 A Young Man Whose Name Was Pytheus Had Done Something Which The Tyrant Dionysius Did Not Like. For this offense he was dragged to prison, and a day was set when he should be put to death. His home was far away, and he wanted very much to see his father and mother and friends before he died. "'Only give me leave to go home and say good-bye to those whom I love,' he said, and then I will come back and give up my life.' The Tyrant laughed at him. "'How can I know that you will keep your promise?' he said. "'You only want to cheat me and save yourself.' Then a young man whose name was Daemon spoke and said, "'O King, put me in prison in place of my friend Pytheus, and let him go to his own country to put his affairs in order and to bid his friends farewell. I know that he will come back as he promised, for he is a man who has never broken his word. But if he is not here on the day which you have set, then I will die in his stead.' The Tyrant was surprised that anybody should make such an offer. At last he agreed to let Pytheus go, and gave orders that the young man should be shut up in prison. Time passed, and by and by the day drew near which had been set for Pytheus to die, and he had not come back. The Tyrant ordered the jailer to keep close watch upon Daemon and not let him escape. But Daemon did not try to escape. He still had faith in the truth in honor of his friend. He said, "'If Pytheus does not come back in time, it will not be his fault. It will be because he is hindered against his will.' At last the day came, and then the very hour Daemon was ready to die. His trust in his friend was as firm as ever, and he said that he did not grieve at having to suffer for one whom he loved so much. Then the jailer came and led him to his death. And at the same moment Pytheus stood in the door. He had been delayed by storms and shipwreck, and he had feared that he was too late. He greeted Daemon kindly, and then gave himself into the hands of the jailer. He was happy because he thought that he had come in time, even though it was at the last moment. The Tyrant was not so bad, but that he could see good in others. He felt that men who loved and trusted each other, as did Daemon and Pytheus, ought not to suffer unjustly, and so he set them both free. "'I would give all my wealth to have one such friend,' he said. End of Story 31 This recording is in the public domain. Story 32 from Fifty Famous Stories Retold by James Baldwin Read for LibriVox.org by Laura Caldwell Alakana Gantzer Many miles beyond Rome there was a famous country which we called Greece. The people of Greece were not united like the Romans, but instead there were several states each of which had its own rulers. Some of the people in the southern part of the country were called Spartans, and they were noted for their simple habits and their bravery. The name of their land was called Laconia, and so they were sometimes called Lacons. One of the strange rules which the Spartans had was that they should speak briefly and never use more words than were needed, and so a short answer is often spoken of as being Laconic. That is, as being such an answer that a Lacan would be likely to give. There was in the northern part of Greece a land called Macedon, and this land was at one time ruled over by a warlike king named Philip. Philip of Macedon wanted to become the master of all Greece, so he raised a great army and made war upon the other states. Until nearly all of them were forced to call him their king, then he sent a letter to the Spartans in Laconia and said, If I go down into your country I will level your great city to the ground. In a few days an answer was brought back to him. When he opened the letter he found only one word written there. That word was IF. It was as much as to say, we are not afraid of you so long as the little word IF stands in your way. End of Story 32 This recording is in the public domain. Story 33 From Fifty Famous Stories Retold by James Baldwin Read for LibriVox.org by Laura Caldwell The Ungrateful Guest While the soldiers of King Philip there was a poor man who had done some brave deeds. He had pleased the king in more ways than one, and so the king put a good deal of trust in him. One day this soldier was on board of a ship at sea when a great storm came up. The winds drove the ship upon the rocks, and it was wrecked. The soldier was cast half-drowned upon the shore, and he would have died there had it not been for the kind care of a farmer who lived close by. When the soldier was well enough to go home he thanked the farmer for what he had done and promised that he would repay him for his kindness. But he did not mean to keep his promise. He did not tell King Philip about the man who had saved his life. He only said that there was a fine farm by the seashore, and that he would like very much to have it for his own. Would the king give it to him? Who owns the farm now? asked Philip. Only a churlish farmer who has never done anything for his country, said the soldier. Very well then, said Philip, you have served me for a long time, and you shall have your wish. Go and take the farm for yourself." And so the soldier made haste to drive the farmer from his house and home. He took the farm for his own. The poor farmer was stung to the heart by such treatment. He went boldly to the king, and told the whole story from beginning to end. King Philip was very angry when he learned that the man whom he had trusted had done so base a deed. He sent for the soldier in great haste, and when he had come he caused these words to be burned into his forehead. The ungrateful guest. Thus all the world was made to know of the mean act by which the soldier had tried to enrich himself, and from that day until he died all men shunned and hated him. End of Story 33 Story 34 From Fifty Famous Stories Retold by James Baldwin Read for LibriVox.org by Laura Caldwell Alexander and Busephalus One day King Philip bought a fine horse called Busephalus. He was a noble animal, and the king paid a very high price for him. But he was wild and savage, and no man could mount him, or do anything at all with him. They tried to whip him, but that only made him worse. At last the king bade his servants take him away. "'It is a pity to ruin so final horses that,' said Alexander, the king's young son. Those men do not know how to treat him. "'Perhaps you can do better than they,' said his father scornfully. "'I know,' said Alexander, that if you would only give me leave to try, I could manage this horse better than any one else. "'And if you fail to do so, what then?' asked Philip. "'I will pay you the price of the horse,' said the lad. While everybody was laughing Alexander ran up to Busephalus and turned his head toward the sun. He had noticed that the horse was afraid of his own shadow. He then spoke gently to the horse, and patted him with his hand. When he had quieted him a little, he made a quick spring and leaped upon the horse's back. Everybody expected to see the boy killed outright, but he kept his place and let the horse run as fast as he would. By and by, when Busephalus had become tired, Alexander reigned him in, and rode back to the place where his father was standing. All the men who were there shouted when they saw that the boy had proved himself to be the master of the horse. He leaped to the ground, and his father ran and kissed him. "'My son,' said the king, "'Macedon is too small a place for you. You must seek a larger kingdom that will be worthy of you.'" After that Alexander and Busephalus were the best of friends. They were said to be always together, for when one of them was seen, the other was sure not to be far away. But the horse would never allow anyone to mount him but his master. Alexander became the most famous king and warrior that was ever known, and for that reason he is always called Alexander the Great. Busephalus carried him through many countries, and in many fierce battles, and more than once did he save his master's life. Story 35 From fifty famous stories retold by James Baldwin Read for LibriVox.org by Laura Caldwell Diogenes the Wise Man At Corinth in Greece there lived a very wise man whose name was Diogenes. Man came from all parts of the land to see him and hear him talk. But wise as he was he had some very queer ways. He did not believe that any man ought to have more things than he really needed, and he said that no man needed much. And so he did not live in a house that slept in a tub or barrel, which he rolled about from place to place. He spent his days sitting in the sun and saying wise things to those who were around him. That noon one day Diogenes was seen walking through the streets with a lighted lantern, and looking all around as if in search of something. Why do you carry a