 CHILDHOODS' FAIRY STORIES by various authors, Section 168, The Accomplished and Lucky Tea Kettle, adapted by A. B. Midford. A long time ago, at a temple called Moringi in the province of Jossu, there was an old tea kettle. One day, when the priest of the temple was about to hang it over the hearth to boil the water for its tea, to his amazement, the kettle all of a sudden put forth the head and tail of a badger. What a wonderful kettle to come out all over fur! The priest, thunderstruck, called in the novices of the temple to see the sight, and whilst they were stupidly staring, one suggesting one thing and another another, the kettle, jumping up into the air, began flying about the room. More astonished than ever, the priest and his pupils tried to pursue it, but no thief or cat was ever half so sharp as this wonderful badger kettle. At last, however, they managed to knock it down and secure it, and holding it in with their united efforts, they forced it into a box, intending to carry it off and throw it away in some distant place, so that they might no more be plagued by the goblin. For this day their troubles were over, but as luck would have it, the tinker, who was in the habit of working for the temple, called in, and the priest suddenly bethought him that it was a pity to throw away the kettle for nothing, and that he might as well get a trifle for it, no matter how small. So he brought out the kettle, which had resumed its former shape, and had got rid of its head and tail, and showed it to the tinker. When the tinker saw the kettle, he offered twenty copper coins for it, and the priest was only too glad to close the bargain and be rid of his troublesome piece of furniture. But the tinker trudged off home with his pack and his new purchase. That night, as he lay asleep, he heard a strange noise near his pillow, so he peered out from under the bed-clothes, and there he saw the kettle that he had bought in a temple covered with fur, and walking about on four legs. The tinker started up in a fright to see what it all could mean, when all of a sudden the kettle resumed its former shape. This happened over and over again, until at last the tinker showed the teakettle to a friend of his, who said, This is certainly an accomplished and lucky teakettle you should take it about as a show, with songs and accompaniments of musical instruments, and make it dance and walk on the tightrope. The tinker, thinking this good advice, made arrangements for the showman, and set up an exhibition. The noise of the kettle's performances soon spread abroad, until even the princes of the land sent to order the tinker to come to them, and he grew rich beyond all his expectations. Even the princesses, too, and the great ladies of the court took great delight in the dancing kettle, so that no sooner had it shown its tricks in one place than it was time for them to keep some other engagement. At last the tinker grew so rich that he took the kettle back to the temple, where it was laid up as a precious treasure, and worshipped as a saint. Section 169 of Childhood's Favourites and Fairy Stories This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Childhood's Favourites and Fairy Stories by various authors Section 169 The Tongue Cut Sparrow Once upon a time, a cross-old woman laid some starch in a basin, intending to put it in the clothes in her wash tub, but a sparrow that a woman, her neighbour, kept as a pet, ate it up. Seeing this, the cross-old woman seized the sparrow and, saying, You hateful thing! cut its tongue and let it go. When the neighbour woman heard that her pet sparrow had got its tongue cut for its offence, she was greatly grieved, and set out with her husband over mountains and plains to find where it had gone, crying, Where does the tongue cut sparrow stay? Where does the tongue cut sparrow stay? At last they found its home. When the sparrow saw that its old master and mistress had come to see it, it rejoiced and brought them into its house and thanked them for their kindness in old times. It spread a table for them and loaded it with rice wine and fish till there was no more room, and made its wife and children and grandchildren also at the table. At last, throwing away its drinking cup, he danced a jig called the sparrow's dance, and thus they spent the day. When it began to grow dark, and there was talk of going home, the sparrow brought out two wicker baskets and said, Will you take the heavy one, or shall I give you the light one? The old people replied, We are old, so give us the light one, it will be easier to carry it. The sparrow then gave them the light basket, and they returned with it to their home. Let us open it and see what is in it, they said, and when they had opened it and looked, they found gold and silver and jewels and rolls of silk. They never expected anything like this. The more they took out, the more they found inside. The supply was inexhaustible, so that the house at once became rich and prosperous. When the cross-old woman who had cut the sparrow's tongue saw this, she was filled with envy, and went and asked to a neighbour where the sparrow lived, and all about the way. I will go too, she said, and at once set out on her search. Again the sparrow brought out two wicker baskets, and asked us before, Will you take the heavy one, or shall I give you the light one? Thinking the treasure would be great in proportion to the weight of the basket, the old woman replied, Let me have the heavy one. Receiving this, she started home with it on her back. The sparrow is laughing at her as she went. It was as heavy as a stone and hard to carry, but at last she got back with it to her house. Then, when she took off the lid and looked in, a whole troupe of frightful creatures came bouncing out from the inside, and at once they caught her up and flew away with her. End of section 169, The Tongue Cut Sparrow. Recording by Ross Clement. Battle of the Monkey and the Crab. A monkey and a crab once met when going round a mountain. The monkey had picked up a persimmon seed, and the crab had a piece of toasted rice cake. The monkey, seeing this, and wishing to get something that could be turned to good account at once, said, Pray, exchange that rice cake for this persimmon seed. The crab, without a word, gave up his cake and topped the persimmon seed and planted it. Had once sprung up, and soon became a tree so high one had to look far up to see it. The tree was full of persimmons, but the crab had no means of climbing it, so he asked the monkey to scramble up and get the fruit for him. The monkey got up on a limb of the tree and began to eat the persimmons. The unripe ones he threw at the crab, but all the ripe and good ones he put in his pouch. The crab under the tree thus got his shell badly bruised, and only by good luck escaped into his hole, where he lay distressed with pain, and not able to get up. Now, when the relatives and household of the crab heard how matters stood, they were surprised and angry, and declared war, and attacked the monkey, who leading forth a numerous following, bade defiance to the other party. The crabs, finding themselves unable to meet and cope with this force, became still more exasperated and enraged, and retreated into their hole and held a council of war. Then came a rice mortar, a pestle, a bee, and an egg, and together they devised a deep blade plot to be avenged. First they requested that peace be made with the crabs, and thus they induced the king of the monkey to enter their hole unattended, and seated him on the hearth. The monkey, not suspecting any plot, took the hibashi or poka to stir up the slumbering fire, when bang went the egg, which was lying hidden in the ashes, and burned the monkey's arm. Surprised and alarmed, he plunged his arm into the pickle tub in the kitchen to relieve the pain of the burn. Then the bee, which was hidden near the tub, stung him sharply in his face, already wet with tears. Without waiting to brush off the bee, and howling bitterly, he rushed for the back door. But just then, some seaweed entangled his legs and made him slip. Then down came the pestle, tumbling on him from a shelf, and the mortar too came rolling down on him from the roof of the porch and broke his back, and so weakened him that he was unable to rise up. Then out came the crabs in a crowd, and, brandishing on high their pinches, they pinched the monkey so sorely that he begged them for forgiveness and promised never to repeat his meanness and treachery. A long, long time ago there lived an old man and an old woman. One day the old man went to the mountains to cut grass, and the old woman went to the river to wash clothes. While she was washing, a grey thing came tumbling and splashing down the stream. When the old woman saw it, she was very glad. She was very happy. She was very happy. She was very happy. A grey thing came tumbling and splashing down the stream. When the old woman saw it, she was very glad, and pulled it to her with a piece of bamboo that lay nearby. When she took it up and looked at it, she saw that it was a very large peach. She then quickly finished her washing and returned home intended to give the peach to her old man to eat. When she cut the peach in two, out came a child from the large kernel. Seeing this, the old couple rejoiced and named the child Momotaro, or Little Peachling, because he came out of a peach. As both the old people took good care of him, he grew and became strong and enterprising. So the old couple had their expectations raised and bestowed still more care on his education. Momotaro finding that he excelled everybody in strength, determined to cross over to the island of the devils, take their riches and come back. He at once consulted with the old man and the old woman above the matter, and got them to make him some dumplings. These he put in spout. Besides this he made every kind of preparation for his journey to the island of the devils and set out. Then first a dog came to the side of the way and said, Momotaro, what have you there hanging out your belt? He replied, I have some of the very best Japanese millet dumplings. Give me one and I will go with you, said the dog. So Momotaro took a dumpling out of his pouch and gave it to the dog. Then a monkey came and got one the same way. A pheasant also came flying and said, Give me a dumpling too, and I will go along with you. So all three went along with him. In no time they arrived at the island of the devils and at once broke through the front gate. Momotaro first, then his three followers. Here they met a great multitude of the devils retainers who showed fight, where they pressed children wards and at last encountered the chief of the devils, called Akandoji. Then came the tug of war. Akandoji hid at Momotaro with an iron club, but Momotaro was ready for him and dodged him adroitly. At last they grappled each other, and without difficulty Momotaro just crushed down Akandoji and tied him with the rope so tightly that he could not even move. All this was done in a fair fight. After this Akandoji, the chief of the devils, said he would surrender all his riches. Out with the riches then, said Momotaro laughing. Having collected and ranged in order a great pile of precious things, Momotaro took them and set out for his home rejoicing as he marched bravely back that with the help of three companions to whom he attributed all his success he had been able so easily to accomplish his end. Great was the joy of the old man and the old woman when Momotaro came back. He fisted everybody bountifully, told many stories of his adventure, displayed his riches, and at last became a leading man, a man of influence, very rich and honourable, a man to be very much congratulated indeed. