he seek to rob thee of thy royal crown, to his apportant of evil. Pharaoh thoughtfully stroked his beard. What sayeth Rul, he said, turning to his second chief magician? I say the child is but a babe, and that his action means nothing, answered Rul. The queen and the princess agreed with Rul, who was their favorite, but Bilam would not allow the matter to pass lightly. I, Bilam, am chief of thy counselors, he said, and deeply learned in the mysteries of signs and portents. There is a meaning in all things. Remember, O king, this child is of the Hebrews, and escaped thy decree. This play of his hath a meaning. Should he be permitted to grow up, he will rebel against thee, and seek to destroy thy rule. Let him judge, O king. Thy words are wise, said Pharaoh, who was himself annoyed with Moses, and he ordered three judges to try the trial for his offense. Moses thought it was a new game, and he clapped his hands gleefully when they took him to the court of justice, and stood him in front of the judges. He heard Rul plead on his behalf, but he did not understand it. I say he is but a babe, and does things without meaning, Rul explained. Let him to the test, and see if he knows the difference between fire and gold. Place before him a dish of fire, and a dish of jewels and gold. If he grasps the jewels, it will prove that he is no ordinary child. If he places his hand to the fire, then shall we be assured he is merely a foolish babe. So be it, said Bilam, and if he grasps the jewels, let his punishment be instant death. Pharaoh and the judges agreed, and two dishes, one containing burning coals and the other gold and precious stones, were brought in and placed before Moses. Everybody looked on keenly as Moses stared at the dishes. Princess Bathia made signs to him, but Bilam ordered her to cease, and it was Rul who comforted her, and dried her tears. Take my magic staff, he said, handing to her a stick that seemed to be made of one large precious stone. This was given to Adam when he left the Garden of Eden, and has it been handed down to me through Enoch and Noah, through Abraham and Jacob, unto Joseph, who left it in my keeping. Take the staff, and Moses will obey whatsoever be thy wish. The princess took the staff and pressed it to her lips. I wish, she said, that my little water babe shall seize the burning coals. Moses thrust his fingers into the fire, and pulled out a glowing coal. With a cry he put his fingers in his mouth to ease the pain, and burned his tongue with the coal. Ever afterward he lisped. The princess snatched Moses, and pressed him tightly to her bosom. Give me the magic stick, she said to Rul, so that I may guard and protect the child. Canst thou read this word, asked Rul, pointing to a word engraved on the staff? No, said the princess. Then it cannot be done, answered Rul. Whoever reads this name can understand all things, even the thoughts of animals and birds. Fear not for Moses, in years to come this staff shall be his. So it came to pass. Years afterward, when Moses was a man and fled from Egypt, he married a daughter of Rul, who became a Hebrew and took the name of Jethro. Rul planted the staff in his garden, and Moses saw it. He read the magic word, and touching the staff it came out of the ground into his hands. With this staff Moses performed the wonderful things in Egypt when he delivered the children of Israel from bondage, as is related in the Bible. End of The Water Babe by Gertrude Landa. The Hare and the Tortoise by Aesop from Aesop's Fable's Advantage Version. For the Cocoa Break Collection. 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 hare was once boasting of his speed before the other animals. I have never yet been beaten, said he. When I put forth my full speed, I challenge anyone here to race with me. The tortoise said quietly, I accept your challenge. That is a good joke, said the hare. I could dance round you all the way. If you're boasting till you've beaten, answered the tortoise, shall we race? So a course was fixed, and a start was made. The hare darted almost out of sight at once, but soon stopped, and, to show his contempt, the tortoise lay down to have a nap. The tortoise plotted on and plotted on, and when the hare awoke from his nap, he saw the tortoise just near the winning post, and could not run up in time to save the race. Then said the tortoise, plotting wins the race. End of The Hare and the Tortoise by Aesop. The man, the boy, and the donkey by Aesop. From Aesop's Fables Advantage Version. For the Cocoa Break Collection. 