 THE LEGEND OF THE BLEEDING HEART by Annie Fellows Johnston. In days of old, when all things in the woodhead speech, there lived within its depths alone Flakspinner. She was a bent old creature, and ill to look upon, but all the tongues of all the forest leaves were ever kept wagging with the story of her kindly deeds. And even to this day they sometimes whisper low among themselves, because they fain would hold in mind so sweet a tale, the story of her kindness to the little orphan Olga. It was no slight task the old Flakspinner took upon herself, the day she brought the helpless child to share the shelter of her thatch. The oak outside her door held up his arms in solemn protest. "'Thou dost but waste thyself,' he said. "'Thy benefits will be forgot. Thy labour's unrequited. For youth is ever but another title for ingratitude.'" "'Nay, friend,' the old Flakspinner said. "'My little Olga will not be ungrateful and forgetful.' All hedged about with loving care, the orphan grew to gracious maidenhood, and felt no lack of father, mother, brother, or sister. In every way the old Flakspinner took their places, but many were the sacrifices that she made to keep her fed and warmly clad, and every time she went without herself that Olga might receive a greater share, Wise Akeroke looked down and frowned and shook his head. Then would the old Aime hasten to her in a room, and there she pricked herself with her spindle, until a great red drop of her heart's blood fell into her trembling hand. With witchery of words she blew upon it, enrolled it in her palm, and muttering, turned and turned and turned it, and as the spell was laid upon it, it trivelled into a tiny round ball like a seed, and she strung it on a thread, where were many others like it, saying, "'By this she will remember. She will not be ungrateful and forgetful.'" So years went by, and Olga grew in goodness and in beauty, and helped the old Flakspinner in her tasks, as blithely and as willingly as if she were indeed her daughter. Every morning she brought water from the spring, gathered the wildfruits of the woods, and spread the linen on the grass to bleach. At such times would the bent old foster mother hold herself erect, and call up to the oak, "'Dost see? Thou art wrong. You is not another title for ingratitude.'" "'Thou hush not lived as long as I,' would be the only answer. One day Olga was wandering by the spring, searching for watercresses, the young prince of the castle rode by on his prancing-charger. A snow-white plume waved in his heart, and a shining silver bugle hung from his shoulder, free had been following the chase. He was thirsty and tired and asked for a drink, but there was no cup with which to dip the water from the spring. But Olga caught the drops as they bubbled out from the spring, holding them in the hollow of her beautiful white hands, and reaching up to where he sat offered him the sparkling water. So gracefully was it done that the prince was charmed by her modest manner, as well as her lovely face, and bearing his head when he had slaked his thirst, he touched the white hands with his lips. Before he rode away he asked her name and where she lived. The next day a courier and scarlet and gold stopped at the door of the cottage, and invited Olga to the castle. Princesses and royal ladies from all over the realm were to be entertained there, seven days and seven nights. Every night a grand ball was to be given, and Olga was summoned to each of the balls. It was because of her pleasing manner and her great beauty that she had been bitten. The old flak spinner curtsy low to the courier, and promised that Olga should be at the castle without fail. But good dame! cried Olga when the courier had gone. Prithee tell me why thou didst make such a promise. Knowing full well this gown of tow is all I own. What's to have me stand before the prince and beggar's garb? Better to bide it home for I than be put to shame before such guests. Have done, my child! the old dame said. Thou shalt wear a court robe of the finest. As have I toiled to have it ready. But that is not. I love thee as my own. Then once more the old flak spinner went into her in a room, and pricked herself with her spindle till another great red drop of her heart's blood fell into her trembling hand. With a witchery of words she blew upon it, and rolled it in her palm, and muttering, turned and turned and turned it. And as the spell was laid upon it, it shriveled into a tiny round ball like a seed, and she strung it on a thread where were many others like it. Seventy times seven was the number of beads on this strange rosary. When the night of the first ball rolled around, Olga combed her long golden hair and twined it with a wreath of snowy water lilies, and then she stood before the old dame in her dress of tow. To her wonderment and grief she saw there was no silken robe in waiting, only a string of beads to clasp around her white throat. Each bead in the necklace was like a little shriveled seed, and Olga's eyes filled with tears of disappointment. Obey me, and all will be well, said the old woman. When thou reaches the castle gate, clasp one bead in thy fingers and say, for love's sweet sake in my hour of need. Blossom and deck me, little seed. Straight away right royally shalt thou be clad. But remember carefully the charm. Only to the magic words, for love's sweet sake will the necklace give up its treasures. If thou shouldst forget, then thou must be doomed always to wear thy gown of tow. So Olga sped on her moonlighted way through the forest, until she came to the castle gate. There she paused, and grasping a bead of the strange necklace between her fingers, repeated the old dame's charm. For love's sweet sake in my hour of need, Blossom and deck me, little seed. Immediately the bead burst with a little puff, as if the seed pod had snapped asunder. A faint perfume surrounded her, rare and subtle as if it had been blown across from some flower of Eden. Olga looked down, and found herself enveloped in a robe of such delicate texture that it seemed soft as a rose-leaf and as airy as pink clouds that sometimes float across the sunset. The water lilies in her hair had become a coronal of opals. When she entered the great ballroom, the prince of the castle started up from his throne in amazement. Never before had he seen such a vision of loveliness. Surely, said he, some rose of paradise hath found a soul, and drifted earthward to blossom here. And all that night he had eyes for none but her. The next night Olga started again to the castle in her dress of tow, and at the gate she grasped the second bead in her fingers, repeating the charm. This time the pale yellow of the daffodils seemed to have woven itself into a cloth of gold for her adorning. It was like a shimmer of moon beams, and her hair held the diamond flashings of a hundred tiny stars. That night the prince paid her so many compliments, and singled her out so often to bestow his favours that Olga's head was turned. She tossed it proudly, and quite scorned the thought of the humble cottage which had given her shelter so long. The next day, when she had returned to her gown of tone, was no longer a hotty-court lady, but only Olga, the flak-spinner's maiden, she repined at her lot. Frowning, she carried the water from the spring. Frowning, she gathered the cresces and plucked the woodland fruit. And then she sat all day by the spring, refusing to spread the linen on the grass to bleach. She was discontented with the old life of toil, and pouted crossly because duties called her when she wanted to do nothing but sit idly dreaming of the gay court scenes in which she had taken a bright, brief part. The old, flak-spinner's fingers trembled as she spun when she saw the frowns, for she had given of her heart's blood to buy happiness for this maiden she loved, and well she knew there can be no happiness where frowns abide. She felt that her years of sacrifice had been in vain, but when the oak wagged his head, she called back waveringly, "'My little Olga will not be ungrateful and forgetful!' That night outside the castle gate, Olga paused. She had forgotten the charm. The day's discontented darkened her memory as storm clouds darkened the sky, but she grasped her necklace imperiously. "'Deck me at once!' she cried in a haughty tone. "'Clothe me more beautifully than mortal maid was ever clad before, so that I may find favour in the prince's sight, and become the bride of the castle. I would that I were done forever with the spindle and the dystaph.' But the moon went under a cloud, and the wind began to moan around the turrets. The black night-hawks in the forest flapped their wings warningly, and the black bats flitted low around her head. "'Oh, bae me at once!' she cried angrily, stamping her foot and jerking at the necklace. But the string broke, and the beads went rolling away in the darkness in every direction and were lost. All but one, which she clasped in her hand. Then Olga wept at the castle gate, wept outside in the night in the darkness, in her peasant's garb of toe. But after a while, through her sobbing, stole the answering sob of the night-wind. "'Hush!' it seemed to say. "'Shh!' never a heart can come to harm if the lips but speak the old dame's charm.' The voice of the night-wind sounded so much like the voice of the old flaxspinner that Olga was startled and looked around, wonderingly. Then suddenly she seemed to see the thatched cottage and the bent form of the lonely old woman at the wheel. All the years in which the good dame had befriended her seemed to rise up in a row, and out of each one called a thousand kindnesses as with one voice. "'How can't thou forget us, Olga? We were done for love's sweet sake, and that alone?' Then was Olga sorry and ashamed that she had been so proud and forgetful, and she wept again. The tears seemed to clear her vision, for now she saw plainly that through no power of her own could she rest strange favours from fortune. Only the power of the old charm could make them hers. She remembered it then, and holding fast the one bead in her hand, she repeated humbly. For love's sweet sake in my hour of need, blossom and deck me, little seed!" Low as the words left her lips, the moon shone out from behind the clouds above the dark forest. There was a fragrance of lilies all about, and a gossamer gown floated around her, whiter than the whiteness of the fairest lily. It was fine like the finest lace the frost elves weave, and softer than the softest ermine of the snow. On her long golden hair gleamed a coronet of pearls. So beautiful, so dazzling was she as she entered the castle door, that the prince came down to meet her, and kneeling, kissed her hand and claimed her as his bride. Then came the bishop in his mitre, and led her to the throne, and before them all the flak spinners maiden was married to the prince, and made the Princess Olga. Then until the seven days and seven nights were done, the revels lasted in the castle, and in the