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information and art volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org recording by MCY, Childhood's favorites and favorite stories by various authors. Section 172 Ura Shimataro and the Turtle Ura Shimataro, which means in Japanese, son of the island, was the only and dearly beloved son of an old Fisherman and his wife. He was a fine, strong youth who could manage a boat more cleverly than anyone else on the neighboring coast. He often ventured so far out to sea that neighbors warned his parents that he would sometime go too far and never return. His parents knew, however, that he understood his boat in the sea very well and they were never much concerned about him. Even when he failed to come back, as soon as he was expected, they awaited his return without anxiety. They loved him better than their own lives and were proud that he was braver and stronger than their neighbor's sons. Early one morning Ura Shimataro went to haul in his nets, which he had been said the night before, and one of them, amongst some fishes, he found a small turtle. This he placed in the boat by itself, where it would safely keep until he could take it home. To his amazement, the turtle begged for its life in most beautiful tones. Of what use am I to you? it asked. I am too small to eat, and so young that it would take me a long time to grow. Have mercy and put me back into the sea, for I do not want to die. Ura Shimataro had a very kind heart and could not bear to see anything that was small and helpless suffer, so he did as his turtle asked him. Several years after this, when Ura Shimataro was one day far out at sea, a terrible whirlwind struck his boat and shattered it. He was a good swimmer and managed for a long time to make progress toward the land, but as he was so far from shore in the rough sea, his strength at last gave out, and he felt himself sinking. Just as he had given up hope, and thought that he would never see his dear parents again, he heard his name called and saw a large turtle swimming toward him. Climb on my back, shouted the turtle, and I would carry you out to land. When Ura Shimataro was safely sitting on the turtle's back, it continued, I am the turtle whose life you saved when you found me little and helpless in your net, and I am glad of this opportunity to show that I am not ungrateful. Before they reached the shore, the turtle asked Ura Shimataro how he would like to be shown some of the wonderful beauties hidden under the sea. The young fisherman replied that the experience would please him. In a moment they were shooting down through the green water. He clung to the turtle's back, who carried him many, many pheasants below. After three nights they reached the bottom of the sea, and came to a wonderful palace of golden crystal. Carl and Pearls and precious stones dazzled his eyes, but inside the palace was more beautiful still, and blazing fish scales lighted it. This, at the turtle, is the palace of the sea god. I am awaiting maid to his lovely daughter, the princess. The turtle went to announce the arrival of Ura Shimataro to the princess, and soon returning led him to her presence. She was so beautiful that when she asked him to remain in the palace he gladly consented. Do not leave me, and you shall always be as handsome as you are now, and old age cannot come to you, said. So it happened that Ura Shimataro lived in the marvelous palace at the bottom of the sea with the daughter of the sea god. He was so happy that the time passed by and he did. How long he dwelt there he could not have told, but one day he thought of his parents. Then he remembered that they must be troubled by his absence. The thought of them kept coming to him continually, and the longing to see them grew so strong that at last he told the princess he must go to visit them. She begged him not to leave her and wept bitterly. If you go I shall never see you again, she sobbed. But he told there that he must see his father and mother once again, that he would return to the palace in the sea to be with her always. When she found that she could not persuade him to remain, she gave him a small gold box, which she told him he must own no account open. If you hid my words, said she, you may come back to me. When you are ready the turtle will be there to bring you, but if you forget what I had told you I shall never see you again. Ura Shimataro fondly assured her that nothing in the world should keep him from her, and bade her farewell. Mounting the turtle's back he soon left the palace far below. For three days and three nights they swam, and then the turtle left him on the familiar sands near his old home. He eagerly ran to the village and looked about for some of his comrades. All other faces were strange and even the houses seemed different. The children playing in the street where he had lived he had never seen before. Stopping in front of his own house, he regarded it with a... thinking heart. There was a sound of music from a window above, and a strange woman opened the door to him. She could tell him nothing of his parents, and had never heard her names. Everyone whom he questioned looked at him curiously, at last he wandered from the village and came to the burying ground. Searching about among the graves he soon found himself beside his tone bearing the dear names he sought. The date showed him that his father and mother had died soon after he left them, and then he discovered that he had been away from his home 300 years. Bode with sorrow he went back to the city. At each step he hoped to wake and find it all a dream, but the people in streets were real. He thought of the princess and remembered the gold box he had given to him. It might be that he was under some cruel enchantment. And that his box contained the charm to break the spell. He eagerly raised the cover, and a purple vapor escaped and left the box empty. To his alarm he noticed that the hand that held it had shriveled and grown suddenly old. Trembling with horror, he ran to a stream of water, which ran down from the mountain, and saw reflected in its water the face of a mummy. He crawled fearfully back to the village, and no one recognized him as the strong youth who had entered it a few hours before. Nearly exhausted he finally reached the shore, where he sat weirdly on a rock and cried to the turtle. But he called to it in vain. The turtle never came, and soon his quavering voice was hushed in death. Before he died the people of the village gathered about him and listened to his strange story. Long afterward they told their children of the young man who, for the love of his parents, left a marvelous palace in the sea, and a prince is more beautiful than the day. End of section 172. Section 173 Of Childhoods, Favorites and Fairy Stories This is a LibraVox recording. All LibraVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibraVox.org. Childhoods, Favorites and Fairy Stories by various authors. Section 173 The Son of Seven Queens Adapted by Joseph Jacobs Once upon a time there lived a king who had seven queens, but no children. This was a great grief to him, especially when he remembered that on his death there would be no heir to inherit the kingdom. Now it happened one day that a poor old fakia came to the king and said, Your prayers are heard. Your desires shall be accomplished. One of your seven queens shall bear a son. The king's delight at this promise knew no bounds, and he gave orders for appropriate festivities to be prepared against the coming event throughout the length and breadth of the land. Meanwhile the seven queens lived luxuriously in a splendid palace, attended by hundreds of female slaves, and fed to their hearts content on sweet meats and confectionery. Now the king was very fond of hunting, and one day, before he started, the seven queens sent him a message saying, May it please our dearest lord not to hunt towards the north today, for we have had bad dreams and fear lest evil should befall you. The king, to allay their anxiety, promised regard for their wishes, and set out towards the south. But as luck would have it, although he hunted diligently, he found no game, nor had he more success to the east or west, so that, being a keen sportsman and determined not to go home empty-handed, he forgot all about his promise and turned to the north. Here also he was at first unsuccessful, but just as he made up his mind to give up for that day, a white hind with golden horns and silver hooves flashed past him into a thicket. So quickly did it pass that he scarcely saw it. Nevertheless, a burning desire to capture and possess the beautiful strange creature filled his breast. He instantly ordered his tendons to form a circle around the thicket, and so circle the hind. Then, gradually narrowing the circle, he pressed forward till he could distinctly see the white hind panting in the midst. Nearer and nearer he advanced, but just as he thought to today hold of the beautiful strange creature, he gave one mighty bound, leaping clean over the king's head, and fled towards the mountains. Forgetful of all else, the king, setting spurs to his