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. A man and his son were once going with their donkey to market. As they were walking along by its side, a countryman passed them and said, You fools, what is a donkey for, but to ride upon? So the man put the boy on the donkey, and they went on their way, but soon they passed a group of men. One of whom said, Say that lazy youngster, he lets his father walk while he rides. So the man ordered his boy to get off, and got on himself. But they hadn't gone far when they passed two women, one of whom said to the other, Shame on that lazy and loud, to let his poor little son treasure long. Well, the man didn't know what to do, but at last he took his boy up before him on the donkey. By this time they had come to the town, and the passers-by began to jeer and pointed them. The man stopped and asked what they were scoffing at. The men said, Aren't you ashamed of yourself for overloading that poor donkey of yours and your hulking son? The man and the boy got off, and tried to think what to do. They thought, and they thought, to let last they cut down a pole, tied the donkey's feet to it, and raised the pole and the donkey to their shoulders. They went along, amid the laughter, of all who met them, till they came to market bridge, when the donkey, getting one of his feet loose, kicked out and caused the boy to drop his end of the pole. In the struggle the donkey fell over the bridge, and his forefeet, being tied together, he was drowned. That will teach you, said an old man who had followed them. Please all, and you will please none, end of the man, the boy, and the donkey. By ASOP. The Town Mouse and the Country Mouse. By ASOP. From ASOP's Fables Advantage Version. For the Cocoa Break Collection. 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. Now you must know that a Town Mouse, once upon a time, went on a visit to his cousin in the country. He was rough and ready, this cousin, but he loved his town friend, and made him heartily welcome. Beans and bacon, cheese and bread, were all he had to offer, but he offered them freely. The Town Mouse rather turned up his long nose at this country fair, and said, I cannot understand, cousin, how you can put up with such poor food as this. But of course you cannot expect anything better in the country. Come you with me, and I will show you how to live. When you have been in town a week, you will wonder how you could ever have stood a country life. No sooner said than done, the Tomb-Mice set off for the town, and arrived at the town mouse's residence late at night. You will want some refreshment after our long journey, said the polite town mouse, and took his friend into the grand dining-room. There they found the remains of a fine feast, and soon the Tomb-Mice were eating up jellies and cakes, and all that was nice. Finally they heard growling and barking. What is that? said the Country Mouse. It is only the dogs of the house, answered the other. Only, said the Country Mouse, I do not like that music at my dinner. Just at that moment the door flew open, in came two huge mastiffs, and the Tomb-Mice had to scamper down and run off. Goodbye, cousin, said the Country Mouse. What, going so soon, said the other. Yes, it replied. Better beans and bacon in peace than cakes and ale in fear. End of The Town Mouse and the Country Mouse by Aesop. The Cat and the Sparrows by William Crook and W.H.D. Brouse. For the Cocoa Break Collection. 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. There once was a pair of sparrows that lived in a tree. They used to hop about all over the place, picking up seeds or anything they could find to eat. One day, when they came back with their pickings, the cook had found some rice and a hen, a few lentils. They put it all in an earthen pot and then proceeded to cook their dinner. Then they divided the mess into two equal parts. The cock was rather greedy, so he would not wait, while his wife put out the fire and got ready to join in the meal. No, he gobbled up his share at once, before she could begin. Then at last the poor hen came up. Her greedy mate would not let her rest even then. Go and get me a drink of water, said he quite brutally. She was a very kind wife, so, without taking any notice of his rudeness, off she went for the water. While she was gone, the cock's sparrows' eyes fell on his wife's share of the dinner. Ah, thought he. How I should like another bit. Well, why shouldn't I have it? A man does all the work, and women don't want much to eat at any time. So without any more ado, he just set to and gobbled up his wife's share. Back came the hen's barrel with a drink of water for her husband, when he had drunk it up. And I'm afraid he forgot to say thank you. She turned round to look for her dinner. Lo and behold, there was none. What could have become of it? As she was wondering, she happened to look at her husband. He looked so guilty that there could be no matter of doubt where her dinner was. You greedy bird, said she, why have you eaten my dinner? I haven't touched your dinner, so the cock angrily. I'm sure you have, said she, or you would not look so guilty. Why, you are actually blushing. And so indeed he was. The tip of his beak was quite red. However, he still denied it, and grew angrier and angrier, as people do when they know they are in the wrong. They had a terrible quarrel. At last the hen's barrel said, well, I know a way to find out whether you are telling lies or not. You come along with me. And she made him go with her to the well. Across the top of the well, she stretched a piece of string, and she sat on the middle of the string, and began to chirp. If I am telling lies, I pray I may fall in. But though she sat there a long time, chirping away, she did not fall in. Then came the cock's barrel's turn. He perched on the string, and