lantern when the sun is shining? Someone said, I am looking for an honest man, answered Diogenes. When Alexander the Great went to Corinth all the foremost men in the city came out to see him and to praise him. But Diogenes did not come, and he was the only man for whose opinions Alexander cared. And so, since the wise man would not come to see the king, the king went to see the wise man. He found Diogenes in an out of the way place, lying on the ground by his tub. He was enjoying the heat and the light of the sun. When he saw the king and a great many people coming, he sat up and looked at Alexander. Alexander greeted him and said, Diogenes, I have heard a great deal about your wisdom. Is there anything that I can do for you? Yes, said Diogenes. You can stand a little on one side so as not to keep the sunshine from me. This answer was so different from what he expected that the king was much surprised. But it did not make him angry. It only made him admire the strange man all the more. When he turned to ride back, he said to his officers, Say what you will. If I were not Alexander, I would like to be Diogenes. All Greece was in danger. A mighty army, led by the great king of Persia, had come from the east. It was marching along the seashore, and a few days would be in Greece. The great king had sent messengers into every city and state, bidding them give him water and earth and token that the land and the sea were his. But they said, No, we will be free. And so there was a great stir throughout all the land. The men armed themselves and made haste to go out and drive back their foe, and the women stayed at home, weeping and wading and trembling with fear. There was only one way by which the Persian army could go into Greece on that side, and that was by a narrow pass between the mountains and the sea. This pass was guarded by Leonidas, the king of the Spartans, with three hundred Spartan soldiers. Soon the Persian soldiers were seen coming. There were so many of them that no man could count them. How could a handful of men hope to stand against so great a host? And yet Leonidas and his Spartans held their ground. They had made up their minds to die at their post. Someone brought them word that there were so many Persians that their arrows darkened the sun. So much the better, said the Spartans, we shall fight in the shade. Bravely they stood in the narrow pass. Bravely they faced their foes. To Spartans there was no such thing as fear. The Persians came forward, only to meet death at the points of their spears. But one by one the Spartans fell. At last their spears were broken. Yet still they stood side by side, fighting to the last. Some fought with swords. Some with daggers. And some with only their fists and teeth. All day long the army of the Persians was kept at bay. But when the sun went down there was not one Spartan left alive. Where they had stood there was only a heap of the slain, all bristled over with spears and arrows. Twenty thousand Persian soldiers had fallen before that handful of men, and Greece was saved. Thousands of years have passed since then, but men still like to tell the story of Leonidas and the brave 300 who died for their country's sake. End of Story 36 This recording is in the public domain. Story 37 From Fifty Famous Stories Retold by James Baldwin Read for LibriVox.org by Laura Caldwell Socrates and His House There once lived in Greece a very wise man whose name was Socrates. Young men from all parts of the land went to him to learn wisdom from him, and he said so many pleasant things and said them in so delightful a way that no one ever grew tired of listening to him. One summer he built himself a house, but it was so small that the neighbors wondered how he could be content with it. What is the reason, said they, that you, who are so great a man, should build such a little box as this for your dwelling-house? Indeed, there may be little reason, said he, but, small as the place is, I shall think myself happy if I can fill even it with true friends. End of Story 37 This recording is in the public domain. Story 38 From Fifty Famous Stories Retold by James Baldwin Read for LibriVox.org by Laura Caldwell The King and His Hulk Genghis Khan was a great king and warrior. He led his army into China and Persia, and he conquered many lands. In every country men told about his daring deeds, and they said that since Alexander the Great there had been no king like him. One morning when he was home from the wars he rode out into the woods to have a day's sport. Many of his friends were with him. They rode out gaily carrying their bows and arrows. Behind them came the servants with the hounds. It was a merry hunting-party. The woods rang with their shouts and laughter. They expected to carry much game home in the evening. On the king's wrist sat his favorite hawk, for in those days hawks were trained to hunt. At a word from their masters they would fly high up into the air and look around for prey. If they chanced to see a deer or a rabbit they would swoop down upon it swift as any arrow. All day long Genghis Khan and his huntsmen rode through the woods, but they did not find as much game as they expected. After the evening they started for home. The king had often ridden through the woods and he knew all the paths. So while the rest of the party took the nearest way he went by a longer road through a valley between two mountains. The day had been warm and the king was very thirsty. His pet hawk had left his wrist and flown away. It would be sure to find its way home. The king rode slowly along. He had once seen a spring of clear water near this pathway. If he could only find it now. But the hot days of summer had dried up all the mountain brooks. At last, to his joy, he saw some water trickling down over the edge of a rock. He knew that there was a spring farther up. In the wet season a swift stream of water always poured down here, but now it came only one drop at a time. The king leaped from his horse. He took a little silver cut from his hunting bag. He held it so as to catch the slowly falling drops. It took a long time to fill the cup and the king was so thirsty that he could hardly wait. At last it was nearly full. He put the cup to his lips and was about to drink. All at once there was a whirring sound in the air and the cup was knocked from his hands. The water was all spilled upon the ground. The king looked up to see who had done this thing. It was his pet hawk. The hawk flew back and forth a few times and then alighted among the rocks by the spring. The king picked up the cup and again held it to catch the trickling drops. This time he did not wait so long. When the cup was half full he lifted it toward his mouth. But before it had touched his lips the hawk swooped down again and knocked it from his hands. And now the king began to grow angry. He tried again, and for the third time the hawk kept him from drinking. The king was now very angry indeed. How dare you to act so, he cried. If I had you in my hands I would wring your neck. Then he filled the cup again. But before he tried to drink he drew his sword. Now, sir hawk, he said, this is the last time. He had hardly spoken before the hawk swooped down and knocked the cup from his hand. But the king was looking for this. With a quick sweep of the sword he struck the bird as it passed. The next moment the poor hawk leg bleeding and dying at its master's feet. That is what you get for your pains, said Genghis Khan. But when he looked for his cup he found that it had fallen between two rocks, where he could not reach it. At any rate I will have a drink from that spring, he said to himself. With that he began to climb the steep bank to the place from which the water trickled. It was hard work, and the higher he climbed the thirstier he became. At last he reached the place. There indeed was a pool of water. But what was that lying in the pool, and almost filling it? It was a huge, dead snake of the most poisonous kind. The king stopped. He forgot his thirst. He thought only of the poor dead bird lying on the ground below him. The hawk saved my life, he cried. And how did I repay him? He was my best friend, and I have killed him. He clambered down the bank, he took the bird up gently, and laid it in his hunting-bag. Then he mounted his horse, and rode swiftly home. He said to himself, I have learned a sad lesson today, and that is never to do anything in anger. End of Story 38 This recording is in the public domain. Story 39 from 50 famous stories retold by James Baldwin. Dr. Goldsmith There was once a kind man whose name was Oliver Goldsmith. He wrote many delightful books, some of which you will read when you are older. He had a gentle heart. He was always ready to help others and to share with him