horse, followed at full speed. On, on he gapped, leaving his retinue far behind, keeping the white hind in view, never drawing bridle until, finding himself in a narrow ravine with no outlet, he reigned in his steed. Before him stood a miserable hovel into which, being tired after his long unsuccessful chase, he entered to ask for a drink of water. An old woman, seated in the hut at the spinning wheel, answered his request by calling to her daughter, and immediately from in a room came a maiden so lovely and charming, so white-skinned and golden-haired, that the king was transfixed by astonishment at seeing so beautiful a sight in the wretched hovel. She held the vessel of water to the king's lips, and as he drank, he looked into her eyes, and then it became clear to him that the girl was no other than the white hind with the golden horns and silver feet he had chased so far. Her beauty bewitched him, so he fell on his knees begging her to return with him at his bride. But she only laughed, saying, Seven Queens were quite enough, even for a king to manage. However, when he would take no refusal, what implored her to have pity on him, promising her everything she could desire, she replied, Give me the eyes of your Seven Queens, and then, perhaps, I may believe you mean what you say. The king was so carried away by the glamour of the white hind's magical beauty, he went home at once, had the eyes of his Seven Queens taken out, and after throwing the poor-blind creatures into a noise and dungeon, whence they could not escape, set off once more for the hovel in the ravine, bearing with him his horrible offering. But the white hind only laughed cruelly when she saw the forty eyes, and, threading them as a necklace, flung it round her mother's neck, saying, Where that little mother has a keepsake while I am away in the king's palace. Then she went back with the bewitched monarch at his bride, and he gave her the Seven Queens rich clothes and jewels to wear, the Seven Queens palace to live in, and the Seven Queens slaves to wait upon her, so that she really had everything even a witch could desire. Now, very soon after the Seven Richard Hapless Queens had their eyes torn out, and were cast into prison, a baby was born to the youngest of the Queens. It was a handsome boy, but the other Queens were very jealous that the youngest among them should be so fortunate. But though at first they disliked the handsome little boy, he soon proved so useful to them that ere long they all looked on him as their son. Almost as soon as he could walk about he began scraping at the mud walls of their dungeon, and in an incredibly short space of time had made a hole big enough for him to crawl through. Through this he disappeared, returning in an hour or so laden with sweetmeats, which he divided equally among the Seven Blind Queens. As he grew older he enlarged the hole, and slipped out two or three times every day to play with little nobles in the town. No one knew who the tiny boy was, but everyone liked him, and he was so full of funny tricks and antics, so merry and bright that he was sure to be rewarded by some griddle-cakes, or a handful of parched grain, or some sweetmeats. All these things he brought home to his seven mothers, as he loved to call the Seven Blind Queens, who, by his help, lived on in their dungeon when all the world thought they had starved to death ages before. At last, when he was quite a big lad, he one day took his bow and arrow and went out to seek for game. Coming by chance passed the palace where the White Hind lived in wicked splendour and magnificence. He saw some pigeons fluttering around the White Marble Tower, and taking good aim shot one dead. It came tumbling past the very window where the White Queen was sitting. She rose to see what was the matter and looked out. At the first glance of the handsome young lad standing their bow in hand, she knew by witchcraft that it was the King's son. She nearly died of envy and spite, determining to destroy the lad without delay. Therefore, sending a servant to bring him to her presence, she asked him if he would sell her the pigeon he had just shot. No, replied the sturdy lad. The pigeon is for my seven blind mothers who live in the noise and dungeon, and who would die if it did not bring them food. Poor souls! cried the cunning White Witch. Would you not like to bring them their eyes again? Give me the pigeon, my dear, and I faithfully promise to show you where to find them. Hearing this, the lad was delighted beyond measure, and gave up the pigeon at once, whereupon the White Queen told him to seek her mother without delay, and asked for the eyes which she wore as a necklace. She will not fail to give them, said the cruel Queen, if you show her this token on which I have written what I want done. So she sang, she gave the lad a piece of broken pot shard, with these words inscribed on it. Kill the bearer at once, and sprinkle his blood like water. Now, as the son the seven Queens could not read, he took the fatal message cheerfully, and set off to find the White Queen's mother. While he was journeying, he passed through a town where every one of the inhabitants looked so sad that he could not help asking what was the matter. He told him it was because the King's only daughter refused to marry. Therefore, when her father died, there would be no heir to the throne. They greatly feared she must be out of her mind, for though every good-looking young man in the kingdom had been shown to her, she declared she would only marry one who was the son of seven mothers, who had ever heard of such a thing. The King, in despair, had ordered every man who entered the city gates to be led before the Princess. So much to the lasting patience, for he was in an immense hurry to find his mother's eyes, he was dragged into the presence chamber. No sooner did the Princess catch sight of him than she blushed and turned into the King said, Dear Father, this is my choice. Never were such rejoicing disease few words produced. The inhabitants nearly went wild with joy, but the son of seven Queens said he could not marry the Princess until they first let him recover his mother's eyes. When the beautiful bride heard his story, she asked to see the pot shard, for she was very learned and clever. Seeing the treacherous words, she said nothing, but taking another similar-shaped bit of pot shard, she wrote on it these words, Take care of this lad, giving him all he desires, and returned it to the son of seven Queens who, none the wiser, set off in his quest. Air-long he arrived at the hovel in the ravine where the White Witch's mother, a hideous old creature, grumbled dreadfully on reading the message, especially when the lad asked for the necklace of eyes. Nevertheless, she took it off and gave it to him, saying, There are only thirteen of them now, for I lost one last week. The lad, however, was only too glad to get any at all, so he hurried home as fast as he could to his seven mothers, and gave two eyes a piece to the six elder Queens. But the youngest he gave one, saying, Dearest little mother, I will be your other eye always. After this he set off to marry the Princess, as he had promised. But when passing by the White Queen's palace, he saw some pigeons on the roof. Drawing his bow, he shot one, and it came fluttering past the window. The White Hind looked out and, lo, there was the King's son, alive and well. She cried with hatred and disgust. But, sending for the lad, asked him how he had returned so soon, and when she heard how he had brought home the thirteen eyes, and given them to the seven blind Queens, she could hardly restrain her rage. Nevertheless, she pretended to be charmed with his success, and told him that if he would give her this pigeon or so, she would reward him with the yogi's wonderful cow. Whose milk flows all day long, and makes a pond as big as a kingdom. The lad, nothing loath, gave her the pigeon, whereupon, as before, she bade him go and ask her mother for the cow, and gave him a pot shard whereon she was written, Kill this lad without fail, and sprinkle his blood like water. But on the way, the son of seven Queens looked in on the Princess, just to tell her how he came to be delayed. And she, after reading the message on the pot shard, gave him another in its stead. So that when the lad reached the old hag's hut and asked her for the yogi's cow, she could not refuse, but told the boy how to find it, and bidding him of all things not to be afraid of the eighteen thousand demons who kept watch and ward over the treasure. Told him to be off before she became too angry at her daughter's foolishness and thus giving away so many good things. Then the lad bravely did as had been told. He journeyed on and on till he came to the milk-white pond, guarded by the eighteen thousand demons. They were really frightful to behold, but, plucking up courage, he whistled a tune as he walked through them, looking neither to the right nor the left. By and by he came upon the yogi's cow, tall, white and beautiful, while the yogi himself, who was king of all the demons, sat milking her, day and night, and the milk streamed from her out of filling the milk-white tank. The yogi, seeing the lad, called out fiercely, What do you want here? Then the lad answered, according to the old hag's bidding, I want your skin, for King Indra is making a new kettle-drum, and says your skin is nice and tough. Upon this the yogi began to shiver and shake, for no gin nor yogi dares disobey King Indra's command. And, falling at the lad's feet, cried, If you will spare me, I will give you anything I possess, even my beautiful white cow. To this the son of Seven Queens, after a little pretended hesitation, agreed, saying that, after all, it would not be too difficult to find a nice tough skin like the yogi's elsewhere. So, driving the wonderful cow before him, he set off homeward. The Seven Queens were delighted to possess so marvellous animal, and though they toiled from morning till night, making curds and whey, besides selling milk to the confectioners, he could not use half the cow gave, and became richer and richer day by day. Seeing them so comfortably off, the son of Seven Queens started with a light heart to marry the princess. But, when passing the white hind's palace, he could not resist sending a bolt at some pigeons that were cooing on the parapet. One fell dead just beneath the window where the white queen was