began to chirp. If I am telling lies, may I fall into the well? But hardly had he got the words out of his mouth when, splash, down he went. Then the hen was very sorry that she had proposed this plan. She began to weep, and chirp, and said, alas, alas, why didn't I leave it alone? What does it matter if he eats my dinner, so long as I have my dear husband? Now I have killed him by my folly. Just at that moment up came a cat. What's the matter, said the cat? Cheep, cheep, cheep, went the hen's barrel. My husband has fallen into the well, and I don't know how to get him out. If I get him out, said the cat, will you let me eat him? Of course you may, said the hen's barrel. So the cat climbed down and pulled out the cock's barrel. When she had brought him to the edge of the well, said she, now I'm going to eat him as you promised. Oh, all right, said the hen, but stop a minute. Your mouth is dirty. I am sure you have been eating mice, now haven't you? Why, yes, said the cat, so I have. Well, said the hen's barrel, you must get yourself clean. We birds are clean creatures, and you must positively wash your mouth before you begin. Away went the cat, and washed her mouth clean, and came back again. The hen's barrel looked at her carefully. You have not washed your whiskers, said she. They are still dirty. The cat went obediently and washed the whiskers. Meanwhile, the cock's barrel had been sitting on the edge of the well in the sun, and by this time his feathers were quite dry, so his hen chirped to him. Now dear, you can fly, let's be off. And off they flew together, and a cat was left licking her chops, and wishing she had not been such a fool. End of The Cat and the Sparrows by William Crook and W. H. D. Rouse From The Talking Thrush and Other Tales of India A Fish Story An Australian Folk Tale From The Lilac Fairy Book Compiled by Andrew Lang For The Cocoa Break Collection 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. Perhaps you think that fishes were always fishes, and never lived anywhere except in the water. But if you went to Australia, and talked to the black people in the sandy desert in the center of the country, you would learn something quite different. They would tell you that long, long ago you would have met fishes on the land, wandering from place to place, and hunting all sorts of animals. And if you consider how fishes are made, you will understand how difficult this must have been, and how clever they were to do it. Indeed, so clever were they that they might have been hunting still if a terrible thing had not happened. One day the whole Fish Tribe came back very tired from a hunting expedition, and looked about for a nice cool spot in which to pitch their camp. It was very hot, and they thought that they could not find a more comfortable place than under the branches of a large tree which grew by the bank of a river. So they made their fire to cook some food, right on the edge of a steep bank which had a deep pool of water lying beneath it at the bottom. While the food was cooking, they all stretched themselves lazily out under the tree, and were just dropping off to sleep when a big black cloud which they had never noticed spread over the sun, and heavy drops of rain began to fall, so that the fire was almost put out, and that, you know, is a very serious thing in savage countries where they have no matches, for it is very hard to light it again. To make matters worse an icy wind began to blow, and the poor fishes were chilled right through their bodies. This, we'll never do, said Thug Eye, the oldest of the Fish Tribe. We shall die of cold unless we can light the fire again, and he bade his son's rubbed two sticks together in the hope of kindling a flame. But though they rubbed till they were tired, not a spark could they produce. Let me try, cried Bir Nuga, the bony fish, but he had no better luck, and no more had cumball, the bream nor any of the rest. It is no use, exclaimed Thug Eye, at last. The wood is too wet. We must just sit and wait till the sun comes out again and rise it. Then a very little fish, indeed, not more than four inches long, and the youngest of the tribe, bowed himself before Thug Eye, saying, Ask my father, Gidu, the cod, to light the fire. He is skilled in magic, more than most fishes. So Thug Eye asked him, and Gidu stripped some pieces of bark off a tree, and placed them on top of the smoldering ashes. Then he knelt by the side of the fire, and blew at it for a long time, till slowly the feeble red glow became a little stronger, and the edges of the bark showed signs of curling up. When the rest of the tribe saw this, they pressed close, keeping their backs towards the piercing wind. But Gidu told them they must go to the other side, as he wanted the wind to fan his fire. By and by the spark grew into a flame, and a merry crackling was heard. Marwood cried Gidu, and they all ran and gathered wood, and heaped it on the flames, which leapt and roared and sputtered. We shall soon be warm now, said the people, one to another. Truly Gidu is great, and they crowded round again, closer and closer. Suddenly, with a shriek, a blast of wind swept down from the hills, and blew the fire out