merry-ment the old flak spinner was again forgotten. Her kindness of the past, her loneliness in the present, had no part in the thoughts of the Princess Olga. All night the old oak, tapping on the tharch, called down, Thou art forgotten! Thou art forgotten! But the beads that had rolled away in the darkness buried themselves in the earth, and took root, and sprang up as the old woman knew they would do. There at the castle gate they bloomed, a strange, strange flower, from every stem hung a row of little bleeding hearts. One day the Princess Olga, seeing them from her window, went down to them in wonderment. What do you hear? she cried, for in her forest life she learned all speech of bird and beast and plant. We bloom for love's sweet sake, they answered. We have sprung from the old flak spinner's gift, the necklace Thou did's break and scatter. From her heart's best blood she gave it, and her heart still bleeds to think she is forgotten. Then they began to tell the story of the old dame's sacrifices, all the seventy times seven that she had made for the sake of the maiden, and Olga grieved as she listened, that she could have then so ungrateful. Then she brought the Prince to hear the story of the strange, strange flowers, and when he had heard, together they went to the lowly cottage, and fetched the old flak spinner to the castle. There to live out all her days in ease and contentment. See now! she whispered to the oak at parting, but steadily he held his ground, persisting, Thou wouldst have been forgotten, save for that miracle of bloom, and still the flower they call bleeding heart blooms on by cottage walls and castle gardens, to waken all the world to grateful memories, and ever it doth bring to mind the lonely hearts that bleed because they are forgotten, and all they sacrificed for love's sweet sake, to give us happiness. End of The Legend of the Bleeding Heart by Annie Fellows Johnston. Red by Stephen Fellows. I must buckle to, and put a good face, brief face, on the matter, as I have to introduce the latest addition to the already considerable family of Crane Reprints. Here we have those delightful rigmaroles, one, two bug on my shoe, and a gaping wide-mouthed wildling frog. But what, it may be asked, is my mother doing in such company? I surely suspect, if we knew the truth, that she is really the author of both. It is probable, however, that both legends have been transmitted through a long line of mothers, assisted perhaps by nurses, but I had them direct from my mother. A blazing romance of domestic incident runs through, one, two, bug on my shoe, while the wildling frog shows a rich and sumptuous imagination, if a little, inconsequent, except numerically. But if he sets us a gate with astonishment, his own wide-mouth seems capacious enough to swallow all the marbles by land or sea, which he enumerates. These two are quite early Crane's, almost prehistoric. Please notice, however, the up-to-date additions. My mother is mid-Victorian, just after Crane Alliance had gone out, but mothers are always in fashion bless them, and you also, dear children, whether of the old or the new world, who, having chosen your parents wisely, have become possessors of this book. May your shoes never want buckling, and if by any mischance you should lose one, may good luck always find a spare one for you, and so set you on your feet again, Kingsington, June 1910. One, two, bug on my shoe, three, four, open the door, five, six, pick up sticks, seven, eight, lay them straight, nine, ten, a good, fat hen, eleven, twelve, round the bell, thirteen, fourteen maids are courting, fifteen, sixteen maids are in the kitchen, seventeen, eighteen maids in waiting, nineteen, twenty, my plate is empty, a gaping wide-mouth waddling frog, a gaping wide-mouth waddling frog, two puddings ends with chook-a-dog, or a gaping wide-mouth waddling frog, three monkeys tied to a log, two puddings ends with chook-a-dog, or a gaping wide-mouth waddling frog, four puppies with our dog-ball, ideally for their breakfast call, three monkeys tied to a log, two puddings ends with chook-a-dog, or a gaping wide-mouth waddling frog, five beetles against the wall, close to an old woman's apple stall, four puppies with our dog-ball, ideally for their their breakfast call, three monkeys tied to a log, two puddings ends with chook-a-dog, or a gaping, wide-mouthed, waddling frog, six joiners in joiners' hall, working with their tills and all, five beetles against the wall, close to an old woman's apple stall, four puppies with our dog-ball, who daily for their breakfast call, three monkeys tied to a log, two puddings ends with chook-a-dog, or a gaping, wide-mouthed, waddling frog, seven lobsters in a dish, as fresh as any heart could wish, six joiners in joiners' hall, working with their tills and all, five beetles against the wall, close to an old woman's apple stall, four puppies with our dog-ball, who daily with their breakfast call, three monkeys tied to a log, two puddings ends with chook-a-dog, or a gaping, wide-mouthed, waddling frog, eight peacocks in the air, I wonder how they all got there, you don't know and I don't care, seven lobsters in a dish, as fresh as any heart could wish, six joiners in joiners' hall, working with their tills and all, five beetles against the wall, close to an old woman's apple stall, four puppies with our dog-ball, two jolly for their breakfast call, three monkeys tied to a log, two puddings ends with chook-a-dog, or a gaping, wide-mouthed, waddling frog, nine ships sailing on the main, some bound for France and some for Spain, I wish them all safe back again, eight peacocks in the air, I wonder how they all got there, you don't know and I don't care, seven lobsters in a dish, as fresh as any heart could wish, six joiners in joiners' hall, working with their tills and all, five beetles against the wall, close to an old woman's apple stall, four puppies with our dog-ball, who jolly for their breakfast call, three monkeys tied to a log, two puddings ends with chook-a-dog, or a gaping, wide-mouthed, waddling frog, my mother, who fed me from her gentle breast, and hushed me in her arms to rest, and on my cheek sweet kisses pressed, my mother, one sleep for sick my open eye, who was at snug sweet hush-a-bye, and rocked me that I should not cry, my mother, who sat and watched my infant head when sleeping in my cradle bed, and tears of sweet affection shed, my mother, when pain and sickness made me cry, who gazed upon my heavy eye, and wept for fear that I should die, my mother, who dressed my doll in clothes so gay, and taught me pretty how to play, and minded all I had to say, my mother, who taught my infant lips to pray, and loved God's holy book and day, and walk in wisdom's pleasant way, my mother, and can I ever cease to be affectionate and kind to be, who was so very kind to me, my mother? Ah, no, I thought I cannot bear, and if God please my life to spare, I hope I shall reward thy care, my mother, who ran to help me when I fell, and would some pretty story tell, or kiss the place to make it well, my mother, when thy art feeble old and gray, my healthy arm shall be thy stay, and I will soothe thy pains away, my mother, and when I see thee hang thy head, shall be my turn to watch thy bed, and tears of sweet affection shed, my mother, for God who loves above the skies would look with vengeance in his eyes, if I should ever dare despise my mother, and of the Buckle My Shee Picture Book by Walter Crane. The Christmas Masquerade by Mary Elena Wilkins. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Christmas Masquerade. On Christmas Eve, the Mayor's Stately Mention presented a beautiful appearance. There were rows of different coloured wax candles burning in every window, and beyond them one could see the chandeliers of gold and crystal blazing with light. The fiddles were squeaking merrily, and lovely little forms flew past the windows in time to the music. There were gorgeous carpets laid from the door to the street, and carriages were constantly arriving and fresh guests tripping over them. They were all children. The Mayor was giving a Christmas Masquerade tonight to all the children in the city, the poor as well as the rich. The preparation for this ball had been making an immense sensation for the last three months. Placards had been up in the most conspicuous points in the city, and all the daily newspapers had at least a column devoted to it, headed with the Mayor's Christmas Masquerade in very large letters. The Mayor had promised to defray the expenses of all the poor children whose parents were unable to do so, and the bills for their costumes were directed to be sent in to him. Of course, there was a great deal of excitement among the regular costumers of the city, and they all resolved to vibe with one another in being the most popular and the best patronized on this colour occasion. But the blackouts and the notices had not been out a week before a new costumer appeared who cast all the others into the shade directly. He set up his shop on the corner of one of the principal streets and hung up his beautiful costumes in the windows. He was a little fellow, not much larger than a boy of ten. His cheeks were as red as roses, and he had on a long, curling wig as white as snow. He wore a suit of crimson velvet knee breeches and a little swallow-tailed coat with beautiful golden buttons. Deep lace ruffles fell over his slender white hands, and he wore elegant knee buckles of glittering stems. He sat on a high stool behind his counter and served his customers himself. He kept no clerk. It did not take the children long to discover what beautiful things he had and how superior he was to the other costumers, and they began to flock to his shop immediately, from the mayor's daughter to the poor rag pickers. The children were to select their own costumes, the mayor had stipulated that. It was to be a children's ball in every sense of the word. So they decided to be fairies and shepherdesses and princesses according to their own fancies, and this new costumer had charming costumes to suit them. It was noticeable that for the most part the children of the rich, who had always had everything they desired, would choose the parts of those girls and peasants and such like, and the poor children jumped eagerly at the chance of being princesses or fairies for a few hours in their miserable lives. When Christmas Eve came and the children flocked into the mayor's mansion, whether it was owing to the costumer's art or their own adaptation to the characters they had chosen, it was wonderful how lifelike their representations were. Those little fairies in their short skirts of silken gauze in which golden sparkles appeared as they moved, with their little funny costumer wings, like butterflies, looked like real fairies. It did not seem possible when they floated around to the music, half supported on the tips of their dainty toes, half by their filmy purple wings, their delicate bodies swaying in