sitting. Looking out, she saw the lad, hail and hearty, standing before her, and grew whiter than ever with rage and spite. She sent for him to ask how he would turn so soon, when she heard how kindly her mother had received him, she very nearly had a fit. However, she dissembled her feelings as well as she could, and smiling sweetly said, she was glad to have been able to fulfil her promise, that if he would give her this third pigeon, she would do yet more for him than she had done before, by giving him the millionfold rice which ripens in one night. The lad was, of course, delighted at the very idea, and, giving him the pigeon, set off on his quest, armed as before with a pot shard on which was written, do not fail this time, kill the lad, and sprinkle his blood like water. But when he looked in on his princess, just to prevent her becoming anxious about him, she asked to see the pot shard as usual and substituted another on which was written, yet again, give this lad all he requires, for his blood shall be as your blood. Now, when the old hag saw this and heard how the lad wanted the millionfold rice which ripens in a single night, she fell into the most furious rage. But, being terribly afraid of her daughter, she controlled herself, and bade the boy go and find the field guarded by eighteen millions of demons, warning him on no account to look back after having plucked the tallest spike of rice which grew in the centre. So the son of seven queens set off, and soon came to the field where, guarded by eighteen millions of demons, the millionfold rice grew. He walked on bravely, looking neither to the left or to the right, till he reached the centre and plucked the tallest ear. But, as he turned to homeward a thousand sweet voices rose behind him, crying in tenderest accent, pluck me too, oh, pluck me too. He looked back, and lo, there was nothing left of him but a little heap of ashes. Now as time passed by, and the lad did not return, the old hag grew uneasy, remembering the message, his blood shall be as your blood. So she set off to see what had happened. Soon she came upon the heap of ashes, and knowing by her arts what it was, she took a little water, and kneading the ashes into a paste, formed it into the likeness of a man. Then, putting a drop of blood from her little finger into its mouth, she blew on it, and instantly the son of seven queens started up as well as ever. Don't disobey orders again, grumbled the old hag, or next time I'll leave you alone. Now be off before I repent of my kindness. So the son of seven queens returned joyfully to his seven mothers, who, by the aid of the million-fold rice, soon became the richest people in the kingdom. Then they celebrated their son's marriage to the clever princess, with all imaginable pomp. But the bride was so clever, she would not rest until she had made known her husband to his father, and punished the wicked white witch. So she made her husband build a palace exactly like the one in which the seven queens lived, and in which the white witch now dwelt in splendor. Then, when all was prepared, she bade her husband give a grand feast to the king. Now the king had heard much of the mysterious son of seven queens, and his marvellous wealth, so he gladly accepted the invitation. But what was his astonishment? When I entered the palace he found it was a fact similar of his own, in every particular. And when his host, richly attired, led him straight to the private hall, whereon royal thrones set the seven queens, dressed as he had last seen them, he was speechless with surprise, until the princess, coming forward, threw herself at his feet, and told him the whole story. Then the king awoke from his enchantment, and his anger rose against the wicked white hind, who'd bewitched him so long, until he could not contain himself. So she was put to death, and a grave ploughed over, and after that the seven queens returned to their own splendid palace, and every body lived happily. End of Section 173 of Childhood's Favorites and Fairy Stories Section 174 of Childhood's Favorites and Fairy Stories This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Jennifer Stearns Childhood Favorites and Fairy Stories by various authors Section 174 Who Killed the Otter's Babies? Adapted by Walter Skeet The otter said to the mouse-deer, Friend, mouse-deer, Will you be so good as to take charge of the children, till I come back? I am going down to the river to catch fish, and when I come back I'll share the catch with you. The mouse-deer replied, Very well, go along, and I'll look after the children. So the otter went down to the river to catch fish. Here the story of what the otter did stops, and the story of what happened when the whip-hacker sounded the wargong commences. The mouse-deer was chief dancer of the war dance, and as he danced he trod on the otter's babies and crushed them flat. Presently the otter returned home, bringing a string of fish with him. On arriving he saw that his children had been killed, and exclaimed, How comes it, friend mouse-deer, that my babies have died? The mouse-deer replied, The whip-hacker came and sounded the wargong, and I, being chief war dancer, danced, and forgetting about your children, I trod upon them and crushed them flat. On hearing this the otter went and made a complaint unto King Solomon, prostrating himself and saying, Your Majesty's most humble slave craves pardon for presuming to address your Majesty, but friend mouse-deer has murdered your slave's children, and your slave desires to learn whether he is guilty or not according to the law of the land. King Solomon replied, saying, If the mouse-deer hath done this thing wittingly, assuredly he is guilty of death, then he summoned the mouse-deer before him, and when the mouse-deer came into the presence of the king, the king inquired of the otter, What is your charge against him? The otter replied, Your slave accuses him of the murder of your slave's children. Your slave would hear the law of the land. Then the king said unto the mouse-deer, Was it your doing that the otter's children were killed? The mouse-deer replied, Assuredly it was, but I craved pardon for doing so. How was it then, said the king, that you came to kill them? The mouse-deer replied, Your slave came to kill them because the woodpecker appeared and sounded the war-gong. Your slave, as your majesty is aware, is chief dancer of the war-dance. Therefore your slave danced, and forgetting about the otter's children, your slave tried upon them and crushed them flat. Here the king sent for the woodpecker also, and the woodpecker came before him. Was it you, woodpecker, said the king, who sounded the war-gong? Assuredly it was, said the woodpecker, for as much as your slave saw the great lizard wearing his sword. The king replied, If that is the case, there is no fault to be found in the woodpecker. For the woodpecker was chief-beater of the war-gong. Then the king commanded the great lizard to be summoned. And when he arrived, the king inquired, Was it you, lizard, wearing your sword? The great lizard replied, Assuredly it was, your majesty. And why were you wearing your sword? The great lizard replied, Your slave wore it for as much as your slave saw the tortoise had donned his coat of mail. So the tortoise was summoned likewise. Why did you tortoise don your coat of mail? The tortoise replied, Your slave donned it for as much as your slave saw the king crab trailing his three-edged pike. Then the king crab was sent for. Why were you king crab trailing your three-edged pike? Because your slave saw that the crayfish had shouldered his lance. Then the king sent for the crayfish and said, Was it you crayfish who was shouldering your lance? And the crayfish replied, Assuredly it was, your majesty. And why did you shoulder it? Because your slaves saw the otter coming down to devour your slave's own children. Oh, so king Solomon, If that is the case, You, otter, are the guilty party, And your complaint of your children's death Can not be sustained against the mouse deer by the law of the land. End of section 174, read by Jennifer Stearns, Concord, New Hampshire. The Alligator and the Jackal, adapted by M. Freyre. A hungry jackal once went down to the riverside in search of little crabs, Bits of fish, and whatever else he could find for his dinner. Now it chants that in this river there lived a great big alligator, who being also very hungry would have been extremely glad to eat the jackal. The jackal ran up and down here and there, but for a long time could find nothing to eat. At last, close to where the alligator was lying among some tall bulrushes under the clear shallow water, he saw a little crab sidling along as fast as his legs could carry him. The jackal was so hungry that when he saw this, he poked his paw into the water to try to catch the crab, when snap the old alligator caught hold of him. Oh dear, thought the jackal to himself. What can I do? This great big alligator has caught my paw in his mouth, and in another minute he will drag me down by it under the water and kill me. My only chance is to make him think he has made a mistake. So he called out in a cheerful voice. Clever alligator! Clever alligator! To catch hold of a bulrush root instead of my paw. I hope you find it very tender. The alligator, who was so buried among the bulrushes that he could hardly see, thought on hearing this. Dear me, how tiresome! I fancied I'd caught hold of the jackal's paw, but there he is calling out in a cheerful voice. I suppose I must have seized a bulrush root instead, as he says. And he let the jackal go. The jackal ran away as fast as he could, crying. Oh, wise alligator, wise alligator, so you let me go again. Then the alligator was very much vexed, but the jackal had run away too far to be caught. Next day the jackal returned to the riverside to get his dinner as before. But because he was very much afraid of the alligator, he called out. Whenever I go to look for my dinner, I see the nice little crabs peeping up through the mud. Then I catch them and eat them. I wish I could see one now. The alligator, who was buried in the mud at the bottom of the river, heard every word. So he popped a little point of his snout above it, thinking, If I do but just show the tip of my nose, the jackal will take me for a crab and put in his paw to catch me. And as soon as ever he does, I'll gobble him up. But no sooner did the jackal see the little