towards them. They sprang back hurriedly, quite forgetting where they stood, and all fell down the bank, each tumbling over the other, till they rolled into the pool that lay below. Oh, how cold it was in that dark water, on which the sun never shone! Then, in an instant, they felt warm again, for the fire, driven by the strong wind, had followed them right down to the bottom of the pool, where it burned as brightly as ever. And the fishes gathered round it, as they had done, on the top of the cliff, and found the flames as hot as before, and that fire never went out, like those upon land, but kept burning forever. So now you know why, if you dive deep down below the cold surface of the water, on a frosty day, you will find it comfortable and pleasant enough, underneath, and be quite sorry that you cannot stay there. End of A Fish Story, an Australian Folk Tale. The Man in the Moon by Esther Bakewell, from The Book of One Cellable. For the Cocoa Break collection, 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. Once on a time there was a man who had his home in the Moon. He was a queer man, with a large round face, that was kept so clear and bright, that it shone, and on a clear night, could be seen, far, far off, on the earth. This man in the Moon did like to look on the earth, and though it was so far off, he oft thought he should like to come and live here. The earth to him did look so large and bright, that he thought it must be a fine world to live in, where he could have more room to walk up and down, and not be kept in so small a place as the Moon. It made him sad, when he could not look on this world, but for three weeks, in each month, he was made to turn his face, or to shade it from the world, so that he could not catch a straight feel of it, at those times. And then he could not be seen by those men and boys on the earth, to whom he was so great a friend. His large round face was so bright, that they, too, did not like him to leave them. But they knew he would come back in less than a month. When he first came, he was seen near to the sun, where it had just sat, and he gave a side look at the earth. The next night he would be more from the sun, and swell out his face a bit. It would then look like a hoop that had been cut in two. His face would grow more fat each night, till one eye could be seen, then two, and then his whole round face. Now this man would fret, and try to get on to the earth. Day by day, hour by hour, he would try, and try, and try to come more near. He did not move quite fast, and thought he got some miles on his way, but for all that he was still as far off. He went in a round, like a horse in a ring, and there kept, and still keeps as far off as he was, and will keep there for years to come. Now you could tell him that it is far from wise for a man with a fat round face like his to grieve, and want to come to a world that he does not know to be a more nice place than the one he lives in. You could tell him that there is much grief and pain to be born here, that few men who live here have such a round fat face as his, and that if he came he would have to work hard, and that care and work and pain might soon make him look thin, and lose his round bright face that shines so. Yes, man in the moon, stay where you are, do not long to have what you cannot get, but rest there, and do what you have to do in peace and joy. Be sure, man in the moon, you will find peace and joy if you do all the good you can in that world of yours, and that if you pine and grieve to come here, you will do no good at all, and make your life sad. Boys and girls should do the same. They should not want to reach the man in the moon, but try to make the best of what they have. They may be sure that to be good and do as they are bid, will give them more joy than the most bright things they could find in the moon. End of The Man in the Moon by Esther Bakewell. The Pigs by Hans Christian Andersen. For the Cocoa Break collection, 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. Charles Dickens once told us about a pig, and since that time we are in a good humor, if only we hear one grunt. St. Anthony took the pig under his protection, and when we think of the prodigal son, we always associate with him the idea of feeding swine, and it was in front of a pigsty that a certain carriage stopped in Sweden, about which I'm going to talk. The farmer had his pigsty built out towards the high road, close by his house, and it was a wonderful pigsty. It was an old-state carriage. The seats had been taken out, and the wheels taken off, and so the body of the old coach lay on the ground, and four pigs were shut up inside it. I wonder if these were the first that had ever been there. That point could not certainly be determined, but that it had been a real-state coach, everything for a witness, even to the dams-gragg that hung down from the roof. Everything spoke of better days. Hump, hump, said the occupants, and the coach. And the coach creaked and groaned, for it had come to a mournful end. The beautiful has departed its side, or at least it might have done so. We came back in autumn. The coach was there still, but the pigs were gone. They