time, that they could be anything but fairies. It seemed absurd to imagine that they were Johnny Mullins, the washwoman's son, and polyflinders, the child woman's little girl and so on. The mayor's daughter, who had chosen the character of a goose girl, looked so like a true one that one could hardly dream she ever was anything else. She was ordinarily a slender, dainty little lady, rather tall for her age. She now looks very short and stubbed and brown, just as if she had been accustomed to ten geese in all sorts of weather. It was so with all the others, the red riding hoods, the princesses, the bow peeps, and with every one of the characters who came to the mayor's ball. Red riding hood looked round with big frightened eyes, all ready to spy the wolf, and carried her little pat of butter and pot of honey, gingerly in her basket. Bow peeps eyes looked red with wee pink for the loss of her sheep, and the princesses swept about so grandly in their splendid recated trains and how their crowned head so high that people half believed them to be true princesses. But there never was anything like the fun at the mayor's Christmas ball. The fiddlers fiddled and fiddled, and the children danced and danced on the beautiful waxed floors. The mayor, with his family and a few grand guests, sat on a dais covered with blue velvet at one end of the dancing hall and watched the sport. They were all delighted. The mayor's eldest daughter sat in front and clapped her little soft white hands. She was a tall, beautiful young maiden and wore a white dress and a little cap woven of blue violets on her yellow hair. Her name was Violetta. The supper was served at midnight and such a supper. The mountains of pink and white ices and the cakes with sugar castles and flower gardens on the tops of them and the charming shapes of golden ruby-coloured jellies. There were wonderful bonbons, which even the mayor's daughter did not have every day, and all sorts of fruits, fresh and candied. They had cow slip wine and green glasses and elderberry wine and red, and they drank each other's health. The glasses held a timbleful each. The mayor's wife thought that was all the wine they ought to have. Under each chance played, there was a pretty present, and everyone had a basket of bonbons and cake to carry home. At four o'clock, the fiddlers put up their fiddles and the children went home. Fairies and shepherdesses and pages and princesses all jabbering gleefully about the splendid time they had had. But in a short time, what consternation there was throughout the city? When the proud and fond parents attempted to unbutton their children's dresses in order to prepare them for bed, not a single costume would come off. The buttons buttoned again as fast as they were unbuttoned. Even if they pulled out a pin, in it would slip again in a twinkling. And when a string was untied, it tied itself up again into a bow-nut. The parents were dreadfully frightened. But the children were so tired out, they finally let them go to bed in their fancy costumes and thought perhaps they would come off better in the morning. So Red Riding Hood went to bed in her little red cloak, holding fast to her basket full of dainties for her grandmother, and Mo Peep slept with her crook in her hand. The children all went to bed riddly enough, they were so very tired, even though they had to go in this strange array. All but the fairies. They danced and pirouetted, and would not be still. We want to swing on the blades of grass, they kept saying, and play hide and seek in the lily cups, and take a nap between the leaves of the roses. The poor child women and call their daughters, whose children the fairies were, for the most part, stared at them in great distress. They did not know what to do with these radiant frisky little creatures into which their Johnny's and their Poli's and Betsy's were so suddenly transformed. But the fairies went to bed quietly enough when daylight came, and were soon fast asleep. There was no further trouble till 12 o'clock when all the children woke up. Then a great wave of light flew over the city. Not one of the costumes would come off then. The buttons buttoned as fast as they were unbuttoned, the pins quilted themselves in as fast as they were pulled out, and the strings flew round like lightning, and twisted themselves into burnouts as fast as they were untied. And that was not the worst of it. Every one of the children seemed to have become in reality the character which he or she had assumed. The mayor's daughter declared she was going to tend her geese out in the pasture, and the shepherdesses sprang out of their little beds of down, throwing aside their silking quilts, and cried that they must go out and watch their sheep. The princesses jumped up from their straw pallets and wanted to go to court, and all the rest of them likewise. Poor little Red Riding Hood solved and solved because she couldn't go and carry her basket to her grandmother. She didn't have any grandmother as she couldn't go, of course, and her parents were very much troubled. It was also mysterious and dreadful. The news spread very rapidly over the city, and soon a great crowd gathered around the new costumer's shop. For everyone thought he must be responsible for all this mischief. The shop door was locked, but they soon battered it down the stands. When they rushed in, the costumer was not there. He had disappeared with all his wares. Then they did not know what to do, but it was evident that they must do something before long, for the state of affairs was growing worse and worse. The mayor's little daughter braced her back up against the tapestry wall and planted her two feet in their thick shoes family. I will go and tend my geese. She kept crying. I won't eat my breakfast. I won't go out in the park. I won't go to school. I'm going to tend my geese. I will. I will. I will. And the princesses trailed their rich trains over the rough unpainted floors in their parents' poor little huts and held their crowned heads very high and demanded to be taken to court. The princesses were mostly geese girls when they were their proper selves and their geese were suffering and their poor parents did not know what they were going to do and they wrung their hands and wept as they gazed on their gorgeously apparel children. Finally, the mayor called the meeting of the alderman and they all assembled in the city hall. Nearly every one of them had a son or a daughter who was a chimney sweep or a little watch girl or a shepherdess. They appointed a chairman and they took a great many votes and contrary votes but they did not agree on anything until someone proposed that they consult the wise woman. Then they all held up their hands and voted to unanimously. So the whole board of aldermen set out walking by two's with the mayor at their head to consult the wise woman. The aldermen were all very flashy and carried gold-headed canes which they swung very high at every step. They held their heads well back and their chin stiff and whenever they met common people they sniffed gently. They were very imposing. The wise woman lived in a little hut on the outskirts of the city. She kept a black cat except for her she was all alone. She was very old and had brought up a great many children and she was considered remarkably wise. But when the aldermen reached her hut and found her seated by the fire holding her black cat a new difficulty presented itself. She had always been quite deaf and people had been obliged to scream as loud as they could in order to make her here. But lately she had grown much deafer and when the aldermen attempted to lay the case before her she could not hear her word. In fact she was so very deaf that she could not distinguish a tone below G sharp. The aldermen screamed till they were quite red in their faces but all to no purpose none of them could get up to G sharp of course. So the aldermen all went back swinging their gold-headed canes and they had another meeting in the city hall. Then they decided to send the highest soprano singer in the church choir to the wise woman. She could sing up to G sharp just as easy as not. So the high soprano singer set out for the wise women in the mayor's coach and the aldermen marched behind swinging their gold-headed canes. The high soprano singer put her head down close to the wise woman's ear and sang all about the Christmas masquerade and the dreadful dilemma everybody was in. In G sharp she even went higher sometimes and the wise woman heard every word. She nodded three times and every time she nodded she looked wiser. Go home and give them a spoonful of castor oil or rant. She piped up. Then she took a pinch of snuff and wouldn't say anymore. So the aldermen went home and each one took a district and marched through it with a servant carrying an immense bowl and spoon and every child had to take a dose of castor oil. But it didn't do a bit of good. The children cried and struggled when they were forced to take the castor oil. But two minutes afterward the chimney sweeps were crying for their brooms and the princesses screaming because they couldn't go to court and the mayor's daughter who had been given a double dose cried louder and more sturdily. I want to go and tend my geese. I will go and tend my geese. So the aldermen took the high soprano singer and they consulted the wise woman again. She was taking a nap this time and the singer had to sing up to B-flat before she could wake her. Then she was very cross and the black cat put up his back and spitted the aldermen. Give them a spanking all around. She snapped out and if that didn't work put them to bed without their supper. Then the aldermen marched back to try that and all the children in the city were spanked and when that didn't do any good they were put to bed without any supper. But the next morning when they woke up they were worse than ever. The mayor and the aldermen were very indignant and considered that they had been imposed upon and insulted. So they set out for the wise woman again with the high soprano singer. She sang in G-sharp how the aldermen and the mayor considered her an imposter and did not think she was wise at all and they wished her to take her black cat and move beyond the limits of the city. She sang it beautifully. It sounded like the very finest Italian opera music. Dear Amy, piped the wise woman when she had finished. How very grand these gentlemen are. Her black cat put up his back and spit. Five times one black cat are five black cats said the wise woman and directly there were five black cats spitting and meowing. Five times five black cats are twenty-five black cats and then there were twenty-five of the angry little beasts. Five times twenty-five black cats are one hundred and twenty-five black cats, added the wise woman with a chuckle. Then the mayor and the aldermen and the high soprano singer fled precipitately out the door and back to the city. One hundred and twenty-five black cats it seemed to fill the wise