anything that he had. He gave away so much to the poor that he was always poor himself. He was sometimes called Dr. Goldsmith for he had studied to be a physician. One day a poor woman asked Dr. Goldsmith to go and see her husband, who was sick and could not eat. Goldsmith did so. He found that the family was in great need. The man had not had work for a long time. He was not sick, but in distress, and as for eating there was no food in the house. Call in my room this evening, said Goldsmith to the woman, and I will give you some medicine for your husband. In the evening the woman called. Goldsmith gave her a little paper box that was very heavy. Here is the medicine, he said. Use it faithfully, and I think it will do your husband a great deal of good. But don't open the box until you reach home. What are the directions for taking it? Asked the woman. You will find them inside of the box, he answered. When the woman reached her home she sat down by her husband's side, and they opened the box. What do you think they found in it? It was full of pieces of money, and on the top were the directions. To be taken as often as necessity requires. Goldsmith had given them all the ready money that he had. End of Story 39 The Kingdoms There was once a king of Prussia whose name was Frederick William. On a fine morning in June he went out alone to walk in the green woods. He was tired of the noise of the city, and he was glad to get away from it. So as he walked among the trees he often stopped to listen to the singing birds, or to look at the wild flowers that grew on every side. Now and then he stooped to pluck a violet, or a primrose, or a yellow buttercup. Soon his hands were full of pretty blossoms. After a while he came to a little meadow in the midst of the wood. Some children were playing there. They were running here and there, and gathering the cow slips that were blooming among the grass. It made the king glad to see the happy children and hear their merry voices. He stood still for some time and watched them as they played. Then he called them around him and all sat down together in the pleasant shade. The children did not know who the strange gentleman was, but they liked his kind face and gentle manners. Now, my little folks, said the king, I want to ask you some questions, and the child who gives the best answer shall have a prize. Then he held up an orange so that all the children could see. You know that we all live in the kingdom of Prussia, he said, but tell me, to what kingdom does this orange belong? The children were puzzled. They looked at one another and sat very still for a little while. Then a brave bright boy spoke up and said, It belongs to the vegetable kingdom, sir. Why so, my lad? asked the king. It is the fruit of a plant, and all plants belong to that kingdom, said the boy. The king was pleased. You are quite right, he said, and you shall have the orange for your prize. He tossed it gaily to the boy. Catch it if you can, he said. Then he took a yellow gold piece from his pocket and held it up so that it glittered in the sunlight. Now to what kingdom does this belong, he asked. Another bright boy answered quickly. To the mineral kingdom, sir, all metals belong to that kingdom. That is a good answer, said the king. The gold piece is your prize. The children were delighted. With eager faces they waited to hear what the stranger would say next. I will ask you one more question, said the king, and it is an easy one. Then he stood up and said, Tell me, my little folks, to what kingdom do I belong? The bright boys were puzzled now. Some thought of saying to the kingdom of Prussia. Some wanted to say to the animal kingdom, but they were a little afraid and all kept silent. At last a tiny blue-eyed child looked up into the king's smiling face and said in her simple way, I think to the kingdom of heaven. King Frederick William stooped down and lifted the little maiden in his arms. Tears were in his eyes as he kissed her and said, So be it, my child, so be it. End of Story forty. This recording is in the public domain. Story forty-one from fifty famous stories retold by James Baldwin. Read for LibriVox.org by Laura Caldwell. The Barmissite Feast There was once a rich old man who was called the Barmissite. He lived in a beautiful palace in the midst of flowery gardens. He had everything that heart could wish. In the same land there was a poor man whose name was Shackaback. His clothing was rags, and his food was the scraps which other people had thrown away. But he had a light heart, and was as happy as a king. Once when Shackaback had not had anything to eat for a long time, he thought that he would go and ask the Barmissite to help. The servant at the door said, Come in and talk with our master. He will not send you away hungry. Shackaback went in and passed through many beautiful rooms, looking for the Barmissite. At last he came to a grand hall, where there were soft carpets on the floor, and fine pictures on the walls, and pleasant couches to lie down upon. At the upper end of the room he saw a noble man with a long white beard. It was the Barmissite, and poor Shackaback bowed low before him, as was the custom in that country. The Barmissite spoke very kindly, and asked what he wanted. Shackaback told him about all his troubles, and said that it was now two days since he had tasted bread. Is it possible, said the Barmissite, You must be almost dead with hunger, and here I have plenty in to spare. Then he turned and called, O boy, bring in the water to wash our hands, and then order the cook to hurry the supper. Shackaback had not expected to be treated so kindly. He began to thank the rich man. Say not a word, said the Barmissite, but let us get ready for the feast. Then the rich man began to rub his hands as though someone was pouring water on them. Come, and wash with me, he said. Shackaback saw no boy, nor basin, nor water. But he thought that he ought to do as he was bidden, and so, like the Barmissite, he made a pretense of washing. Come now, said the Barmissite, let us have supper. He sat down as if to a table, and pretended to be carving a roast. Then he said, Help yourself, my good friend. You said you were hungry, so now, don't be afraid of the food. Shackaback thought that he understood the joke, and he made pretense of taking food and passing it to his mouth. Then he began to chew, and said, You see, sir, I lose no time. Boy, said the old man, bring on the roast goose. Now my good friend, try this choice-piece from the breast. And here are sweet-sauce, honey, raisins, green peas, and dry figs. Help yourself, and remember that other good things are coming. Shackaback was almost dead with hunger, but he was too polite not to do as he was bidden. Come, said the Barmissite, have another piece of the roast lamb. Did you ever eat anything so delicious? Never in my life, said Shackaback, your table is full of good things. Then eat heartily, said the Barmissite. You cannot please me better. After this came the dessert. The Barmissite spoke of sweet meats and fruits, and Shackaback made believe that he was eating them. Now is there anything else that you would like, asked the host? Uh, no, said poor Shackaback. I have indeed had great plenty. Let us drink, then, said the Barmissite. Boy, bring on the wine. Excuse me, my lord, said Shackaback. I will drink no wine, for it is forbidden. The Barmissite seized him by the hand. I have long wished to find a man like you, he said. But come now, we will all sup in earnest. He clapped his hands. Servants came, and he ordered supper. Soon they sat down to a table loaded with the very dishes of which they had pretended to eat. Poor Shackaback had never had so good a meal in all his life. When they had finished and the table had been cleared away, the Barmissite said, I have found you to be a man of good understanding. Your wits are quick, and you are ready always to make the best of everything. Come and live with me, and manage my house. And so Shackaback lived with the Barmissite many years, and never again knew what it was to be hungry. In the Faris there was a great king who had no work to do. Every day and all day long he sat on soft cushions and listened to stories, and no matter what the story was about he never grew tired of hearing it, even though it was very long. There is only one fault that I find with your story, he often said. It is too short. All the storytellers in the world were invited to his palace, and some of them told tales that were very long indeed. But the king was always sad when a story ended. At last he sent word into every city and town and country place, offering a prize to any one who should tell him an endless tale. He said, To the man that will tell me a story which shall last forever, I will