were playing the grand lords out in the woods. Blossoms and leaves were gone from all the trees, and storm and rain ruled, and gave them neither peace nor rest, and the birds of passage had flown. The beautiful has departed. This was the glorious green wood, but the song of the birds and the warm sunshine are gone, gone. Thus said the mournful voice that creaked in the lofty branches of the trees, and it sounded like a deep-drawn sigh, a sigh from the bosom of the wild rose tree, and of him who sat there. It was the rose king. Do you know him? He is all beard, the finest reddish green beard. He is easily recognized. Go up to the wild rose bushes, and when in autumn all the flowers have faded from them, and only the wild hips remain, you will often find under them a great red-green moss flower, and that is the rose king. A little green leaf grows up out of his head, and that's his feather. He is the only man of his kind on the rose bush, and he it was whose side. Gone, gone, the beautiful is gone. The roses have faded, and the leaves fall down. It's wet here, it's boisterous here. The birds who used to sing are dumb, and the pigs go out hunting for acorns, and the pigs are the lords of the forest. The nights were cold, and the days were misty, but for all that the raven sat on the branch and sang, Good, good! Raven and Crow sat on the high bow, and they had a large family, who all said, Good, good! And the majority is always right. Under the high trees, in the hollow, was a great puddle, and here the pigs were climbed, great and small. They found the place so inexpressibly lovely. Wee, wee! They all exclaimed, that was all the French they knew, but even that was something, and they were so clever and so fat. The old ones lay quite still, and reflected. The young ones were very busy, and were not quiet a moment. One little porker had a twist in his tail like a ring, and this ring was his mother's pride. She thought all the rest were looking at the ring, and thinking only of the ring, but that they were not doing. They were thinking of themselves, and of what was useful, and what was the use of the wood. They had always heard that the acorns they ate grew at the roots of the trees, and accordingly they had grubbed up the ground, but there came quite a little pig. It's always the young ones who come out with their newfangled notions, who declare that the acorns fell down from the branches, for one had just fallen down on his head, and the idea had struck him at once. Afterwards, he had made observations, and now was quite certain on the point. The old ones put their heads together. Oomph! they said. Oomph! The glory hats departed. The twittering of the birds is all over. We want fruit. Whatever's good to eat is good, and we eat everything. Wee! Wee! chimed in all the rest. But the mother now looked at her little porker, the one with the ring in his tail. One must not overlook the beautiful, she said. Good! Good! cried the crow, and flew down from the tree to try and get an appointment as nightingale, for someone must be appointed, and the crow obtained the office directly. Gone! Gone! sighed the rose-king, all the beautiful is gone. It was boisterous. It was gray, cold, and windy, and through the forest and over the field swept the rain in long, dark streets. Where is the bird who sang? Where are the flowers upon the meadow, and the sweet fairies of the wood? Gone! Gone! Then a light gleamed from the forester's house. It was lit up like a star, and through its long ray among the trees. A song sounded forth out of the house. Beautiful children played there round the old grandfather. He sat with a Bible on his knee, and read of the creator, and of a better world, and spoke of spring that would return, of the forest that would array itself in fresh green, of the roses that would bloom, the nightingale that would sing, and of the beautiful that would rain in its glory again. But the rose-king heard it not, for he sat in the cold, damp weather, and sighed, Gone! Gone! And the pigs were the lords of the forest, and the old mother, Sal, looked proudly at her little porker with a twist in his tail. There is always somebody who has a soul for the beautiful, she said. End of The Pigs by Hans Christian Andersen. How to Tell a True Princess? From the Yellow Fairy Book by Andrew Lang or The Cocoa Break Collection. 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. There was once upon a time a prince who wanted to marry a princess, but she must be a true princess, so he traveled through the whole world to find one, but there was always something against each. There were plenty of princesses, but he could not find out if they were true princesses. In every case there was some little defect, which showed the genuine article was not yet found. So he came home again in very low spirits, for he wanted very much to have a true princess. One night there was a dreadful storm. The thunder enlightened and the rain streamed down in torrents. It was fearful. There was a knocking herd at the palace gate, and the old king went to open it. There stood a princess outside the gate. But oh, in what a sad plight she was, from the rain and the storm. The water was