tip of the alligator's nose than he called out. Aha, my friend, there you are! No dinner for me in this part of the river, then, I think. And so, saying, he ran farther on and fished for his dinner a long way from that place. The alligator was very angry at missing his prey a second time and determined not to let him escape again. So on the following day, when his little tormentor returned to the water side, the alligator hid himself close to the bank in order to catch him if he could. Now the jackal was rather afraid of going near the river, for he thought, perhaps the alligator will catch me today. But yet, being hungry, he did not wish to go without his dinner. So to make all as safe as he could, he cried, Where are all the little crabs gone? There is not one here and I am so hungry. And generally, even when they are under water, one can see them going bubble, bubble, bubble, and all the little bubbles go pop, pop, pop. On hearing this, the alligator, who was buried in the mud under the river bank, thought, I will pretend to be a little crab. And he began to blow. Puff, puff, puff, bubble, bubble, bubble. And all the great bubbles rushed to the surface of the river and burst there, and the waters eddied around and round like a whirlpool. And there was such a commotion when the huge monster began to blow bubbles in this way that the jackal saw very well who must be there. And he ran away as fast as he could, saying, Thank you, kind alligator, thank you, thank you. Indeed, I would not have come here had I known you were so close. This enraged the alligator extremely. It made him quite cross to think of being so often deceived by a little jackal. And he said to himself, I will be taken in no more. Next time I will be very cunning. So for a long time he waited and waited for the jackal to return to the riverside. But the jackal did not come, for he had thought to himself, If matters go on in this way, I shall someday be caught and eaten by the wicked old alligator. I had better content myself with living on wild figs. And he went no more near the river, but stayed in the jungles and ate wild figs and roots which he dug up with his paws. When the alligator found this out, he determined to try and catch the jackal on land. So going under the largest of the wild fig trees, where the ground was covered with the fallen fruit, he collected a quantity of it together and burying himself under the great heap, waiting for the jackal to appear. But no sooner did the cunning little animal see this great heap of wild figs all collected together than he thought. That looks very like my friend the alligator. And to discover if it were so or not, he called out, The juicy little wild figs I love to eat always tumble down from the tree and roll here and there as the wind drives them. But this great heap of figs is quite still. These cannot be good figs, I will not eat any of them. Ho-ho! thought the alligator. Is that all? How suspicious this jackal is. I will make the figs roll about a little. Then when he sees that, he will doubtless come and eat them. So the great beast shook himself and all the heap of little figs went roll, roll, roll. Some a mile this way, some a mile that, farther than they had ever rolled before, or than the most blustering wind could have driven them. Seeing this, the jackal scampered away, saying, I am so much obliged to you, alligator, for letting me know you were there. For indeed I should hardly have guessed it. You were so buried under that heap of figs. The alligator, hearing this, was so angry that he ran after the jackal. But the latter ran very, very fast away, too quickly to be caught. Then the alligator said to himself, I will not allow that little wretch to make fun of me another time and then run away out of reach. I will show him that I could be more cunning than he fancies. And early the next morning he crawled as fast as he could to the jackal's den, which was a hole in the side of a hill, and crept into it and hid himself waiting for the jackal, who was out to return home. But when the jackal got near the place, he looked about him and thought, Dear me, the ground looks as if some heavy creature had been walking over it. And here are great clods of earth knocked down from each side of the door of my den, as if a very big animal had been trying to squeeze himself through it. I certainly will not go inside until I know that all is safe there. So he called out, Little house, pretty house, my sweet little house, Why do you not give an answer when I call? If I come and all is safe and right, you always call out to me. Is anything wrong that you do not speak? Then the alligator, who was inside, thought, If that is the case, I had better call out, that he may fancy that all is right in his house. And in as gentle a voice as he could, he said, Sweet little jackal. At hearing these words the jackal felt quite frightened and thought to himself, So the dreadful old alligator is there. I must try to kill him if I can, for if I do not, he will certainly catch and kill me someday. He therefore answered, Thank you, my dear little house. I like to hear your pretty voice. I am coming in in a minute, but first I must collect firewood to cook my dinner. And he ran as fast as he could and dragged all the dry branches and bits of stick he could find close up to the mouth of the den. Meantime the alligator inside kept as quiet as a mouse, But he could not help laughing a little to himself as he thought, So I have deceived this tiresome little jackal at last. In a few minutes he will run in here and then won't I snap him up? When the jackal had gathered together all the sticks he could find and put them round the mouth of his den, He set them on fire and pushed them as far into it as possible. There was such a quantity of them that they soon blazed up into a great fire And the smoke and flames filled the den and smothered the wicked old alligator and burned him to death. While the little jackal ran up and down outside dancing for joy and singing. How do you like my house, my friend? Is it nice and warm? Ding dong, ding dong. The alligator is dying. Ding dong, ding dong. He will trouble me no more. I have defeated my enemy. Ring a ting, ding a ting, ding ding, dong. End of section 175, Recording by Rhonda Federman. Section 176 of Childhood's Favorites and Fairy Stories. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Rhonda Federman. Childhood's Favorites and Fairy Stories. By various authors. Section 176. The Farmer and the Moneylender. There was once a farmer who suffered much at the hands of a moneylender. Good harvest or bad, the farmer was always poor. The Moneylender, rich. At the last, when he hadn't a farthing left, the farmer went to the Moneylender's house and said, You can't squeeze water from a stone, and as you have nothing to get by me now, you might tell me the secret of becoming rich. My friend, returned the Moneylender piously. Riches come from Ram. Ask him. Thank you, I will, replied the simple farmer. So he prepared three girdle cakes to last him on the journey, and set out to find Ram. First he met a Brahmin, and to him he gave a cake, asking him to point out the road to Ram. But the Brahmin only took the cake and went on his way, without a word. Next the farmer met a yogi, or devotee, and to him he gave a cake, without receiving any help in return. At last he came upon a poor man sitting under a tree, and finding out he was hungry, the kindly farmer gave him his last cake, and sitting down to rest beside him, entered into conversation. And where are you going? asked the poor man at length. Oh, I have a long journey before me, for I am going to find Ram, replied the farmer. I don't suppose you could tell me which way to go. Perhaps I can, said the poor man, smiling, for I am Ram. What do you want of me? Then the farmer told the whole story, and Ram, taking pity on him, gave him a conch shell and showed him how to blow it in a particular way, saying, Remember whatever you wish for, you have only to blow the conch that way, and your wish will be fulfilled. Only have a care of that moneylender, for even magic is not proof against his wiles. The farmer went back to his village, rejoicing. In fact, the moneylender noticed his high spirits at once, and said to himself, Some good fortune must have befallen the stupid fellow, to make him hold his head so jauntily. Therefore he went over to the simple farmer's house, and congratulated him on his good fortune in such cunning words, pretending to have heard all about it, that before long the farmer found himself telling the whole story. All except the secret of blowing the conch. For with all his simplicity the farmer was not quite such a fool as to tell that. Nevertheless the moneylender determined to have the conch by hook or by crook, and as he was villain enough not to stick at trifles, he waited for a favourable opportunity, and stole the conch. But after nearly bursting himself with blowing the conch in every conceivable way, he was obliged to give up the secret as a bad job. However, being determined to succeed, he went back to the farmer, and said coolly, Look here, I've got your conch, but I can't use it. You haven't got it, so it's clear you can't use it either. Business is at a standstill unless we make a bargain. Now I promise to give you back your conch, and never to interfere with your using it, on one condition, which is this. Whatever you get from it, I am to get double. Never, cried the farmer, that would be the old business all over again. Not at all, replied the wily moneylender. You will have your share. Now don't be a dog in the manger, for if you get all you want, what could it matter to you if I am rich or poor? At last, though it went sorely against the grain to be of any benefit to a moneylender, the farmer was forced to yield, and from that time, no matter what he gained by power of the conch, the moneylender gained double. And the knowledge that this was so, preyed upon the farmer's mind day and night, so that he had no satisfaction out of anything. At last there came a very dry season, so dry that the farmer's crops withered for want of rain. Then he blew his conch, and wished for a well to water them, and lo, there was the well. But the moneylender had two, two beautiful new wells. This was too much for any farmer to stand, and our friend brooded over it, and brooded over it, till at last a bright idea came into his head. He seized the