give my Faris daughter for his wife, and I will make him my heir, and he shall be king after me. But this was not all. He added a very hard condition. If any man shall try to tell such a story, and then fail, he shall have his head cut off. The king's daughter was very pretty, and there were many young men in that country who were willing to do anything to win her. But none of them wanted to lose their heads, and so only a few tried for the prize. One young man invented a story that lasted three months, but at the end of that time he could think of nothing more. His fate was a warning to others, and it was a long time before another storyteller was so rash as to try the king's patience. But one day a stranger from the south came into the palace. Great king, he said, is it true that you offer a prize to the man who can tell a story that has no end? It is true, said the king. And shall this man have your Faris daughter for his wife, and shall he be your heir? Yes, if he succeeds, said the king, but if he fails he shall lose his head. Very well then, said the stranger, I have a pleasant story about Locust, which I would like to relate. Tell it, said the king, I will listen to you. The storyteller began his tale. Once upon a time a certain king seized upon all the corn in his country and stored it away in a strong grainery. But a swarm of Locust came over the land and saw where the grain had been put. After searching for many days they found on the east side of the grainery a crevice that was just large enough for one Locust to pass through at a time. So one Locust went in and carried away a grain of corn. Then another Locust went in and carried away a grain of corn. Then another Locust went in and carried away a grain of corn. Day after day, week after week, the man kept on saying, Then another Locust went in and carried away a grain of corn. A month passed, a year passed. At the end of two years the king said, How much longer will the Locust be going in and carrying away corn? Oh, king, said the storyteller. They have as yet cleared only one cubit, and there are many thousand cubits in the grainery. Man, man, cried the king, you will drive me mad. I can listen to it no longer. Take my daughter, be my heir, rule my kingdom, but do not let me hear another word about those horrible Locusts. And so the strange storyteller married the king's daughter, and he lived happily in the land for many years, but his father-in-law, the king, did not care to listen to any more stories. End of Story forty-two. This recording is in the public domain. Story forty-three from fifty famous stories retold by James Baldwin. Read for LibriVox.org by Laura Caldwell. The Blind Men and the Elephant There were once six blind men who stood by the roadside every day and begged from the people who passed. They had often heard of elephants, but they had never seen one. For being blind, how could they? It so happened one morning that an elephant was driven down the road where they stood. When they were told that the great beast was before them, they asked the driver to let him stop so that they might see him. Of course they could not see him with their eyes, but they thought that by touching him they could learn just what kind of animal he was. The first one happened to put his hand on the elephant's side. Well, well, he said, now I know all about this beast. He is exactly like a wall. The second felt only of the elephant's tusk. My brother, he said, you are mistaken. He is not at all like a wall. He is round and smooth and sharp. He is more like a spear than anything else. The third happened to take hold of the elephant's trunk. Both of you are wrong, he said. Anybody who knows anything can see that this elephant is like a snake. The fourth reached out his arms and grasped one of the elephant's legs. Oh, how blind you are! He said. It is very plain to me that he is round and tall like a tree. The fifth was a very tall man, and he chanced to take hold of the elephant's ear. The blindest man ought to know that this beast is not like any of the things that you name, he said. He is exactly like a huge fan. The sixth was very blind indeed, and it was some time before he could find the elephant at all. At last he seized the animal's tail. Oh, foolish fellows! he cried. You surely have lost your senses. This elephant is not like a wall, or a spear, or a snake, or a tree. Neither is he like a fan. But any man with a particle of sense can see that he is exactly like a rope. Then the elephant moved on, and the six plying men sat by the roadside all day, and quarreled about him. Each believed that he knew just how the animal looked, and each called the others hard names because they did not agree with him. People who have eyes sometimes act as foolishly. End of Story 43 This recording is in the public domain. Story 44 From Fifty Famous Stories Retold by James Baldwin Read for LibriVox.org by Laura Caldwell Maximilian and the Goose Boy One summer day King Maximilian of Bavaria was walking in the country. The sun shone hot, and he stopped under a tree to rest. It was very pleasant in the cool shade. The king lay down on the soft grass and looked up at the white cloud sailing across the sky. Then he took a little book from his pocket and tried to read. But the king could not keep his mind on his book. Soon his eyes closed, and he was fast asleep. It was past noon when he awoke. He got up from his grassy bed and looked around. Then he took his cane in his hand, and started for home. When he had walked a mile or more, he happened to think of his book. He felt for it in his pocket. It was not there. He had left it under the tree. The king was already quite tired, and he did not like to walk back so far. But he did not wish to lose the book. What should he do? If there was only someone to send for it. While he was thinking he happened to see a little barefooted boy in the open field near the road. He was tending a large flock of geese that were peaking the short grass and wading in a shallow brook. The king went toward the boy. He held a gold piece in his hand. "'My boy,' he said, "'how would you like to have this piece of money?' "'I would like it,' said the boy, but I never hope to have so much. "'You shall have it if you will run back to the oak tree at the second turning of the road, and fetch me the book that I left there.' The king thought that the boy would be pleased. But not so. He turned away and said, "'I am not so silly as you think.' "'What do you mean?' said the king. "'Who says that you are silly?' "'Well,' said the boy, "'you think that I am silly enough to believe that you will give me that gold piece for running a mile and fetching you a book. You can't catch me.' "'But if I give it to you now, perhaps you will believe me,' said the king. And he put the gold piece in the little fellow's hand. The boy's eye sparkled, but he did not move. "'What is the matter now?' said the king. "'Won't you go?' the boy said. "'I would like to go, but I can't leave the geese. They will stray away, and then I shall be blamed for it.' "'Oh, I will tend to them while you are away,' said the king. The boy laughed. "'I should like to see you tending them,' he said. "'Why, they would run away from you in a minute.' "'Only let me try,' said the king. At last the boy gave the king his whip and started off. He had gone but a little way when he turned and came back. "'What is the matter now?' said Maximilian. "'Crack the whip.' The king tried to do as he was bidden, but he could not make a sound. "'I thought as much,' said the boy. "'You don't know how to do anything.' Then he took the whip and gave the king lessons in whip-cracking. "'Now you see how it is done,' he said, as he handed it back. If the geese tried to run away, crack it loud. The king laughed. He did his best to learn his lesson, and soon the boy again started off on his errand. Maximilian sat down on a stone and laughed at the thought of being a goose-herd. But the geese missed their master at once, with a great cackling and hissing they went, half flying, half running, across the meadow. The king ran after them, but he could not run fast. He tried to crack the whip, but it was of no use. The geese were soon far away. What was worse, they had gotten into a garden and were feeding on the tender vegetables. A few minutes afterward the goose-boy came back with the book. "'Just as I thought,' he said, "'I have found the book, and you have lost the geese.' "'Never mind,' said the king, "'I will help you get them again.' Well then, run around that way and stand by the brook while I drive them out of the garden.' The king did as he was told. The boy ran forward with his whip, and after a great deal of shouting and scolding, the geese were driven back into the meadow. "'I hope