running down from her hair and her dress into the points of her shoes and out at the heels again. And yet she said she was a true princess. Well, we shall soon find that, thought the old queen. But she said nothing, and went into the sleeping-room, took off all the bed clothes, and laid a pea on the bottom of the bed. Then she put twenty mattresses on top of the pea, and twenty eider-down quilts on top of the mattresses. And this was the bed in which the princess was to sleep. The next morning she was asked how she had slept. Oh, very badly, said the princess. I scarcely close my eyes all night. I am sure I don't know what was in the bed. I laid on something so hard that my whole body is black and blue. It is dreadful. Now they perceived that she was a true princess, because she had felt the pea through the twenty mattresses and the twenty eider-down quilts. No one but a true princess could be so sensitive. So the prince married her, for now he knew that at last he had got hold of a true princess. And the pea was put into the royal museum, where it is still to be seen if no one has stolen it. Now this is a true story. End of How to Tell a True Princess by Andrew Lang The Lady of the Moon from the Chinese Fairy Book, written by Richard Wellhelm, translated by Frederick Herman Martins, for the Cocoa Break collection. 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. In the days of the Emperor Yao lived a prince by the name of Hao Wen, who was a mighty hero and a good archer. Once ten suns rose together in the sky and shone so brightly and burned so fiercely that the people on earth could not endure them. So the emperor ordered Hao Wen to shoot at them. But Hao Wen shot nine of them down from the sky. Besides his bow, Hao Wen also had a horse which ran so swiftly that even the wind could not catch up with it. He mounted it to go hunting, and the horse ran away and could not be stopped. So Hao Wen came to Kunlun Mountain and met the Queen Mother of the Jasper Sea, and she gave him the herb of immortality. He took it home with him and hid it in his room. But his wife, who was named Shang O, once ate some of it on the sly when he was not at home, and she immediately floated up to the clouds. When she reached the moon she ran into the castle there, and has lived there ever since as the Lady of the Moon. One a night, in mid-autumn, an emperor of the Tang dynasty once sat at wine with two sorcerers, and one of them took his bamboo staff and cast it into the air, where it turned into a heavenly bridge on which the three climbed up to the moon together. There they saw a great castle, on which was inscribed, the spreading halls of crystal cold. Beside it stood a cassia tree, which blossomed and gave forth a fragrance filling all the air. And in the tree sat a man who was chopping off the smaller boughs with an axe. One of the sorcerers said, that is the man in the moon. The cassia tree grows so luxuriously that in the course of time it would overshadow all the moon's radiance. Therefore it has to be cut down once and every thousand years. Then they entered the spreading halls. The silver stories of the castle towered one above the other, and its walls and columns were all formed of liquid crystal. In the walls were cages and ponds, where fishes and birds moved as though alive. The whole moon world seemed made of glass. While they were still looking about them, on all sides, the lady of the moon stepped up to them, clad in a white mantle and a rainbow-colored gown. She smiled and said to the emperor, You are a prince of the mundane world of dust. Great is your fortune, since you have been able to find your way here. And she called for her attendants, who came flying up on white birds, and sang and danced beneath the cassia tree. A pure, clear music floated through the air. Beside the tree stood a mortar made of white marble, in which a jasper rabbit ground up herbs. That was the dark half of the moon. When the dance had ended, the emperor returned to earth again with the sorcerers, and he had the songs which he had heard on the moon written down and sung to the accompaniment of flutes of jasper in his pear-tree garden. End of The Lady of the Moon, by Richard Wilhelm, translated by Frederick Herman Martens. The Princess and the Fisherman, from Romanian Fairy Tales, by Anonymous, compiler Mike Kremnitz, editor J. M. Percival, for the Cocoa Break Collection. 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. Once upon a time something happened. If it had not happened, it would not be told. There was once a fisherman, neither very well off, nor very poor, but he was young, with a moustache that curled fiercely at the ends, you know, and a fine-looking fellow. After he passed the Imperial Palace, the Emperor's daughter sent for him, bought his fish, and gave him ten times as much money as they were worth. Our fisherman was spoiled by this wealth, and whenever he had nice fresh fish he took them to the palace. Not a day passed that the Princess did not buy fish if the fisherman went by. One day, while paying for the fish, the Princess pressed his hand. The fisherman blushed as red as a beat, and cast down his eyes, but first gave her one loving