woman's hut full and when they all spit in me all together it was dreadful. The visitors could not wait for her to multiply black cats any longer. As winter wore on and spring came the condition of things grew more intolerable. Physicians had been consulted who advised that the children should be allowed to follow their own bents for fear of injury to their constitutions. So the rich aldermen's daughters were actually out in the fields herding sheep and their sons sweeping chimneys or carrying newspapers while the poor charwomen and cold hewer's children spent their time like princesses and fairies. Such a topsy-turvy state of society was shocking. Why, the mayor's little daughter was tending ghee, sat in the meadow like any common goose girl. Her pretty eldest sister Violetta felt very sad about it and used often to cast about in her mind for some way of relief. When cherries were ripe in spring Violetta thought she would ask the cherry man about it. She thought the cherry man quite wise. He was a very pretty young fellow and he brought cherries to sell in graceful little straw baskets lined with moss. So she stood in the kitchen door one morning and told him all about the great trouble that had come upon the city. He listened in great astonishment. He had never heard of it before. He lived several miles out in the country. How did the costumer look? He asked respectfully. He thought Violetta, the most beautiful lady on earth. Then Violetta described the costumer and told him of the unavailing attempts that had been made to find him. There were a great many detectives out constantly at work. I know where he is, said the cherry man. He's up in one of my cherry trees. He's been living there ever since cherries were ripe and he won't come down. Then Violetta ran and told her father in great excitement and he at once called the meeting of the alderman and in a few hours half the city was on the road to the cherry man's. He had a beautiful orchard of cherry trees all laden with fruit. And sure enough in one of the largest way up amongst the top most branches sat the costumer in his red velvet short clothes and his diamond knee buckles. He looked down between the green bows. Good morning friends. He shouted. The alderman shook their gold-headed canes at him and the people danced round the tree in a rage. Then they began to climb but they soon found that to be impossible. As fast as they touched the hand or foot to the tree back it flew with a jerk exactly as if the tree pushed it. They tried a letter but the letter fell back the moment it touched the tree and lay sprawling upon the ground. Finally they brought axes and thought they could chop the tree down costumer and all but the wood resisted the axes as if it were iron and only dented them receiving no impression itself. Meanwhile the costumer set up in the tree eating cherries and throwing the stones down. Finally he stood up on a stout branch and looking down addressed the people. It's of no use. You're trying to accomplish anything in this way said he. You'd better parley I'm willing to come to terms with you and make everything right on two conditions. The people grew quiet then and the mayor stepped forward a spokesman. Name your two conditions said he rather testily you own tacitly that you are the cause of all this trouble. Well said the costumer reaching out for a handful of cherries this Christmas masquerade of yours was a beautiful idea but you wouldn't do it every year and your successors might not do it at all I want those poor children to have a Christmas every year. The first condition is that every poor child in the city hangs its stocking for gifts in the city hall on every Christmas eve and gets it filled too. I want the resolution filed and put away in the city archives. We agree to the first condition cried the people with one voice without waiting for the mayor and alderman. The second condition said the costumer is that this good young cherry man here has the mayor's daughter Violetta for his wife he has been kind to me letting me live in his cherry tree and eat his cherries and I want to reward him. We consent cried all the people but the mayor though he was so generous was a proud man. Without consent to the second condition he cried angrily very well replied the costumer picking some more cherries then your youngest daughter tans geese the rest of her life that's all the mayor was in great distress but the thought of his youngest daughter being a goose girl all her life was too much for him he gave in at last now go home and take the costumes off your children said the costumer and leave me in peace to eat cherries then the people hastened back to the city and found to their great delight that the costumes would come off the pins stayed out the buttons stayed unbuttoned and the strings stayed untied the children were dressed in their own proper clothes and were their own proper selves once more the shepherdesses came home and were washed and dressed in silks and velvets and went to embroidering and playing lawn tennis and the princesses and the fairies put on their own suitable dresses and went about their useful employments there was great rejoicing in every home the oletta thought she had never been so happy now that her dear little sister was no longer a goose girl but her own dainty little lady self the resolution to provide every poor child in the city with a stocking full of gifts on Christmas was solemnly filed and deposited in the city archives and was never broken the oletta was married to the cherry man and all the children came to the wedding and strewed flowers in her path till her feet were quite hidden in them the costumer had mysteriously disappeared from the cherry tree the night before but he left at the foot a wedding presents for the bride a silver service with a pattern of cherries engraved on it and a set of china with cherries on it in hand painting and a white satin robe embroidered with cherries down the front and of the Christmas masquerade by Mary Elena Wilkins read by Nislihan Stamboli Icarus and Daedalus by Josephine Preston Peabody this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org among all those mortals who grew so wise that they learned the secrets of the gods none was more cunning than Daedalus he once built for King Minos of Crete a wonderful labyrinth of winding ways so cunningly tangled up and twisted around that once inside you could never find your way out again without a magic clue but the king's favor veered with the wind and one day he had his master architect imprisoned in a tower. Daedalus managed to escape from his cell but it seemed impossible to leave the island since every ship that came or went was well guarded by order of the king. At length watching the seagulls in the air the only creatures that were sure of liberty he thought of a plan for himself and his young son Icarus who was captive with him little by little he gathered a store of feathers great and small he fastened these together with thread molded them in with wax and so fashioned two great wings like those of a bird when they were done Daedalus fitted them to his own shoulders and after one or two efforts he found that by waving his arms he could winnow the air and cleave it as a swimmer does the sea this way and that with the wind and at last like a great fledgling he learned to fly without delay he fell to work on a pair of wings for the boy Icarus and told him carefully how to use them bidding him beware of rash adventures among the stars remember said the father never to fly very low or very high for the fogs about the earth would weigh you down but the blaze of the sun will surely melt your feathers apart if you go too near for Icarus these cautions went in at one ear and out by the other who could remember to be careful when he was to fly for the first time are birds careful not they and not an idea remained in the boy's head but the one joy of escape the day came and the fair wind that was to set them free the father bird put on his wings and while the light urged them to be gone he waited to see that all was well with Icarus for the two could not fly hand in hand up they rose the boy after his father the hateful ground of Crete sank beneath them and the country folk who caught a glimpse of them when they were high above the treetops took it for a vision of the gods Apollo perhaps with Cupid after him at first there was a terror in the joy the wide vacancy of the air dazed them a glance downward made their brains real but when a great wind filled their wings and Icarus felt himself sustained like a house young bird in the hollow of a wave like a child uplifted by his mother he forgot everything in the world but joy he forgot Crete and the other islands that he had passed over he saw but vaguely that winged thing in the distance before him that was his father Daedalus he longed for one draft of flight to quench the thirst of his captivity he stretched out his arms to the sky and made towards the highest heavens last for him warmer and warmer grew the air those arms that had seemed to uphold him relaxed his wings wavered drooped he fluttered his young hands vainly he was falling and in that terror he remembered the heat of the sun had melted the wax from his wings the feathers were falling one by one like snowflakes and there was none to help he felt like a leaf tossed down the wind down down with one cry that took Daedalus far away when he returned and sought high and low for the poor boy he saw nothing but the bird like feathers afloat on the water and he knew that Icarus was drowned the nearest island he named Icaria in memory of the child but he in heavy grief went to the temple of Apollo in Sicily and there hung up his wings as an offering never again did he attempt to fly end of Icarus and Daedalus by Josephine Preston Peabody read by Colleen McMahon the story of Flying Robert by Heinrich Hoffman this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org when the rain comes tumbling down in the country or the town all good little girls and boys stay at home and mind their toys Robert thought no when it pours it is better out of doors rain it did and in a minute Bob was in it here you see him silly fellow underneath his red umbrella what a wind oh how it whistles through the trees and flowers and thistles caught his red umbrella now look at him silly fellow up he flies to the skies no one heard his screams and cries through the clouds the rude wind bore him and his hat flew on before him soon they got to such a height they were nearly out of sight and the hat went up so high that it nearly touched the sky no one ever yet could tell where they stopped or where they fell only this one thing is plain Bob was never seen again end of the story of Flying Robert by Heinrich Kaufmann read by Anna Pinter a little girl to her flowers in verse by anonymous this is a LibriVox recording for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Daisy this little Daisy we all love because it seems