you'll pardon me for not being a better goose-herd,' said Maximilian, "'but, as I am a king, I am not used to such work.' "'A king, indeed,' said the boy, "'I was very silly to leave the geese with you, but I am not so silly as to believe that you are a king.' "'Very well,' said Maximilian with a smile, "'here is another gold piece, and now let us be friends.' The boy took the gold and thanked the giver. He looked up into the king's face and said, "'You are a very kind man, and I think you might be a good king. But if you were to try all your life, you would never be a good goose-herd.'" End of Story forty-four. This recording is in the public domain. Story forty-five from fifty famous stories retold by James Baldwin. Read for LibriVox.org by Laura Caldwell. THE ENCHCAPE ROCK In the North Sea there is a great rock called the Enchcape Rock. It is twelve miles from any land, and is covered most of the time with water. Many boats and ships have been wrecked on that rock, for it is so near the top of the water that no vessel can sail over it without striking it. More than a hundred years ago there lived not far away a kind-hearted man who was called the Abbot of Aberbrothic. "'It is a pity,' he said, that so many brave sailors should lose their lives on that hidden rock. So the Abbot caused a buoy to be fastened to the rock. The buoy floated back and forth in the shallow water. A strong chain kept it from floating away. On the top of the buoy the Abbot placed a bell, and when the waves dashed against it the bell would ring out loud and clear. Sailors now were no longer afraid to cross the sea at that place. When they heard the bell ringing they knew just where the rock was and they steered their vessels around it. "'God bless the good Abbot of Aberbrothic,' they all said. One calm summer day a ship with a black flag happened to sail not far from the Inch Cape Rock. The ship belonged to a sea robber called Ralph the Rover, and she was a terror to all honest people, both on sea and shore. There was but little wind that day, and the sea was as smooth as glass. The ship stood almost still. There was hardly a breath of air to fill her sails. Ralph the Rover was walking on the deck. He looked out upon the glassy sea. He saw the buoy floating above the Inch Cape Rock. It looked like a big black speck upon the water, but the bell was not ringing that day. There were no waves to set it in motion. "'Boys,' cried Ralph the Rover, put out the boat and row me to the Inch Cape Rock. We will play a trick on the old Abbot.' The boat was lowered. Strong arms soon rode it to the Inch Cape Rock. Then the robber, with a heavy axe, broke the chain that held the buoy. He cut the fastenings of the bell. It fell into the water. There was a gurgling sound as it sank out of sight. "'The next one that comes this way will not bless the Abbot,' said Ralph the Rover. Soon a breeze sprang up, and the black ship sailed away. The sea robber laughed as he looked back and saw that there was nothing to mark the place of the hidden rock. For many days Ralph the Rover scoured the seas, and many were the ships that he plundered. At last he chanced to sail back toward the place from which he had started. The wind had blown hard all day. The waves rolled high. The ship was moving swiftly. But in the evening the wind died away, and a thick fog came on. Ralph the Rover walked to the deck. He could not see where the ship was going. If the fog would only clear away, he said, "'I thought I heard the roar of breakers,' said the pilot. We must be near the shore.' "'I cannot tell,' said Ralph the Rover. But I think we are not far from the inch-cape rock. I wish we could hear the good Abbot's bell. The next moment there was a great crash. "'It is the inch-cape rock,' the sailors cried, as the ship gave a lurch to one side and began to sink. "'Oh, what a wretch am I?' cried Ralph the Rover. This is what comes of the joke that I played on the good Abbot. What was it that he heard as the waves rushed over him? Was it the Abbot's bell ringing for him far down at the bottom of the sea?' End of Story 45 This recording is in the public domain. Story 46 from 50 famous stories retold by James Baldwin Read for LibraVox.org by Laura Caldwell Wittington and His Cat. Part 1 The City There was once a little boy whose name was Richard Wittington, but everybody called him Dick. His father and mother had died when he was only a babe, and the people who had the care of him were very poor. Dick was not old enough to work, and so he had a hard time of it indeed. Sometimes he had no breakfast, and sometimes he had no dinner, and he was glad at any time to get a crust of bread or a drop of milk. Now in the town where Dick lived the people liked to talk about London. None of them had ever been to the great city, but they seemed to know all about the wonderful things which were to be seen there. They said that all the folks who lived in London were fine gentlemen and ladies, that there was singing and music there all day long, that nobody was ever hungry there, and nobody had to work, and that the streets were all paved with gold. Dick listened to these stories and wished that he could go to London. One day a big wagon drawn by eight horses, all with bells on their heads, drove into the little town. Dick saw the wagon standing by the end, and he thought that it must be going to the fine city of London. When the driver came out and was ready to start, the lad ran up and asked him if he might walk by the side of the wagon. The driver asked him some questions, and when he learned how poor Dick was, and that he had neither father nor mother, he told him that he might do as he liked. It was a long walk for the little lad, but by and by he came to the city of London. He was in such a hurry to see the wonderful sights that he forgot to thank the driver of the wagon. He ran as fast as he could, from one street to another, trying to find those that were paved with gold. He had once seen a piece of money that was gold, and he knew that it would buy a great, great many things, and now he thought that if he could only get a little bit of the pavement he would have everything that he wanted. Poor Dick ran till he was so tired that he could run no farther. It was growing dark, and in every street there was only dirt instead of gold. He sat down in a dark corner and cried himself to sleep. When he woke up the next morning he was very hungry, but there was not even a crust of bread for him to eat. He forgot all about the golden pavements and thought only of food. He walked about from one street to another, and at last grew so hungry that he began to ask those whom he met to give him a penny to buy something to eat. Go to work, you idle fellow, said some of them, and the rest passed him by without even looking at him. I wish I could go to work, said Dick. Part 2 The Kitchen By and by Dick grew so faint and tired that he could go no farther. He sat down by the door of a fine house, and wished that he was back again in the little town where he was born. The cookmaid, who was just getting dinner, saw him and called out. What are you doing here, you little beggar? If you don't get away quick I'll throw a pan full of hot dish-water over you, then I guess you will jump. Just at that time the master of the house, whose name was Mr. Fitz Warren, came home to dinner. When he saw the ragged little fellow at his door he said, My lad, what are you doing here? I am afraid you are a lazy fellow, and that you want to live without work. No, indeed, said Dick, I would like to work if I could find anything to do, but I do not know anybody in this town, and I have not had anything to eat for a long time. Poor little fellow, said Mr. Fitz Warren, come in, and I will see what I can do for you. Then he ordered the cook to give the lad a good dinner, and then to find some light work for him to do. Little Dick would have been very happy in the new home which he had thus found, if it had not been for the cross cook. She would often say, You are my boy now, and you must do as I tell you. Look sharp there. Make the fires. Carry out the ashes. Wash these dishes. Sweep the floor. Bring in the wood. Oh, what a lazy fellow you are! And then she would box his ears or beat him with the broomstick. At last little Alice, his master's daughter, saw how he was treated, and she told the cook she would be turned off if she was not kinder to the lad. After that Dick had an easier time of it, but his troubles were not over yet by any means. His bed was in a garret at the top of the house, far away from the rooms where the other people slept. There were many holes in the floor and walls, and every night a great number of rats and mice came in. They tormented Dick so much that he did not know what to do. One day a