conch, blew it loudly, and cried out, oh ram, I wish to be blind of one eye. And so he was in a twinkling, but the moneylender, of course, was blind of both, and in trying to steer his way between the two new wells he fell into one, and was drowned. Now this true story shows that a farmer once got the better of a moneylender, but only by losing one of his eyes. Once lived a camel and a jackal who were great friends. One day the jackal said to the camel, I know that there is a fine field of sugarcane on the other side of the river. If you will take me across, I'll show you the place. This plan will suit me as well as you. You will enjoy eating the sugarcane, and I am sure to find many crabs, bones, and bits of fish by the river side on which to make a good dinner. The camel consented and swam across the river taking the jackal who could not swim on his back. When they reached the other side the camel went to eating the sugarcane, and the jackal ran up and down the river bank devouring all the crabs, bits of fish, and bones he could find. But being a much smaller animal he had made an excellent meal before the camel had eaten more than two or three mouthfuls, and no sooner had he finished his dinner than he ran round and round the sugarcane field, yelping and howling with all his might. The villagers heard him and thought there is a jackal among the sugarcane. He will be scratching holes in the ground and spoiling the roots of the plants. They all went down to the place to drive him away. But when they got there they found, to their surprise, not only a jackal, but a camel who was eating the sugarcane. This made them very angry, and they caught the poor camel and drove him from the field and beat him and beat him until he was nearly dead. When they had gone the jackal said to the camel, we had better go home. And the camel said, very well, then jump upon my back as you did before. So the jackal jumped upon the camel's back and the camel began to recross the river. When they had got well into the water the camel said, this is a pretty way in which you have treated me, friend jackal, no sooner had you finished your own dinner than you must go yelping about the place loud enough to arouse the whole village and bring all the villagers down to beat me black and blue and turn me out of the field before I had eaten two mouthfuls. What in the world did you make such a noise for? I don't know, said the jackal. It's a custom I have. I always like to sing a little after dinner. The camel waited on through the river. The water reached up to his knees, then above them, up, up, up, higher and higher, until he was obliged to swim. Then, turning to the jackal, he said, I feel very anxious to roll. Oh, pray don't, why do you wish to do so? asked the jackal. I don't know, answered the camel. It is a custom I have. I always like to have a little roll after dinner. So saying, he rolled over in the water, shaking the jackal off as he did so, and the jackal was drowned, but the camel swam safely ashore. End of Section 177. Section 178 of Childhood Favorites and Fairy Stories. This is LibriVox Recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Ralph Snelson. Childhood Favorites and Fairy Stories by various authors. Section 178. Sing Raja and the Cunning Little Jackals. Once upon a time in a great jungle there lived a great lion. He was Raja of all the country round, and every day he used to leave his den in the deepest shadow of the rocks and roar with a loud, angry voice. And when he roared, the other animals in the jungle, who were all his subjects, got very much frightened and ran here and there, and sing Raja would pounce upon them and kill them and gobble them up for his dinner. This went on for a long, long time, until at last there were no living creatures left in the jungle but two little jackals, a Raja jackal and a Rene jackal, husband and wife. A very hard time of it the poor little jackals had, running this way and that to escape the terrible sing Raja, and every day the little Rene jackal would say to her husband, I am afraid he will catch us today, you hear how he is roaring, oh dear, oh dear, and he would answer her, never fear, I will take care of you, let us run on a mile or two, come, come quick, quick, quick, and they would both run away as fast as they could. After some time spent in this way they found, however, one fine day that the lion was so close upon them that they could not escape. Then the little Rene jackal said, husband, husband, I feel much frightened. The sing Raja is so angry he will certainly kill us at once. What can we do? But he answered, cheer up, we can save ourselves yet, come and I'll show you how we may manage it. So what did these cunning little jackals do, but they went to the great lion's den, and when he saw them coming he began to roar and shake his mane and he said, you little wretches, come and be eaten at once. I have had no dinner for three whole days, and all that time I have been running over hill and dale to find you. Come and be eaten, I say. And he lashed his tail and gnashed his teeth and looked very terrible indeed. Then the jackal Raja, creeping quite close up to him, said, O great sing Raja, we all know you are our master, and we would have come at your bidding long ago. But indeed, sir, there is a much bigger Raja even than you in this jungle, and he tried to catch hold of us and eat us up and frighten us so much that we were obliged to run away. What do you mean, growled sing Raja? There is no king in this jungle but me. Osir answered the jackal, in truth one would think so, for you are very dreadful. Your very voice is death. But it is, as we say, for we, with our own eyes, have seen one with whom you could not compete, whose equal you can no more be than we are yours, whose face is as flaming fire, his step is thunder and his power supreme. It is impossible, interrupted the old lion, but show me this Raja of whom you speak so much that I may destroy him instantly. Then the little jackals ran on before him until they reached a great well, and pointing down to his own reflection in the water they said, See, Sire, there lives the terrible king of whom we spoke. When sing Raja looked down the well, he became very angry, for he thought he saw another lion there. He roared and shook his great mane, and the shadow lion shook his and looked terribly defiant. At last, beside himself with rage at the violence of his opponent, Sing Raja sprang down to kill him at once. But no other lion was there, only the treacherous reflection, and the sides of the well were so steep that he could not get out again to punish the two jackals who peeped over the top. After struggling for some time in the deep water he sank, to rise no more. And the little jackals threw stones down upon him from above, and danced round and round the well, singing, A-O, A-O, A-O, A-O, The king of the forest is dead, is dead. We have killed the great lion who would have killed us. A-O, A-O, A-O, A-O, Ring-a-ting, ding-a-ting, ring-a-ting, ding-a-ting, A-O, A-O, A-O. End of Section 178. Section 179 of Childhood's Favorites and Fairy Stories. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Rhonda Federman. Childhood's Favorites and Fairy Stories by various authors. Section 179. The White Stone Canoe, adapted by H.R. Schoolcraft. There was once a very beautiful Indian maiden, who died suddenly on the day she was to have been married to a handsome young warrior. He was also brave, but his heart was not proof against this loss. From the hour she was buried there was no more joy or peace for him. He went often to visit the spot where the women had buried her, and sat musing there. When it was thought by some of his friends, he would have done better to try to amuse himself in the chase, or by diverting his thoughts in the warpath. But war and hunting had both lost their charms for him. His heart was already dead within him. He pushed aside both his war-club and his bow and arrows. He had heard the old people say that there was a path that led to the land of souls, and he determined to follow it. He accordingly set out one morning, after having completed his preparations for the journey. At first he hardly knew which way to go. He was only guided by the tradition that he must go south. For a while he could see no change in the face of the country. Forests and hills and valleys and streams had the same look which they wore in his native place. There was snow on the ground when he set out, and it was sometimes seen to be piled and matted on the thick trees and bushes. At length it began to diminish, and finally disappeared. The forest assumed a more cheerful appearance. The leaves put forth their buds, and before he was aware of the completeness of the change, he found himself surrounded by spring. He had left behind him the land of snow and ice. The air became mild, the dark clouds of winter had rolled away from the sky. A pure field of blue was above him, and as he went he saw flowers beside his path, and heard the songs of birds. By these signs he knew he was going the right way, for they agreed with the traditions of his tribe. At length he spied a path. It led him through a grove, then up a long and elevated ridge, on the very top of which he came to a lodge. At the door stood an old man, with white hair, whose eyes, though deeply sunk, had a fiery brilliance. He had a long robe of skins thrown loosely around his shoulders, and a staff in his hands. The young chip away and began to tell his story, but the venerable chief arrested him before he had proceeded to speak ten words. I have expected you, he replied, and had just risen to bid you welcome to my abode. She whom you seek past here but a few days since, and being fatigued with her journey, rested herself here. Enter my lodge and be seated, and I will then satisfy your inquiries, and give you directions for your journey from this point. Having done this, they both issued forth to the lodge door. You see Yonder Gulf, said he, and the wide stretching blue plains beyond. It is the land of souls. You stand upon its borders, and my lodge is the gate of entrance, but you cannot take your body along. Leave it here with your bow and arrows, your bundle, and your dog. You will find them safe on your return. So, saying he re-entered the lodge, and the freed traveller bounded forward as if his feet had suddenly been endowed with the power of wings. But all things retained their natural colors and