to say I'm come to tell good girls and boys that winter's gone away Snowdrop there is another flower too I dearly love to see little snowdrop peeping through the frozen ground at me primrose this is a pretty primrose in shady lanes it grows and early in the pleasant spring in gardens too it blows daffodil here's a formal daffodil though common yet a favorite still it seems such joyous news to bring as harbinger of pleasant spring Mayblossom a beautiful little Mayblossom I am rejoiced that you are come to smile upon us once again after the winter's snow and rain Violet how I do love the violet of all the flowers it is my pet how snug it hides its little head in the green leaves of its low bed lily of the valley lowly lily of the veil to me you tell a useful tale you say be pretty as you well yet modesty is lovely or still forget me not forget me not no lovely flower I'll think on thee many an hour if I could paint I'd copy thee then thou would as long remember be tulip the tulip with its varied hues of crimson brown and rich dark blues though scentless splendid you appear when thickly set in rich parterre rose I cannot wonder that the rose is such a favorite flower how beautiful and sweet it is with jasmine in the bower sunflower I don't admire the sunflower it rears its head so high and looks so proud and seems to say I'm climbing to the sky field flowers but oh the fields they are so sweet the gardens are so gay that I should like to run about and nosegays make all day greenhouse and now we'll see the greenhouse plants they cannot bear cold air yet with them many wild field flowers in beauty may compare myrtle's andranium the myrtle's andranium seem mostly to abound and these in the warm summer months are planted in the ground chamelea japonica here are the rich chameleas oh tis a splendid sight some variegated with soft tints some crimson and some white passionflower how gracefully the passionflower along the trellis twining shows symmetry with colors fair so pleasingly combining oranges the oranges and lemons too all in their proper station though robbed of half their native charms invite our adoration conclusion but tell me now who made these flowers who molded them so fair who taught them with such rich perfume to scent the morning air who filled their cups with drops of dew when parched with summers rays who tinged their leaves with brightest hue on which we wandering gaze can man such splendid dyes produce can he such colors blend can he the tendril graceful twine or the soft branches bend oh no tis god who reigns on high who formed the earth and heaven who framed each star that lights the sky he hath to mortals given all these and more and should not we frail children of mortality with thankful hearts each day each night think of his goodness infinite and pray that gratitude our stubborn hearts with rapture fill oh teach us humbly to adore the first the last the evermore the end end up a little girl to her flowers inverse by anonymous read by little peanut the story of the man that went out shooting by Heinrich Hoffman this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org the story of the man that went out shooting this is the man that shoots the hairs this is the coat he always wears with game bag powder horn and gun he's going out to have some fun he finds it hard without a pair of spectacles to shoot the hair the hair sits snug in leaves and grass and laughs to see the green man pass now as the sun grew very hot and he a heavy gun had got he lay down underneath a tree and went to sleep as you may see and while he slept like any top the little hair came hop hop hop took gun and spectacles and then on her hind legs went off again the green man wakes and sees her place the spectacles upon her face and now she's trying all she can to shoot the sleepy green coat man he cries and screams and runs away the hair runs after him all day and hears him call out everywhere help fire help the hair the hair at last he stumbled at the well head over ears and in he fell the hair stopped short took aim and hark bang went the gun she missed her mark the poor man's wife was drinking up her coffee in her coffee cup the gun shot cup and saucer through oh dear cried she what shall I do there lived close by the cottage there the hair's own child the little hair and while she stood upon her toes the coffee fell and burned her nose oh dear she cried with a spoon in hand such fun I do not understand the end of the man that went out shooting by Heinrich Kaufmann read by Anna Pinter Mother Goose's Bicycle Tour by M.A. Bonnell this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org awake sweet hope for she who shares the throne lends her own merit to make dullness bright even as lunar to the insipid drop its light xanthine yellow might the aster take for hue and emerald green the clove carnation crown nor could fair england's rose yet learn to frown the diadems of humble bloom and royal fleur-de-lis rare crowns of love have crowned her long ago and ever round her noble brow more intertwined they grow M.A. Bonnell July 3rd 1901 the above lines accompanied the copy which was graciously accepted by Queen Alexandra with honest pride the rhymer sings her ancestors renown proud her natal town O may the theme the verse redeem of meager wit and rhyming loose and win a kind indulgence still for Mary Susan Goose entered according to act of the Parliament of Canada in the year 1900 by William Briggs at the Department of Agriculture dedicated by permission to Miss Liv Nansen dedication though pure the drifting realms dazzling the aurora of the polar girth more stainless still fair and childish brow more bright the aureol that surrounds thy birth of times a nation bends its tender gaze to watch the blooming of a royal flower child of heroic blood genius thy heritage the loving interest of a world thy dower M.A.B The Departure Long years ago dear mother Goose for little people made you see of Mary rhymes and odd conceits a veritable potpourri some riddles hard the brain to puzzle tales that really seemed quite true rhymes with fun just brimming her for each one something a sangu her fame had spread through many lands a princess came from France to see the tree that bore the golden pair at least such was londie but years rolled by the dame grew old alas the universal fate she found herself almost forgot and with her goose left tate atate said mother Goose my faithful bird our friends neglect us to be sure but never mind we'll just prepare and take a pleasant little tour some evenings spent in brushing up the foreign words we used to know air setting out upon our trip would now be very apropos I'll order from my milliner a brand new hat and travelling suit and then procure some maps and guides we'll surely need them whilst on routes it is 50 years since you and I our journey took the moon to see for fear we never should come back we left our cards with PPC what crowds there were to see us off what Mary shout loud hurrah most certainly we undertook our enterprise with great ecla and then the journey back again and how we made the world to stare when home we brought the wondrous news the moon was made of fromage there but times are changed and people now doubt everything they cannot see and men are old before they're young and even children feel on we no fairies now their revels hold nor dare their merry pranks pursue the prying eye the searchlights glare have made them bid the land adieu should you in this material age your magic powers reveal by chance you'd never be a moment free from scientific surveillance besides to ride upon your back would outrage modern fashions code to go upon a two wheeled thing is now considered a la mode when thus the dame had spoke her mind her banker first she went to see then perches made of many things besides a flask of eau de vie she meant to cross the channel soon and for the future had a care all those who travel on the sea provision make for mal de mer two bicycles were ordered then from Monsieur Buen du Chambre to tell the truth the dame and the others looked really most distungue the goose all unaccustomed was to this most curious gate but spite of this her mistress vowed she thought her manner was perfect I am an awkward creature quote the goose as people say but on the water rest assured you'll find me quite au fait I know you dread the noisy ship with all its bustle and to-do with the varied smell of tar you have a natural degu so let us take an open boat the voyage is not very long I'm sure we'll reach the other side without the slightest contra-pain with courage rare the dame replied your plan I think is for our wheel we'll follow it without delay her charming nature was facile the noble brave and clever bird as one may well perceive for new and strange adventures now was quite on the qui-viv adventures came too soon alas for on that self-same day a storm arose and they were wrecked in that short traversé in this extremity most dire the dame takes off a wooden boot and says I'll boy these precious bikes and get them sometime cout cout cout for string she ravels out her hose while briny waters saturate her her plan will surely win success for it is not a coup de maître now binds together mistress dear before they float away those oars of good canadian pine they are our peace allay your weight supported by this frame I have the power to draw nor danger fear when you retain such admirable sang-froid by strength of will and wing and web you reached a passing manner war and now to mother goose and bird we must say au revoir pussycat pussycat pussycat where have you been I've been to London to see the queen pussycat pussycat what saw you there I saw a little mouse under the chair pussycat pussycat what did you do j'ai mangé les souris tout à cul hi diddle diddle hi diddle diddle the cat and the fiddle the cow jumped over the moon regardait donc cette vache a guile qui sortait pas de ce slaloon je vais au marché à l'instant I'm going to the market now pour acheter cette vache surprenante to buy that remarkable cow the well-known cat and the wonderful cow on the picture now you may see que le chien intelligent qui avait beaucoup riz the queens of the cards les dames des cates il fait des tates all on a summer's day les vallées des cates voler ces tates and took them clean away les rois des cates chercher des tates and beat the nails full sore les vallées des cates rapporter des tates still no more Jack and Jill Jack and Jill went up the hill ensemble de l'eau y chercher Jack fell down and broke his crown le pour Jules fut renversé up Jack got and home did trot en colère est très pressé damn Jill had the job to plaster his knob rend les fouges de sang ut cesse Jill came in and she did grin en voyant cette emplâtre her mother vowed she'd whip her next à cause de cette désastre Old King Cole Old King Cole was a merry old soul il aimait la compagnie he called for his pipe he called for his bowl singing vive la compagnie he shared with his fiddlers the very best chair