glance, for he had understood that she was willing he should do so. Then he entered into conversation with her, and took good care not to say anything stupid. The next time the Princess bought fish he began to talk about them at great length, and made her comprehend that he had understood her feelings, and that the fire of love which was consuming her burned no less hotly in his heart than in her own. Another time he spoke still more freely, and the Princess learned that he was unmarried. She was, besides, much pleased with his clever answers, and as he was very attractive the Royal Maiden finally fell in love with him. He gave him a purse filled with money to purchase handsome clothes, and told him to come back afterward and show himself to her. After he had bought garments like those worn by gentlemen, he put them on and returned to the Princess. She would scarcely have recognized him, for even his gate and bearing had become as stiff as a noble's. At last, unable to repress the love that glowed in her heart, the Emperor's daughter told him that she would marry him. The fisherman did not know much, but he was aware that such a dainty morsel wasn't meant for his bill, and he could hardly believe what he heard with his ears and saw with his eyes. But when the Princess assured him that she wasn't joking, he accepted her hand, though to tell the truth with many doubts and blushes. The marriage did not exactly suit the Emperor, but as he loved his daughter, and she was her parents' only child, he yielded to her wishes. The Princess gave the fisherman another purse filled with money, and told him to buy himself still handsomer clothes. When he returned, in garments that barely glittered with gold, the royal maiden presented him to the Emperor, and the monarch betrothed them to each other. Air long a magnificent imperial wedding was celebrated. When the company sat down to enjoy the banquet, a soft-boiled egg, which, according to ancient custom, only the bride and bridegroom were permitted to eat, was brought to the wedded pair. When the husband was about to dip a bit of bread into the egg, the Princess stopped him, saying, I must dip first, because I am the daughter of an Emperor, and you are a fisherman. The bridegroom made no reply, but rose from the table and vanished. The guests, who did not know what had happened, looked at one another, and asked in surprise what this meant, for they had not heard that the Emperor's son-in-law had formerly been a fisherman. The bride repented her imprudence, bit her lips, and wrung her hands. She ate what she was compelled to swallow, but she might just as well have thrown it behind her, for not a morsel did her any good. After the feast she went to her room, but all night long she could not once close her eyes or fall asleep. She was so sorrowful. She thought of her bridegroom so constantly that she was afraid she would fall ill from longing. Her principal grief was that she did not know why he had gone away without saying even one word. The next day she went to the Emperor, and told him she was seized with so great longing for her husband that she was going to follow him till she found him. The Emperor tried to detain her, but she would not listen and set out on her journey. She searched up and down the whole city, but did not find him anywhere. Then she wandered from place to place till she met him, serving in a tavern. As soon as she saw him she went up and spoke to him, but he pretended not to know her. Then his head away, made no answer, and went about his business. The Princess followed him everywhere, begging him to say just one word to her, but in vain. When the landlord saw that the stranger was to blame for the interruption in the work, he said, Why don't you let my servant finish his work in peace? Don't you see he is dumb? Be kind enough to go away from here, if you are a respectable woman. He isn't dumb, she cried. This is my husband, who deserted and fled from me on account of a fault of mine. All the people in the tavern stood still in astonishment when they heard her words, for she was not joking. But the landlord could not believe it. He thought it would be impossible for a man who could speak to live a whole week without saying even one word, and everybody really knew him as a dumb man, made him understand by signs, and liked him for his industry. The Princess then entered into an agreement with them all, that she would induce him to speak within three days, if they would only allow her to stay with him. But if she did not succeed, she would be hung. This agreement was put in writing, and shown to the magistrates for their sanction. When the contract was concluded, the three days trial was arranged to begin the next morning. The fisherman at first knew nothing about this agreement, though he heard of it afterward, but the Emperor's daughter never left his side. My beloved husband, she said, you know I am to blame. I chose you because I loved you. I swear that I will never commit such a blunder again. Have pity on me. Speak one word to me. Save me from the disgrace that is killing me. I know you have a right to be angry, but for the sake of my love, forgive me." The fisherman