gentleman gave him a penny for cleaning his shoes, and he made up his mind that he would buy a cat with it. The very next morning he met a girl who was carrying a cat in her arms. I will give you a penny for that cat, he said. All right, the girl said. You may have her, and you will find that she is a good mouse or two. Dick hit his cat in the garret, and every day he carried a part of his dinner to her. It was not long before she had driven all the rats and mice away, and then Dick could sleep soundly every night. Part III The Venture Some time after that a ship that belonged to Mr. Fitzwarren was about to start on a voyage across the sea. It was loaded with goods which were to be sold in lands far away. Mr. Fitzwarren wanted to give his servants a chance for good fortune too, and so he called all of them into the parlor and asked if they had anything they would like to send out in the ship for trade. Everyone had something to send. Everyone but Dick. And as he had neither money nor goods he stayed in the kitchen and did not come in with a rest. Little Alice guessed when he did not come, and so she said to her papa, "'For Dick ought to have a chance, too. Here is some money out of my own purse that you may put in for him.' "'No, no, my child,' said Mr. Fitzwarren. He must risk something of his own. And then he called very loud. "'Here, Dick! What are you going to send out on this ship?' Dick heard him and came into the room. "'I have nothing in the world,' he said, but a cat which I bought some time ago for a penny. "'Fetch your cat, then, my lad,' said Mr. Fitzwarren, and let her go out. Who knows but that she will bring you some profit?' Dick, with tears in his eyes, carried poor Puss down to the ship and gave her to the captain. Everybody laughed at his queer venture. But Little Alice felt sorry for him and gave him money to buy another cat. After that the cook was worse than before. She made fun of him for sending his cat to sea. "'Do you think,' she would say, that a Puss will sell for enough money to buy a stick to beat you?' At last Dick could not stand her abuse any longer. And he made up his mind to go back to his old home in the little country town. So very early in the morning on all Hallow's Day he started. He walked as far as the place called Holloway. And there he sat down on a stone, which to this day is called Wittington's Stone. As he sat there very sad and wondering which way to go, he heard the bells on Bowchurch, far away, ringing out a merry chime. He listened. They seemed to say to him, turn again, Wittington, thrice Lord Mayor of London. "'Well, well,' he said to himself, I would put up with almost anything to be Lord Mayor of London when I am a man and to ride in a fine coach. I think I will go back and let the old cook cuff and scold me as much as she pleases.' Dick did go back, and he was lucky enough to get into the kitchen and set about his work, before the cook came downstairs to get breakfast. Part 4 The Cat Mr. Fitzwarren's ship made a long voyage, and at last reached a strange land on the other side of the sea. The people had never seen any white men before, and they came in great crowds to buy the fine things with which the ship was loaded. The captain wanted very much to trade with the king of the country, and it was not long before the king sent word to him to come to the palace and see him. The captain did so. He was shown into a beautiful room, and given a seat on a rich carpet all floured with silver and gold. The king and queen were seated not far away, and soon a number of dishes were brought in for dinner. They had hardly begun to eat when an army of rats and mice rushed in, and devoured all the meat before anyone could hinder them. The captain wondered at this, and asked if it was not very unpleasant to have so many rats and mice about. "'Oh, yes!' was the answer. "'It is indeed unpleasant, and the king would give half his treasure if he could get rid of them.' The captain jumped for joy. He remembered the cat which Little Whittington had sent out, and he told the king that he had a little creature on board his ship, which would make short work of the pests. Then it was the king's turn to jump for joy, and he jumped so high that his yellow cap, or turban, dropped off his head. "'Bring the creature to me,' he said. "'If she will do what you say, I will load your ship with gold.' The captain made believe that he would be very sorry to part with the cat. But at last he went down to the ship to get her, while the king and queen made haste to have another dinner made ready. The captain, with puss under his arm, reached the palace just in time to see the table crowded with rats. The cat leaped out upon them. And oh, what havoc she did make among the troublesome creatures! Most of them were soon stretched dead upon the floor, while the rest scampered away to their holes, and did not dare to come out again. The king had never been so glad in his life, and the queen asked that the creature which had done such wonders should be brought to her. The captain called, Pussy, Pussy, Pussy! And the cat came up and rubbed against his legs. He picked her up and offered her to the queen. But at first the queen was afraid to touch her. However the captain stroked the cat and called, Pussy, Pussy, Pussy! And then the queen ventured to touch her. She could only say, Poo-dee, Poo-dee, Poo-dee! For she had not learned to talk English. The captain then put the cat down on the queen's lap where she purred and purred until she went to sleep. The king would not have missed getting the cat now for the world. He at once made a bargain with the captain for all the goods on board the ship, and then he gave him ten times as much for the cat as all the rest came to. The captain was very glad. He bade the king and queen goodbye, and the very next day set sail for England. Chapter 5 The Fortune One morning Mr. Fitzwarren was sitting at his desk in the office. He heard someone tap softly at the door, and he said, Who's there? A friend, was the answer. I have come to bring you news of your ship, Unicorn. Mr. Fitzwarren jumped up quickly and opened the door. Whom should he see waiting there but the captain, with a bill of lading in one hand and a box of jewels in the other? He was so full of joy that he lifted up his eyes and thanked heaven for sending him such good fortune. The captain soon told the story of the cat, and then he showed the rich present which the king and queen had sent to poor Dick in payment for her. As soon as the good gentleman heard this he called out to his servants. Go sent him in and tell him of his fame. Pray call him Mr. Whittington by name. Some of the men who stood by said that so great a present ought not to be given to a mere boy, but Mr. Fitzwarren frowned upon them. It is his own, he said, and I will not hold back one penny from him. Dick was scouring the pots when word was brought to him that he should go to the office. Oh, I am so dirty, he said, and my shoes are full of hot nails. But he was told to make haste. Mr. Fitzwarren ordered a chair to be set for him, and then the lad began to think that they were making fun of him. I beg that you won't play tricks with a poor boy like me, he said. Please let me go back to my work. Mr. Whittington, said Mr. Fitzwarren, this is no joke at all. The captain has sold your cat, and has brought you in return for her, more riches than I have in the whole world. Then he opened the box of jewels, and showed Dick his treasures. The poor boy did not know what to do. He begged his master to take a part of it. But Mr. Fitzwarren said, No, it is all your own, and I feel sure that you will make good use of it. Dick then offered some of his jewels to his mistress and little Alice. They thanked him, and told him that they felt great joy at his good luck, but wished him to keep his riches for himself. But he was too kind-hearted to keep everything for himself. He gave nice presents to the captain and the sailors, and to the servants in Mr. Fitzwarren's house. He even remembered the cross-old cook. After that Whittington's face was washed, and his hair curled, and he was dressed in a nice suit of clothes, and then he was as handsome a young man as ever walked the streets of London. Sometime after that there was a fine wedding at the finest church in London, and Miss Alice became the wife of Mr. Richard Whittington, and the Lord Mayor was there, and the great judges and the sheriffs, and many rich merchants, and everybody was very happy. And Richard Whittington became a great merchant, and was one of the foremost men in London. He was sheriff of the city, and thrice Lord Mayor, and King Henry V made him a knight. He built the famous prison of Newgate in London. On the archway in front of the prison was a figure cut