singing vive la compagnie he drank from his bowl the very best beer singing vive la compagnie he drank from his bowl he never knew sorrow he never knew fear singing vive la compagnie he lived very happy c'est la Vincent's dear singing vive la compagnie there was an old woman there was an old woman who lived in a shoe elle avait beaucoup d'enfants and she didn't know what to do she gave them some broth without any bread elle les battait très fortes bar bar black sheep bar bar black sheep à tout de la lame oui monsieur j'en ai du poche plein une pour ma maître une pour ma dame rien pour les garçons qui verser des lames Old Mother Hubbard Old Mother Hubbard went to the cupboard des os obtenir pour son champ but when she got there Hubbard was bare elle l'a pour sure neutrin she went to get bread from the baker next door but when she returned le champ était mort she went for a coffin with many a tear but the dog was only joking se met dans carrière she went for some tripe feeling all in amaze but when she returned il fumait à l'aise Old Mother Hubbard said she but when she returned le champ était assis she went for some wine her favourite to fate returning she found him debuts sur sa tête she went to the hatters to get him a hat but when she returned il nourrissait la chape she went to the barbers to buy him a wig but when she returned il dansait une jigue to buy him some fruit returning she found him joint de la flute to buy him a coat she went to the tailor returning she found him a cheval sur une chèvre she went to buy shoes but most strange to tell returning she found him lisant les nouvelles to buy him some linen she went one fine day returning she found Old Mother Drew returning she found him pareille de son mieux the dame made a curtsy the dog made a bow the dame said your servant le champ dit bah wow this wonderful dog to the dame was most dear he could read sing and dance et il savait écrire whilst living she fed him with Dainty's galore and built him a tombstone to my pretty maid où va tout ma belle chérie I'm going a milking sir said she puis je d'accompagner belle chérie just as you please kind sir said she que fait tromper ma belle chérie my father's a farmer sir said she que fait ta mère ma belle chérie wife to my father sir said she quelle est ta fortune belle chérie what do you mean kind sir said she nous n'aurons jamais de fiancé nobody asked you sir said she when I was a bachelor quand j'étais un garçon I lived by myself and tout l'avion et le fromage I put upon a shelf le ras et les serrées did lead me such a life je m'en allais à l'endre to get myself out of there to get myself out of there to get myself out of there to lay a l'endre to get myself a wife les roses étant quand and the lanes being narrow je duce amener mon épouse in a wheelbarrow la brouette se casse my wife got a fall la terre putte la brouette little wife and all Humperty Dumperty Humperty Dumperty sat on a wall Humperty Dumperty had a great fall all the king's horses all the king's horses couldn't make Humperty Dumperty sous qu'il était autrefois Taffy was a Welshman Taffy was a Welshman Taffy was a thief Taffy coura chez moi and stole a leg of beef I went to Taffy's house Taffy wasn't at home Taffy coura chez moi and stole a marrow bone I went to Taffy's house Taffy coura chez moi and beat him on the heads Three wise men of St Ives said this very wise man of St Ives I hear that potatoes have eyes I'll shave all my head and dye my clothes red I've a nervous objection to spies said the wiser I cannot advise such a strange and uncommon disguise but this is my plan to eat all we can regardless of shape eyes. Said the sagist, you don't realise that your scheme is most truly unwise. If you eat them at all, either large ones or small, every thought of your heart they'll surmise. On the man who successfully tries, or some feasible plan can devise, to grow us a kind that really is blind will bestow a magnificent prize. The frog and the crow. And you shall hear the music on yonder green hill. And you shall hear the dancers all dressed up in yellow. Shoku masi, shoku masi, title jeun petit kong. So the frog began a jumping, a jumping to lander. And the crow began a hopping to get masi, shoku masi. Shoku masi, shoku masi, title jeun petit kong. But where's the music on yonder green hill? And where are the dancers all dressed up in yellow? Yog. The donkey's reply. Dear Neddy, I called you long ago. Are you cold out here in the snow? I would take you down to the kitchen below, only frotte le dos. Cook is so cross I'm afraid to go. When I wanted to help her knead the dough, she sent me away and scolded so, but frotte le dos. If you are quiet and speak very low and try to walk on your very tiptoe, we might go to the room where sisters sew, or frotte le dos. Dear old Ned, you are as hoarse as a crow and you wobble your long ears to and fro, but whatever you mean I would like to know by frotte le dos. Farmer Brown. Farmer Brown is a sneak and Farmer Brown's a rogue. He said he would give me a pound and he didn't for painting his cows and pogue. He wanted a picture of his two cows, Suki and Cold Black Min, and then for the pound he was to give, Old Pogue must be painted in. Oh, Farmer Brown is a sneak and Farmer Brown is a rogue. He said he would give me a pound and he didn't for painting his cows and pogue. I painted a picture of his two cows, Suki and Cold Black Min, and then for the pound he was to give, Old Pogue was painted in. Oh, Farmer Brown's a sneak and Farmer Brown is a rogue. He said he would give me a pound and he didn't for painting his cows and pogue. I painted a picture of his two cows and sent him in the bill. Old Pogue is there and Suki too and Min's behind the hill. Oh, Farmer Brown is a sneak and Farmer Brown is a rogue. He said he would give me a pound and he didn't for painting his cows and pogue. The Captain. I finished my ship to the very last nail. I've painted the deck and set the sail, and now I'm ready to cross the main for I will be Le Capitain. The Shoemaker. I mean to make shoes of the strongest leather that boys may go out in any weather. I've got some wax and I know the way, so I will be Le Cordonnier. The Cook. My cakes will be indeed a treat. I'll make them of raisins and sugar sweet. First a story and then a layer and I will be Le Cordonnier. The Grocer. Currants and chocolate, apples as well. The very things I would like to sell. In spite of brother Ned's facetier, I'll be a prosperous épicier. Footnotes. The Exigencies of Language do not emit a very good rhyme here. End of footnotes. The Farmer. You must have horses large and strong to drag the heavy plough along and go to market and draw the hay, so I will be Le Cordonnier. The Farmer's Wife. I'd like to make butter and skim the milk and go to church in a nice black silk, and I like the boys with curly hair. I think I will be Le Cordonnier. The Tailor. The stylish suits of cloth I'll make, the eye of taste will surely take and Swain intent on wedding tour will ask Qui est votre tailor? Mrs. Tompkins and Mr. Hopkins. Oh, here's little Mrs. Tompkins in such a thrill, in such a thrill. Oh, but if it isn't Hopkins, or dressed to kill, or dressed to kill. Mrs. Tompkins, without you do, without you do. Oh, no, it's Mr. Hopkins for seeing you, for seeing you. That seems silly, Mrs. Tompkins. I'm sorry for her, I'm sorry for her. That horrid, horrid Mr. Hopkins. He's my bed-noir, he's my bed-noir. This very black man of Syam. Ce jeune homme très noir de Syam. Just ask through a slice of good ham. They said, if you crave it and take affidavit, you're not a Muhammad, Dan, Dan. You can. This lazy old man of Moselle. This lazy old man of Moselle said, indeed it is all very well, but to kill flies with peace is not taking one's ease. Le jus ne vaut pas le chandel. C'est cochon, an interesting pig. C'est cochon, an interesting pig. Always wore a dress coat and a wig, but his friends looked to scant, and soon took a chance to ask why he wore that strange rig. This shocking old man from Cape Ray. This shocking old man from Cape Ray refusé de mettre sans guillet. They put him in bed and everyone said such men must be made to obey. Peter Pradel bought a saddle. Peter Pradel bought a saddle, put it on a pump handle. When they asked him what for, he answered, je ne sais quoi. The man from Hong Kong. This extraordinary man of Hong Kong déclarait les jeunais trop blancs. They put on his head a post of bread and told him his views were all wrong. The Little Bohemian. Que fait-tu ici mon petit? You must be far from home. It is not right that such a might should be allowed to Rome. What is your race and country? It never could be guessed. Your raven locks and northern bloom and different climbs attest. I had a race a long one, along the river Seine. Ma mère parle le français et elle est américaine. But I'm going to my own country and it's 40 miles away. I'm walking very fast because I must be there today. My father knows the name of it. Il m'appelle Bohem. And Victor's going with me for I think he is the same. The king is returning to Paris. La reine est très rousse. Le roi est le mari. La reine elle est le pousse. Le petit maréchal. Footnote. The answer is A. The first letter of the 25 that composed the French alphabet. End of footnote. I was a little sergeant, don't you see? And I drilled my soldiers one and 23. And we all stepped out together in fair and stormy weather. Myself and soldiers one and two three. I was a little captain, happy me, of my chosen band of one and 23. And we roamed the world together in fair and stormy weather. Myself and soldiers one and 23. And now I am a marshal, as you see. With a score and four soldiers under me. And we roamed the world together in fair and stormy weather. Just five and twenty soldiers counting me. La petite étranger. I met a little foreigner all on a walking tour. She smiled at me and sweetly said Je suis Français Monsieur. She looked so very elegant. A countess I am sure. I quickly lifted off my hat and said Madame Bonjour. Lay the table. Mettez dans le cuveur. Vite, vite, vite. Set the plates immediately to heat, heat, heat. Jean a fait le ragout and a fait la tarte. Sue will place the chairs around with all her little hearts. Tommy has a gun. Tommy has a gun. Prené garde. It has bullets made of lead. Very hard. He might take you for a bear. He might take you for a hare. He might take you for a bird. Prené garde. Enigmas. Enigma. Oh dear, yes. You'd better keep out of my way. I fast all the winter. Oh dear, dear. In the dark and the cold, I say. Enigma. I feed all the winter. Oh dear, yes. I feed both night and day. I fast all the summer. Oh dear, dear. In a dark dreary place, I say. Comilfou. This is a pretty little girl and her daughters are not quite comilfou. The maid with eyes of blue. I met a little maison with eyes of lovely blue. I said in my polite tone ma cher, que voulez-vous? She said, I'd like a cherry ripe, kind sir, or even two. Oh, no one could refuse her. La fille a beau you do. This