turned his head toward her, shrugged his shoulders, and pretended that he did not know her, and did not understand what she was talking about. One day, two days passed, and he did not even say boo. When the third came, the princess was terribly frightened, and wherever the dumb man went she followed, beseeching him to say one word to her. But the fisherman, feeling that she was softening him by her entreaties, fled like a savage, that she might not assail him with tears, and pretended his heart was a lump of ice. But she did not cease imploring him a thousand times, so tenderly that it would have softened even a wild beast. At last the third day also passed, and the fisherman had not even said bye. Everybody wondered over these things. The king was talked of in the whole city, except the mute servant at the tavern, and the beautiful, charming girl, who, it was supposed, had mistaken the dumb man for someone else, and had now brought herself into trouble. The next day the gallows was ready, and the whole population gathered around to witness the end of the affair. The magistrates were summoned to the place, and, against their will, compelled to execute what was in agreement. The executioner came, and called upon the princess to submit to the penalty. Since she had not succeeded in fulfilling the obligations, she had imposed upon herself. The girl turned once more to the fisherman, and, sobbing bitterly, tried to soften his heart, but in vain. When she saw, and understood that no escape was possible, she loosed her hair, and let it fall over her shoulders, wailing so piteously that it was enough to make even wood and stone wheat for her, and so walked toward the place of execution. All the people, old and young, were weeping around her, yet could not help her. Unreaching the gallows, she once more gazed, hopefully, at the dumb man, who had come with the crowd, but stood as if he were perfectly unmoved, and said to him, My dear husband, save me from death. You know my love for you. Do not let me perish so ignominiously. But one word, and I shall be delivered. But the man only shrugged his shoulders, and glanced backward across the fields. The executioner stood with a noose in his hand. Two assistants led her up the ladder, and the hangman slipped the rope around her neck. One moment more, and the princess would have been a corpse. But just at the instant the executioner was going to let her swing out into the empty air. The fisherman raised his hand, shouting, Hi! Hi! Stop! They all stood motionless. Tears of joy streamed from every eye, as the hangman took the noose from the prisoner's neck. Then the fisherman, looking at the royal maiden, said three times, Will you save fisherman to me again? Forgive me, my dear husband. The princess hastened to reply. I have only said it once, and that was by mistake. I promised you not to do so again. Let her come down. She is my wife. He took her by the hand, and they went home together. Afterward they lived in peace and happiness, and if they haven't died they are living still. End of The Princess and the Fisherman. By Anonymous. The girl who became a bird. From Vocalor and Legends, North American Indian, by Anonymous. For the Cocoa Break Collection. The father of Ran Chi Wat Mi, the flying pigeon of the Wisconsin, did not hear of her wedding Wat Onesa, the young chief who had long sought her in marriage. The maiden, however, true to her plighted faith, still continued to meet him every evening upon one of the tufted islets, which stud the river in great perfusion. Nightly through the long months of summer did the lovers keep their trust, porting only after each meeting more and more endeared to each other. At length, Wat Onesa was ordered off upon a secret expedition against the Sioux, and so sudden was his departure that he had no opportunity of bidding farewell to his betrothed. The band of warriors to which he was attached was a long while absent, and one day there came the news that Wat Onesa had fallen in a fight with the Minimonese. Ran Chi Wat Mi was inconsolable, but she dared not show her grief before her parents, and the only relief she could find from her sorrow was to swim over by starlight to the island where she had been accustomed to meet her lover, and there, calling upon his name, bewail the loss of him who was dearer to her than all else. One night, while she was engaged in this lamentation, the sound of her voice attracted some of her father's people to the spot. Startled by their appearance, the girl tried to climb a tree in order to hide herself in its branches, but her frame was bowed with sorrow, and her weak limbs refused to aid her. Wat Onesa, she cried, Wat Onesa! At each repetition of his name, her voice became shriller, while, as she endeavored to screen herself in the underwood, a soft plumage began to cover her delicate limbs, which were wounded by the briars. She tossed her arms to the sky in her distress, and they became clothed with feathers. At length, when her pursuers were close upon her, a bird arose from the bush, they had surrounded, and, flitting from tree to tree, it fled before them, ever crying. Wat Onesa, Wat Onesa! The Girl Who Became a Bird by Anonymous