in stone of Sir Richard Whittington and his cat, and for three hundred years this figure was shown to all who visited London. End of Story 46. This recording is in the public domain. Story 47. From Fifty Famous Stories Retold by James Baldwin. Read for LibriVox.org by Laura Caldwell. Casa Bianca. There was once a great battle at sea. One could hear nothing but the roar of the big guns. The air was filled with black smoke. The water was strewn with broken mast and pieces of timber which the cannonballs had knocked from the ships. Many men had been killed, and many more had been wounded. The flagship had taken fire. The flames were breaking out from below. The deck was all ablaze. The men who were left alive made haste to launch a small boat. They leaped into it, and rode swiftly away. Any other place was safer now than on board of that burning ship. There was powder in the hold. But the captain's son, young Casa Bianca, still stood upon the deck. The flames were almost all around him now, and he would not stir from his post. His father had bidden him stand there, and he had been taught always to obey. He trusted in his father's word, and believed that when the right time came he would tell him to go. He saw the men leap into the boat. He heard them call to him to come. He shook his head. When father bids me, I will go, he said. And now the flames were leaping up the masts. The sails were all ablaze. The fire blew hot upon his cheek. It scorched his hair. It was before him, behind him, all around him. Oh, father! he cried. May I not go now? The men have all left the ship. Is it not time that we too should leave it? He did not know that his father was lying in the burning cabin below. That a cannon-ball had struck him dead at the very beginning of the fight. He listened to hear the answer. Speak louder, father! he cried. I cannot hear what you say. Above the roaring of the flames, above the crashing of the falling spars, above the booming of the gulls, he fancied that his father's voice came faintly to him through the scorching air. I am here, father! Speak once again, he gasped. But what is that? A great flash of light fills the air. Clouds of smoke shoot quickly upward to the sky. And—boom! Oh, what a terrific sound! Louder than thunder! Louder than the roar of all the guns! The air quivers, the sea itself trembles. The sky is black. The blazing ship is seeing no more. There was powder in the hold. A long time ago, a lady, whose name was Mrs. Heemans, wrote a poem about this brave boy, Casavianca. It is not a very well-written poem, and yet everybody has read it, and thousands of people have learned it by heart. I doubt not, but that some day you too will read it. It begins in this way. The boy stood on the burning deck whence all but him had fled. The flame that lit the battle's wreck shone round him or the dead. Yet beautiful and bright he stood, as born to rule the storm, a creature of heroic blood, a proud, though childlike, form. End of Story 47 This recording is in the public domain. Story 48 Antonio Canova A good many years ago there lived in Italy a little boy whose name was Antonio Canova. He lived with his grandfather, for his own father was dead. His grandfather was a stone-cutter, and he was very poor. Antonio was a puny lad, and not strong enough to work. He did not care to play with the other boys of the town. But he liked to go with his grandfather to the stone-yard. While the old man was busy cutting and trimming the great blocks of stone, the lad would play among the chips. Sometimes he would make a little statue of soft clay. Sometimes he would take hammer and chisel, and try to cut a statue from a piece of rock. He showed so much skill that his grandfather was delighted. The boy will be a sculptor some day, he said. And when they went home in the evening the grandmother would say, What have you been doing today, my little sculptor? And she would take him upon her lap and sing to him, or tell him stories that filled his mind with pictures of wonderful and beautiful things. And the next day, when he went back to the stone-yard, he would try to make some of those pictures in stone or clay. There lived in the same town a rich man who was called the Count. Sometimes the Count would have a grand dinner, and his rich friends from other towns would come to visit him. Then Antonio's grandfather would go up to the Count's house to help with the work in the kitchen, for he was a fine cook as well as a good stone-cutter. It happened one day that Antonio went with his grandfather to the Count's great-house. Some people from the city were coming, and there was to be a grand feast. The boy could not cook, and he was not old enough to wait on the table, but he could wash the pans and kettles, and as he was smart and quick he could help in many other ways. All went well until it was time to spread the table for dinner. Then there was a crash in the dining-room, and a man rushed into the kitchen with some pieces of marble in his hands. He was pale, and trembling with fright. "'What shall I do? What shall I do?' he cried. I have broken the statue that was to stand at the center of the table. I cannot make the table look pretty without the statue. What will the Count say?' And now all the other servants were in trouble. Was the dinner to be a failure after all? For everything depended on having the table nicely arranged. The Count would be very angry. "'What shall we do?' they all asked. Then little Antonio Canova left his pans and kettles and went up to the man who had caused the trouble. If you had another statue, could you arrange the table?' he asked. "'Certainly,' said the man. "'That is, if the statue were of the right length and height. "'Will you let me try to make one?' asked Antonio. "'Perhaps I can make something that will do.' The man laughed. "'Nonsense!' he cried. "'Who are you that you talk of making statues on an hour's notice?' "'I am Antonio Canova,' said the lad. "'Let the boy try what he can do,' said the servants who knew him. And so, since nothing else could be done, the man allowed him to try. On the kitchen table there was a large square lump of yellow butter, two hundred pounds of the lump weight, and it had just come in, fresh and clean, from the dairy on the mountain. With a kitchen knife in his hand Antonio began to cut and carve this butter. In a few minutes he had molded it into the shape of a crouching lion, and all the servants crowded around to see it. "'How beautiful!' they cried. It is a great deal prettier than the statue that was broken. When it was finished the man carried it to its place. The table would be handsomer by half than I ever hoped to make it,' he said. When the Count and his friends came into dinner the first thing they saw was the yellow lion. "'What a beautiful work of art!' they cried. None but a very great artist could ever carve such a figure, and how odd that he should choose to make it of butter. And then they asked the Count to tell them the name of the artist. "'Truly, my friends,' he said, "'this is much of a surprise to me as to you,' and then he called to his head servant and asked him where he had found so wonderful a statue. It was carved only an hour ago by a little boy in the kitchen,' said the servant. This made the Count's friends wonder still more, and the Count made the servant call the boy into the room. "'My lad,' he said, "'you have done a piece of work of which the greatest artist would be proud. What is your name, and who is your teacher?' "'My name is Antonio Canova,' said the boy, and I have had no teacher, but my grandfather the stone-cutter. By this time all the guests had crowded around Antonio. There were famous artists among them, and they knew that the lad was a genius. They could not say enough in praise of his work. And when at last they sat down at the table, nothing would please them but that Antonio should have a seat with them, and the dinner was made a feast in his honor. The very next day the Count sent for Antonio to come and live with him. The best artists in the land were employed to teach him the art in which he had shown so much skill. But now, instead of carving butter, he chiseled marble. In a few years Antonio Canova became known as one of the greatest sculptors in the world. PIKIOLA Many years ago there was a poor gentleman shut up in one of the great prisons of France. His name was Charney, and he was very sad and unhappy. He had been put into prison wrongfully, and it seemed to him as though there was no one in the world who cared for him. He could not read, for there were no books in the prison. He was not allowed to have pens or paper, and so he could not write. The time dragged slowly by. There was nothing that he could do to make the day seem shorter. His only pastime was