studious girl of Ognance. It feels studious de l'Ognance. Said, this child will, I fear, be a dunce. It's my place to see that she's taught to spell cat, so come here, little sister, at once. This lad with compassion was smitten, qui vante des environs du written. He said, I fear that she's too young to spell cat. Oh, do please first try her with kitten. Footnote. Ognance is a college in the United States. End of footnote. Enigmas. Enigma. Connais-ce-vous mon père? Connais-ce-vous ma mère? Connais-ce-vous mes frères, chérie? Enigma. They're hiding in the hedge. They are peeping o'er the ledge. They are seeking in the grass for me. Cassandra. A cette fenêtre vu tout paraître, du tout mon être, je tente. My heart is ever true. This our rendez-vous, Cassandra. The Miller. This jolly fat Miller works hard every day to grind up the corn in the very best way. Oh, Bright is his smile and friendly his chat, and on his head always he wears a white hat. Oh, gay is his whistle and cheery his song. Et ce c'était toujours un chapeau très bon. Pourquoi? Pour soutenir la tête chaude. A king. Footnotes. Un certain droit et ses cours ont obligé de laisser le capital et partir pour le nouveau monde à cause de tremblements de terre à des 1755. A certain king and his court were obliged to leave their capital and set out for the new world on account of an earthquake in AD 1755. And the footnotes. A king in history, my name is surely known. Their love, my subjects, my word and deed have shown. Though grieve to leave the palace of my sires, though grieve to leave the land of sunny skies, choice of evil bates me leave my tottering throne. Should I say more, my answer would be known. Louis had a sister très petite. Louis had a sister très petite. He thought that standing up she would look sweet. But her mother came and sought her and caught her little daughter before that he had taught her this new feet. Dick's poem. When Benny wasn't doing something silly he was very wise. He was bigger than he was small regarding size. His head was about as large as a piece of chalk, and when he didn't run he went in a walk. Even when he walked it was on his feet, and he never was greedy when he hadn't anything to eat. The way he didn't behave himself was such a disgrace, but then he never hurt you when he bit you on your false face. The little nut tree. J'avais un noisetier, nothing did it bear, mais un pousquard d'argent and a golden pair. The king of France's sister came to visit me all for the sake of my little nut tree. L'enfant terrible. I wish that grown up gentlemen and grown up ladies too would learn to speak as plainly as other people do. Uncle calls me some queer name, something long I know. I cannot tell quite what it is, he always says it low. I never call him long although he's seven or eight feet high. Or more perhaps at any rate, he's longer far than I. I tried to wait in Uncle's room what it meant, but all my poor dear dollies wanted some of Uncle's scents. They're very fond of scents you know and so I gave them plenty, but oh dear me I was surprised to find the bottle empty. With sister it is just the same she says I am detrue. Whenever there is company what's that I'd like to know. Today of course to help them I just took off the string little parcel I saw the postman bring. It was the sweetest ring although it did not fit me quite so I put it in my pocket to keep it out of sight. My birthday cake was getting made downstairs that very minute and when Cook looked the other way I pushed the ring down in it and if the ring should fall to rows I'll be so glad you know for she is my darling sister and I really love her so. Isidore Isidore Isidore Now which is which if you can tell you shall have a candy and kiss as well. Every dog on the street Every dog on the street wags its tail when we meet before I see an otra shows this one I dread where it waggles its head and fastens its teeth in my hose. This very small child on a stall had a bird that the nurse called a pool, but the gardener's son, Ben, always called it Anne-N, though his parents had sent him to school. Twice one are two. Twice one are two, toujours je l'ai su. Twice two are four, j'ai des boutons d'eau. Twice three are six, ce fait est vraiment fixe. Twice four are eight, la réponse est parfaite. Twice five are 10, les écoles viennes. Une, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, deux là j'entends les banques, six, sept, huit, neuf, dix. J'en donnerai à mon fils. Apportez-moi du potage, apportez-moi du sel, apportez-moi une tranche de pain, and I'll do very well. The apple pie party. A was an apple pie, bitten by Tom. French people call an apple une pomme. B was the bite, and I really must say Tom was sorry that he ever took la bûcher. C was the cook. Tom was always quite safe to get goodies and tarts when he called him l'uchif. G was the dinner, got ready that day. Dinner in France is called le dîner. E was the edge in France called le bord, of that pie trimmed with pastry to imitate cords. F was the fun the sight gave to all. In the words of the Frenchman, la gaie des folles. G was the guest Tom was late to receive. He looked very happy, a merry conviv. H was for Harry, who served the pie in great glee. In France, his name is pronounced said Henri. I was the ivy. The pie with great care was entwined with the creeper, the French called lier. J was the juice while sweetened by the cook. He flavoured it nicely and called it le suc. K was the kitchen so tidy and clean. In France, it is always called la cuisine. L was the linen, besides each place set. In Anglo, the napkin. In French, serviette. M was the music in French la musique, aunt played for the game of lost treasure-sique. N was the nurse in France called la ban, who brought some small cousins to share in the fun. O was the oven in French called le four. At Exmos, it bakes many pies for the poor. T for the plates. In French, assiette. Kept warm till the table was all nicely set. Q the quadrille, which I think came from France, the place where all children learn early to dance. R was the room where the dancing took place. In French called le salon or else la pièce. S was the sideboard for things stored away, cupboard or sideboard in French is buffet. T was the tray. In French called plateau, all laden with jellies and cream whipped like snow. U was the urchin, old cook's petit peste. For leavings and scraps, she was always in quest. V was the valet. At Dessert, he came. His very small master and mistress to claim. W a wrangler, a horrid misheir. Just read the next line, her name will be there. Ex Zantip was not at the party, I'm told. Such people were always left out in the cold. Y was the year, in French called l'année, which for these happy children had just passed away. Z was the zest that appetites heartily and failingly give to an apple pie party. End of Mother Goose's Bicycle Tour by M. A. Bonnell, recording by Jordan Watts, Oxfordshire. My Adventure with a Lion by Algernon Blackwood. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. I once served an apprenticeship on a New York newspaper, and some of my experiences as a reporter on the Evening Smile I shall never forget. A reporter on an American newspaper is like a soldier. He is expected to obey orders implicitly, even at the risk of his life. For this reason, he is paid well. But a nervous reporter often goes out of the office with his heart in his mouth and an assignment that makes him think seriously of taking out another insurance policy on his life. When gloomy winter's morning, I got down to the office at eight o'clock as usual and had hardly reached my desk when the news editor, a kind man, who was always giving me opportunities of distinguishing myself, came up and began to speak at once in a very mysterious voice. Got a dandy assignment for you this morning, he said. I looked up gratefully. I guess you carry a six-shooter, don't you? He asked. You may need it this trip. Oh, I managed to gasp. A lion's escaped, he went on. In the quick, nervous American way of an American news editor. Has it really? I said, wondering what was coming next. Jeffrey Circus came to town last night. The lion somehow got out and they've been chasing it all night. Got a cornered in a stable at last, somewhere in East 19th Street, but it attacked and mauled a valuable horse there, and I understand it's still at bay. That's all I know. Get up there as quick as you like and get us a regular, bleeding story of it. You can run to a column. He added over his shoulder as he returned to his desk to distribute the other morning assignments. And let's have your copy down by messenger and time for the first edition. No one ever disputed with the news editor or asked unnecessary questions, but many a reporter did a lot of steady thinking when he got outside the office and safely onto the doorstep. I crammed my pocket full of paper from the big heap at the middle table and swaggered out of the room with my nose in the air as though hunting escaped lions was a little matter I attended to every day of my life. And that did not disturb me and Adam. An overhead train soon rattled me out to East 19th Street, but it was some time before I found the stable where the lion awaited me. For 19th Street runs from Broadway down to the East River and is a mile or two in length and full of stables. Not far from the corner of Irving Place, however, I got onto the center of my quarry and I had hardly joined the group that had collected at the corner before a noise like distant thunder rose on the air and every single person in the group turned tail and began to run for safety. What's the trouble? I asked of a man as he dashed past me. Lion and that stable, he shouted, pointing to the big wooden doors across the road. Escape from the circus. Savage as they make him killed a trotting horse in there. No one can get near it. They say it's a man eater too. Another roar burst out as he spoke. In the crowd that had begun to collect again, scattered in an instant in all directions, there was no doubt about that sound. It was a genuine lion's roar. And it sounded deeper, I thought, than any roar I had ever heard before. But news was news. And in this case, news was bread and butter. I must get the facts and be quick about it too. For my copy had to be written out and in the office of the evening smile in time for the first edition. There was barely an hour in which to do the whole business. I forced my way through the crowd, now gathering again on the corner and made my way across the road to where a group of men was standing not far from the stable doors. They moved about a bit when the roars came, but none of them ran. And I noticed some of them had pistols in their hands and some heavy crowbars and other weapons. Evidently, I judged they were men connected with a circus. And I joined the group and explained my mission. Well, that's right enough, said one of them. You've got a grand newspaper story this time. Old yellow hairs in there, sure, pop. And what's more, I