shapes. The woods and leaves and streams and lakes were only more bright and comely than he had ever witnessed. Animals bounded across his path with a freedom and a confidence, which seemed to tell him there was no blood shed here. Birds of beautiful plumage inhabited the groves and sported in the waters. There was but one thing in which he saw a very unusual effect. He noticed that his passage was not stopped by trees or other objects. He appeared to walk directly through them. They were, in fact, but the souls or shadows of material trees. He became sensible that he was in a land of shadows. When he had traveled half a day's journey, through a country which was continually becoming more attractive, he came to the banks of a broad lake, in the center of which was a large and beautiful island. He found a canoe of shining white stone tied to the shore. He was now sure that he had taken the right path, for the aged man had told him this. There were also shining paddles. He immediately entered the canoe and took the paddles in his hands. When to his joy and surprise, on turning round, he beheld the object of his search in another canoe. Exactly its counterpart in everything. She had exactly imitated his motions, and they were side by side. They at once pushed out from shore and began to cross the lake. Its waves seemed to be rising, and at a distance looked ready to swallow them up. But just as they entered the whitened edge of them, they seemed to melt away, as if they were but the images of waves. But no sooner was one wreath of foam pass than another, more threatening still, arose. Thus they were in perpetual fear, and what added to it was the clearness of the water, through which they could see heaps of beings who had perished before, and whose bones lay strewed on the bottom of the lake. The master of life had, however, decreed to let them pass, for the actions of neither of them had been bad. But they saw many others struggling and sinking in the waves. Old and young of all ages and ranks were there. Some passed, and some sank. It was only the little children whose canoes seemed to meet no waves. At length every difficulty was gone as in a moment, and they both leaped out on the happy island. They felt that the very air was food. It strengthened and nourished them. They wandered together over the blissful fields, where everything was formed to please the eye and the ear. There were no tempests. There was no ice, no chilly winds. No one shivered for the want of warm clothes. No one suffered hunger. No one mourned for the dead. They saw no graves. They heard of no wars. There was no hunting of animals, for the air itself was their food. Gladly would the young warrior have remained there forever. But he was obliged to go back for his body. He did not see the master of life, but he heard his voice in a soft breeze. Go back, said this voice, to the land from whence you came. Your time has not yet come. The duties for which I made you and which you are to perform are not yet finished. Return to your people and accomplish the duties of a good man. You will be the ruler of your tribe for many days. The rules you must observe will be told you by my messenger who keeps the gate. When he surrenders back your body he will tell you what to do. Listen to him and you shall afterward rejoin the spirit which you must now leave behind. She is accepted and will be ever here, as young and as happy as she was when I first called her from the land of snows. When this voice ceased, the narrator awoke. It was all the fabric of a dream and he was still in the bitter land of snows and hunger and tears. End of Section 179, Recording by Rhonda Federman. Section 180 of Childhood's Favorites and Fairy Stories Section 180 The Maiden Who Loved a Fish There was once among the Marsh Peas, a small tribe who have their hunting grounds on the shores of the Great Lake, near the Cape of Storms, a woman whose name was Awashanks. She was rather silly and very idle. For days together she would sit, doing nothing. Then she was so ugly and ill-shaped that not one of the youths of the village would have ought to say to her by way of courtship or marriage. She squinted very much, her face was long and thin, her nose excessively large and humped, her teeth crooked and projecting, her chin almost as sharp as the bill of a loon, and her ears as large as those of a deer. All together she was a very odd and strangely formed woman, and wherever she went she never failed to excite much laughter and derision among those who thought that ugliness and deformity were fit subjects for ridicule. Though so very ugly, there was one faculty she possessed in a more remarkable degree than any woman of the tribe. It was that of singing. Nothing unless such could be found in the land of spirits could equal the sweetness of her voice or the beauty of her songs. Her favorite place of resort was a small hill, a little removed from the river of her people, and there seated beneath the shady trees she would wail away the hours of summer with her charming songs. So beautiful and melodious were the things she uttered that by the time she had sung a single sentence the branches above her head would be filled with the birds that came thither to listen. The thickets around her would be crowded with beasts, and the waters rolling beside her would be alive with fishes, all attracted by the sweet sounds. From the minnow to the porpoise, from the wren to the eagle, from the snail to the lobster, from the mouse to the mole, all hastened to the spot to listen to the charming songs of the hideous Marshpea maiden. Among the fishes which repaired every night to the vicinity of the little hillock, which was the chosen resting place of the ugly songstress, was the great chief of the trouts, a tribe of fish inhabiting the river nearby. The chief was of a far greater size than the people of his nation usually are, being as long as a man and quite as broad. Of all the creatures which came to listen to the singing of Awashanks, none appeared to enjoy it so highly as the chief of the trouts. As his bulk prevented him from approaching so near as he wished, he from time to time in his eagerness to enjoy the music to the best advantage, ran his nose into the ground, and thus worked his way a considerable distance into the land. Finally he continued his exertions to approach the source of the delightful sounds he heard till at length he had plowed out a wide and handsome channel, and so effected his passage from the river to the hill, a distance extending an arrow's flight. Thither he repaired every night at the commencement of darkness, sure to meet the maiden who had become so necessary to his happiness. Soon he began to speak of the pleasure he enjoyed and to fill the ears of Awashanks with fawn protestations of his love and affection. Instead of singing to him, she now began to listen to his voice. It was something so new and strange to her to hear the tones of love and courtship, a thing so unusual to be told she was beautiful that it is not wonderful her head was turned by the new incident, and that she began to think the voice of her lover the sweetest she had ever heard. One thing marred their happiness. This was that the trout could not live upon land, nor the maiden in the water. This state of things gave them much sorrow. They had met one evening at the usual place, and were discoursing together, lamenting that two who loved each other so should be doomed always to live apart, when a man appeared close to Awashanks. He asked the lovers why they seemed to be so sad. The chief of the trouts told the stranger the cause of their sorrow. Be not grieved nor hopeless said the stranger when the chief had finished. The impediments can be removed. I am the spirit who presides over fishes, and though I cannot make a man or woman of a fish, I can make them into fish. Under my power Awashanks shall become a beautiful trout. With that he bade the girl follow him into the river. When they had waded in some little depth, he took up some water in his hand and poured it over her head, muttering some words, of which none but himself knew the meaning. Immediately a change took place in her. Her body took the form of a fish, and in a few moments she was a complete trout. Having accomplished this transformation the spirit gave her to the chief of the trouts, and the pair glided off into the deep and quiet waters. She did not, however, forget the land of her birth. Every season on the same night as that upon which her disappearance from her tribe had been wrought, there were to be seen two trouts of enormous size playing in the water off the shore. They continued their visits till the pale faces came to the country, when deeming themselves to be in danger from a people who paid no reverence to the spirits of the land, they bade it adieu for ever. 181. The Star Wife In the days when the buffalo raced and thundered over the earth, and the stars danced and sang in the sky, a brave young hunter lived on the brank of the battle river. He was fond of the red flowers and the blue sky, and when the rest of the Indians went out to hunt in waistcloths of skin, he put on his fringed leggings all heavy with blue beads, and painted red rings and stripes on his face, till he was as gay as the earth and the sky himself. Highfeather was his name, and he always wore a red swan's feather on his head. One day when Highfeather was out with his bow and arrows, he came on a little beaten trail that he had never seen before, and he followed it, but he found that it went round and round and brought him back to where he had started. It came from nowhere, and it went to nowhere. What sort of animal has made this? He said, and he lay down in the middle of the ring to think, looking up into the blue sky. While he lay thinking, he saw a little speck up above him in the sky, and thought it was an eagle, but the speck grew bigger and sank down and down, till he saw it was a great basket coming down out of the sky. He jumped up and ran back to a little hollow and lay down to hide in a patch of tall red flowers. Then he peed out and saw the basket come down to the earth and rest on the grass in the middle of the ring. Twelve beautiful maidens were leaning over the edge of the basket. They were not Indian maidens, for their faces were pink and white, and their long hair was bright red brown like a fox's fur, and their clothes were sky blue and floating light as