don't see how we're ever going to get him out again. The horse must be stiff by now, said another. He was mauled half to death an hour ago. It'd be a shame to have to shoot him at a third, meaning the lion. He's the best animal in the whole circus. But he is awful savage. That's a fact chimed in a fourth. There's no flies on old yellow hair. Someone touched me on the arm and introduced himself as a reporter from the evening grin, a fellow worker in distress. He said he didn't like the job at all. He wanted us to go off and concoct a fake story. But I wouldn't agree to this. And it fell through. For unless all the evening papers conspire to write the same story, there's always trouble at the office when the reporters get back. Other reporters kept joining the group. And in 20 minutes from the time of my arrival on the scene, there must have been a good dozen of us. Every paper in town was represented. It was a first class news story. And the men who were paid by space were already working hard to improve its value by getting new details, such as the animal's history in pedigree, names of previous victims, human or otherwise, the description and family history of its favorite keeper, and every other imaginable detail under the sun. There's an empty loft above the stable said one of the circus men, pointing to a smaller door on the story above. And before 10 minutes have passed, someone arrived with a ladder and the string of unwilling reporters was soon seen climbing up the rungs and disappearing like rats into a hole through the door of the loft. We drew lots for places. And I came fit. Before going up, however, I had got a messenger boy stationed in the street below to catch my copy and hurry off of it to the evening smile. As soon as I could compose the wonderful story and throw it down to him. The reporter on an evening paper in New York has to write his stuff as we called it in wonderful and terrible places. And under all sorts of conditions, the only roles he must bear in mind are get the news and get it quick. Accuracy is a mere detail for later additions, or not at all. The loft was dark and small. And we only just managed to squeeze in. It's not pleasantly of hey, but there was another odor besides that no one understood at first. And that was decidedly unpleasant. Overhead were thick rafters. I think every one of us noticed these before he noticed anything else. For the instant the raw of that lion sounded up through the boards under our feet. The reporters scattered like shaft before the wind and scuttled up into those rafters with a speed and dust and clatter I have never seen equaled. It was like sparrows flying from the sudden onslaught of a cat. Fat men, lean men, long men, short men, I never saw such a collection of news gatherers, smart men from the big papers, shabby fellows from the gutter press, hats flying, papers fluttering. And in less than a second after the raw was heard, there was not a solitary figure to be seen on the floor. Every single man had gone aloft. We all came down again when the roar seized. And with subsequent roars, we got a little more accustomed to the shaking of the boards under our feet. But the first time at such close quarters, with only a shaky wooden roof between us and old yellow hair was no joke. And we all behaved naturally and without pose or affectation and ran for safety or rather climbed for it. There was a trap door in the floor through which I suppose the hay was passed down to the horses under normal circumstances. When by one, we crawled on all fours to this trap door and peered through the scene below I can see to this day. As soon as one's eyes got a little accustomed to the gloom, the outline of the stalls became first visible. Then a human figure seated on the top of an old refrigerator with a pistol on one hand pointed at a corner opposite came into view. Then another man seated a stride the division between the stalls could be seen. And last but not least, I saw the dark mass on the floor in the far corner where the dead horse lay mangled and the monster of a lion sprawled across his carcass with great pause outstretched and shining eyes. From time to time, the man on the icebox fired his pistol. And every time he did this, the lion roared and the reporters flew and climbed a loft. The trap doors was never occupied a single second after the roar began. And as the number of persons in the loft increased and the thin wooden floor began to bend and shake, a number of these adventurous news gatherers remained aloft and never put foot to ground. Braver reporters threw their copy out of the door to the messenger boys below. And every time this feat was accomplished, the crowd safely watching on the corners opposite cheered and clapped their hands. A steady stream of writing dropped from that loft door and poured all the morning into the offices of the evening newspapers. While the morning newspaper men sat quietly and looked down, knowing that they could write up their own account later from the reports in the evening sheets. The men in the stable below occupying positions of great peril were of course connected with a traveling circus. We shouted down questions to them, but more often got a pistol shot instead of a voice by way of reply. Where all those bullets went to was a matter for anxious speculation amongst us. And the roaring of the lion combined with the reports of the six shooter to keep us fairly dancing on that wooden floor as if we were practicing a cakewalk. A sound of cheering from the crowd outside swelling momentarily as the neighborhood awoke to the situation brought us with a rush to the top of the ladder. It's the strong man cried several voices. The strong man of the circus, he'll fix up the lion quick enough, give him a chance. A huge man who rightly enough proved to be the performing strong man of the circus was seen making his way through the crowd asking questions as he went. A pathway opened up for him as if by magic and carrying a mighty iron crowbar, he reached the foot of the ladder and began to climb up. Thrilled by the sight of this monster with the determined looking draw, a dozen men rushed forward to hold the bottom of the ladder while he ascended. But when he was about halfway up, the lion was inconsiderate enough to give forth a most terrifying roar with the immediate result that the men holding the ladder turned tail with one accord and fled. The ladder slipped a few inches and the ascending Samson crowbar and all very neatly came to the ground with a crash. Fortunately, however, he just managed to grab the ledge of the door and a dozen reporters seized him by the shoulders and dragged him safe, but a trifle and dignified into the loft. Talking very loud and referring to the lion with a richness of epithets, I have never heard equaled before since. He crossed the floor and began to squeeze through the hole into the dangerous region below. In a moment he was hanging with legs dangling and a second later had dropped heavily into a pile of hay underneath him. We lowered the crowbar to him, breathless with admiration, and then a strange thing happened. For while the lion roared and the pistols banged and we reporters tumbled over each other to get a glimpse of the attack of the lion on the strong man or vice versa, low, a voice below shouted to close the trap and the same instant aboard from below shot across the opening and completely obliterated our view. We'll have to fake that part of the fight, said a reporter, must all agree on the same yarn. The sounds from below prevented the details being agreed upon just at that moment for such a hula baloo as we then heard is simply indescribable. Shooting, lion roaring, strong man shouting, grow bar clanging and the sound of breaking wood and heavy bodies falling outside the crowd heard it too and remained absolutely silent. Most of them indeed had vanished. Every minute they expected to see the doors burst open and the enraged animal rush out with a strong man between his jaws and their silence was accordingly explained by their absence. At least half of the reporters were still among the rafters when the trap door shot back in the floor and a voice cried breathlessly that the strong man had caged the lion. It was indeed a thrilling moment. We clamber down the ladder and out into the street just in time to see the great doors open and a procession emerge that was worth all the traveling circuses in the world put together to see. First came the trainer with a pistol in either hand. Following him was the man with a small crowbar who had sat on the division between the stalls. Then came a great iron cage which had been in the stable all the time but a little out of our line of vision in a dark corner so that no one had observed it. In this cage lay the huge exhausted lion panting on its side with leather dripping from its great jaws and on the top of the cage seated tailor wise dressed in a very loud check ulster and wearing a bell shaped opera hat on the side of his head was a proud figure of the victorious strong man. The expression on his face was worth painting but it is wholly beyond me to describe it. Such exaltation and glorious pride was worthy of the mightiest gladiator that ever fought in an arena. His long curly hair shining with oil escaped in disorder from his marvelously shaped top hat and the massive crowbar that had brought him his hard-won victory stood upright on one end grasped in his gigantic hand. He smiled round on the gathering crowd and the procession moved proudly up the streets till within half an hour the people following and cheering must have numbered many thousands. We reporters rushed off to our various offices and the streets were soon afterwards lively with newspaper boys shouting the news and waving sheets of terrible and alarming headlines about the escaped lion and its fearful ravages and the strong man who had captured it after a ghastly battle for his life. Next day the morning papers did not publish a solitary line about the great event but in the advertising columns of every newspaper appeared the prospectus of the traveling circus just come to town and in particularly bold type the public were told to be sure and see yellow hair. The savage man-eating lion that had escaped the day before and killed a valuable horse in a private stable where it had been chased by the terrified keepers and in the paragraph below the details followed of the wonderful strong man Samson who had caught and caged the lion single-handed armed only with a crowbar. It was the best advertisement a circus ever had and most of it was not paid for. Guess you knew it was all fake? Quarried the news editor next morning as he gave me the usual assignment. It was my first week on an American paper and I stared at him waiting for the rest. That lion has an a tooth in its head. They dragged in a dead horse in the night. You wrote a good story though. Cleaned your pistol yet? End of my adventure with a lion by Aldrinan Blackwood. Read by Rachel.