cobwebs. The maidens jumped out of the basket and began to dance round and round the ring trail, one behind the other, drumming with their fingers on little drums of eagle skin, and singing such beautiful songs as high feather had never heard. Then high feather jumped up and ran towards the ring, crying out, let me dance and sing with you. The maidens were frightened and ran to the basket and jumped in, and the basket flew up into the sky and grew smaller till at last he could not see it at all. The young man went home to his wigwam and his mother roasted buffalo meat for his dinner, but he could not eat and he could not think of anything but the twelve beautiful maidens. His mother begged him to tell her what the matter was, and at last he told her and said he would never be happy till he brought one of the maidens home to be his wife. Those must be the star people, said his mother, who was a great magician. The prairie was full of magic in those days before the white man came and the buffalo went. You had better take an Indian girl for your wife. Don't think any more of the star maidens, or you will have much trouble. I care little how much trouble I have, so long as I get a star maiden for my wife, she said, and I am going to get one if I have to wait till the world ends. If you must, you must, said his mother. So next morning she sewed a bit of gopher's fur onto his feather, and he ate a good breakfast of buffalo meat and tramped away over the prairie to the dancing ring. As soon as he came into the ring he turned into a gopher, but there were no gopher's holes there for him to hide in, so he had to lie on the grass and wait. Presently he saw a speck up in the sky, and the speck grew larger and larger till it became a basket, and the basket came down and down till it rested on the earth in the middle of the ring. The eldest maiden put her head over the edge and looked all around, north and east and south and west. There is no man here, she said, so they all jumped out to have their dance. But before they came to the beaten ring, the youngest maiden spied the gopher and called out to her sisters to look at it. Away, away, cried the eldest maiden. No gopher would dare to come on our dancing ground, it is a conjurer in disguise. So she took her younger sister by the arm and pulled her away to the basket, and they all jumped in and the basket went sailing up into the sky before Hyfeather could get out of his gopher's skin or say a word. The young man went home very miserable, but when his mother heard what had happened, she said, it is a hard thing you want to do, but if you must, you must. Tonight I will make some fresh magic and you can try again tomorrow. This morning Hyfeather asked for his breakfast, but his mother said, you must not have any buffalo meat, or it will spoil the magic. You must not eat anything but the wild strawberries you find on the prairie as you go. Then she sewed a little bit of mouse's whisker onto his red feather, and he trapped away across the prairie, picking wild strawberries and eating them as he went, till he came to the dancing ring. As soon as he was inside the ring he turned into a little mouse and made friends with the family of mice that lived in a hole under the grass, and the mother mouse promised to help him all she could. They had not waited long when the basket came dropping out of the sky. The elder sister put her head over the edge and looked all around, north and west and south and east and down on the ground. There is no man here, she said, and I do not see any gopher, but you must be very careful. So they all got out of the basket and began to dance round the ring, drumming and singing as they went, but when they came near the mouse's nest, the elder sister held up a hand and they stopped dancing and held their breath. Then she tapped on the ground and listened. It does not sound so hollow as it did, she said, the mice have a visitor, and she tapped again and called out, come and show yourselves, you little traitors, or we will dig you up. But the mother mouse had made another door to her nest, just outside the ring working very fast of all her toes, and while the maidens were looking for her inside the ring, she came out at the other door with all her children and scampered away across the prairie. The maidens turned round and ran after them, all but the youngest sister who did not want anyone to be killed, and high feather came out of the hole and turned himself into what he was and caught her by the arm. Come home and marry me, he said, and dance with the Indian maidens, and I will hunt for you, and mother will cook for you, and you will be much happier than up in the sky. Her sisters came rushing round her and begged her to go back home to the sky with them, but she looked into the young man's eyes and said she would go with him wherever he went, so the other maidens went weeping and wailing up into the sky, and high feather took his star wife home to his tent on the bank of the battle river. High feather's mother was glad to see them both, but she whispered in his ear, you must never let her out of your sight if you want to keep her, you must take her with you everywhere you go. And he did so. She took her with him every time he went hunting, and he made her a bow and arrows, but she would never use them. She would pit wild strawberries and gooseberries and raspberries as they went along, but she would never kill anything, and she would never eat anything that anyone else had killed. She only ate berries and crushed corn. One day, while the young man's wife was embroidering feather stars on a dancing cloth, and his mother was gossiping in a tent at the other end of the village, a little yellow bird flew in and perched on high feather's shoulder and whispered in his ear. There is a great flock of wild red swans just over on Loon Lake. If you come quickly and quietly, you can catch them before they fly away, but do not tell your wife, for red swans cannot bear the sight of a woman, and they can tell if one comes within a mile of them. High feather had never seen or heard of a red swan before, all the red feathers he wore he had had to paint. He looked at his wife, and as she was sewing busily and looking down at her star embroidering, he thought he could sip away and get back before she knew he had gone. But as soon as he was out of sight, the little yellow bird flew in and perched on her shoulder and sang her such a beautiful song about her sisters in the sky that she forgot everything else and slipped out and ran like the wind and got to the dancing ring just as her sisters came down in their basket. Then they're all gathered round her and begged her to go home with them. But she only said, high feather is a brave man and he is very good to me and I will never leave him. When they saw they could not make her leave her husband, the older sister said, if you must stay you must, but just come up for an hour to let your father see you because he has been mourning for you ever since you went away. The star wife did not wish to go, but she wanted to see her father once more. So she got into the basket and it sailed away up into the sky. Her father was very glad to see her and she was very glad to see him and they talked and they talked to the blue sky was getting gray. Then she remembered that she ought to have gone home long before. Now I must go back to my husband, she said. That you shall never do, said her father and he shut her up in a white cloud and said she should stay there till she promised never to go back to the prairie. She begged to be let out but it was no use. Then she began to weep and she wept so much that the cloud began to weep too and it was weeping itself quite away. So her father saw she would go down to the earth in rain if he kept her in the cloud any longer and he let her out. What must I do for you, he said, to make you stay with us here and be happy. I will not stay here, she said, unless my husband comes and lives here too. I will send for him at once, said her father, so he sent the basket down empty and it rested in the middle of the dancing ring. Now when Highfeather reached Loon Lake he found it covered with red swans. He shot two with one arrow and then all the rest flew away. He picked up the two swans and hurried back to his tent and there lay the dancing cloth with the feather stars on it. Half finished but no wife could he see. He called her but she did not answer. He rushed out with the two red swans still slung round his neck and hanging down his back and ran to the dancing ring but nobody was there. I will wait till she comes back, he said to himself, if I have to wait till the world ends so he threw himself down on the grass and lay looking up at the stars till he went to sleep. Early in the morning he heard a rustling on the grass and when he opened his eyes he saw the great basket close beside him. He jumped up with the two red swans still slung around his neck and climbed into the basket. There was nobody there and when he began to climb out again he found that the basket was halfway up to the sky. It went up and up and at last it came into the star country where his wife was waiting for him. Her father gave them a beautiful blue tent to live in and high feather was happy enough for a while but he soon grew tired of the cloud berries that the star people ate and he longed to tramp over the solid green prairie so he asked his wife's father to let him take her back to the earth. No, said the star man, because then I should never see her again. If you stay with us you will soon forget the dull old earth. The young man said nothing but he put on the wings of one of the red swans and he put the other red swan's wings on his wife and they leapt over the edge of the star country and flew down through the air to the prairie and came to the tent where high feather's mother was mourning for them and there was a great feast in the village because they had come back safe and sound. The star wife finished embroidering her dancing cloth that day and whenever the Indians danced she danced with them. She never went back to the star maiden's dancing ring but she still lived on berries and corn because she would never kill anything except one thing and that was a little yellow bird. It flew into a tent one day when high feather had his back turned and began to whisper into the star wife's ear but it never came to trouble her again. End of section 181 The Star Wife