walking back and forth in the paved prison yard. There was no work to be done, no one to talk with. One fine morning in spring Charney was taking his walk in the yard. Counting the paving-stones as he had done a thousand times before, all at once he stopped. What had made that little mound of earth between two of the stones? He stooped down to sea. A seed of some kind had fallen between the stones. It had sprouted, and now a tiny green leaf was pushing its way up out of the ground. Charney was about to crush it with his foot when he saw that there was a kind of soft coating over the leaf. Ah! he said. This coating is to keep it safe. I must not harm it. And he went on with his walk. The next day he almost stepped upon the plant before he thought of it. He stooped to look at it. There were two leaves now, and the plant was much stronger and greener than it was the day before. He stayed by it a long time, looking at all its parts. Every morning after that Charney went at once to his little plant. To see if it had been chilled by the cold, or scorched by the sun, he wanted to see how much it had grown. One day as he was looking from his window he saw the jailer go across the yard. The man brushed so close to the little plant that it seemed as though he would crush it. Charney trembled from head to foot. Oh! My picciola! he cried. When the jailer came to bring his food he begged the grim fellow to spare his little plant. He expected that the man would laugh at him. But although a jailer he had a kind heart. Do you think that I would hurt your little plant? He said. No, indeed. It would have been dead long ago if I had not seen that you thought so much of it. That is very good of you, indeed, said Charney. He felt half ashamed at having thought the jailer unkind. Every day he watched picciola as he had named the plant. Every day it grew larger and more beautiful. But once it was almost broken by the huge feet of the jailer's dog. Charney's heart sank within him. Picciola must have a house, he said. I will see if I can make one. So though the nights were chilly he took, day by day, some part of the firewood that was allowed him, and with this he built a little house around the plant. The plant had a thousand pretty ways which he noticed. He saw how it had always been a little toward the sun. He saw how the flowers folded their petals before a storm. He had never thought of such things before, yet he had often seen whole gardens of flowers in bloom. One day, with soot and water, he made some ink. He spread out his handkerchief for paper. He used a sharpened stick for a pen. And all for what? He felt that he must write down the doings of his little pet. He spent all his time with the plant. See, my lord and my lady, the jailer would say when he saw them. As the summer passed by, Picciola grew more lovely every day. There were no fewer than thirty blossoms on its stem. But one sad morning it began to droop. Charney did not know what to do. He gave it water, but still it drooped. The leaves were withering. The stones of the prison-yard would not let the plant live. Charney knew that there was but one way to save his treasure. Alas! How could he hope that it might be done? The stones must be taken up at once. But this was a thing which the jailer dared not do. The rules of the prison were strict, and no stone must be moved. Only the highest officers in the land could have such a thing done. Poor Charney could not sleep. Picciola must die. Already the flowers had withered. The leaves would soon fall from the stem. When a new thought came to Charney, he would ask the great Napoleon, the emperor himself, to save his plant. It was a hard thing for Charney to do, to ask a favour of the man whom he hated, the man who had shut him up in this very prison. But for the sake of Picciola he would do it. He wrote his little story on his handkerchief, and he gave it into the care of a young girl who promised to carry it to Napoleon. Ah, if the poor plant would only live a few days longer. What a long journey that was for the young girl! What a long dreary waiting it was for Charney and Picciola! But at last news came to the prison. The stones were to be taken up. Picciola was saved. The emperor's kind wife had heard the story of Charney's care for the plant. She saw the handkerchief on which she had written of its pretty ways. Surely, she said, it can do us no good to keep such a man in prison. And so at last Charney was set free. Of course he was no longer sad and unloving. He saw how God had cared for him and the little plant, and how kind and true are the hearts of even, rough men. And he cherished Picciola as a dear, loved friend whom he could never forget. End of Story 49 A young man named Willam was staying at an inn in the city. One day as he was going upstairs he met a little girl coming down. He would have taken her for a boy if it had not been for the long curls of black hair wound about her head. As she ran by he called her in his arms and asked her to whom she belonged. He felt sure that she must be one of the rope-dancers who had just come to the inn. She gave him a sharp, dark look, slipped out of his arms, and ran away without speaking. The next time he saw her, Willam spoke to her again. Do not be afraid of me, little one, he said kindly. What is your name? They called me Minion, said the child. How old are you? he asked. No one has counted, the child answered. Willam went on, but he could not help wondering about the child and thinking of her dark eyes in strange ways. One day, not long after that, there was a great outcry among the crowd that was watching the rope-dancers. Willam went down to find out what was the matter. He saw that the master of the dancers was beating little Minion with a stick. He ran and held the man by the collar. Let the child alone, he cried. If you touch her again one of us shall never leave this spot. The man tried to get loose, but Willam held him fast. The child crept away and hid herself in the crowd. Pay me what her clothes cost, cried the rope-dancer at last, and you may take her. As soon as all was quiet, Willam went to look for Minion, for she now belonged to him, but he could not find her, and it was not until the rope-dancers had left the town that she came to him. Where have you been? asked Willam in his kindest tones, but the child did not speak. You are to live with me now, and you must be a good child, he said. I will try, said Minion gently. From that time she tried to do all that she could for Willam and his friends. She would let no one wait on him but herself. She was often seen going to a basin of water to wash from her face the paint with which the rope-dancers had reddened her cheeks. Indeed, she nearly rubbed off the skin and trying to wash away its fine brown tint, which she thought was some deep dye. Minion grew more lovely every day. She never walked up and down the stairs, but jumped. She would spring along by the railing, and before you knew it would be sitting quietly above on the landing. To each one she would speak in a different way. To Willam it was with her arms crossed upon her breast. Often for a whole day she would not say one word, and yet in waiting upon Willam she never tired. One night he came home very weary and sad. Minion was waiting for him. She carried the light before him upstairs. She set the light down upon the table, and in a little while she asked him if she might dance. It might ease your heart a little, she said. Willam, to please her, told her that she might. Then she brought a little carpet and spread it upon the floor. At each corner she placed a candle, and on the carpet she put a number of eggs. She arranged the eggs in the form of certain figures. When this was done she called to a man who was waiting with a violin. She tied a band about her eyes, and then the dancing began. How lightly, quickly, nimbly, wonderfully she moved. She skipped so fast among the eggs, she trod so closely beside them, that you would have thought she must crush them all. But not one of them did she touch. With all kinds of steps she passed among them. Not one of them was moved from its place. Willam forgot all his cares. He watched every motion of the child. He almost forgot who and where he was. When the dance was ended Minion rolled the eggs together with her foot into a little heap. Not one was left behind. Not one was harmed. Then she took the band from her eyes and made a little bow. Willam thanked her for showing him a dance that was so wonderful and pretty. He praised her, petted her, and hoped that she had not tired herself too much. When she had gone from the room, the man with the violin told Willam of the care she had taken to teach him the music of the dance. He told how she had sung it to him over and over again. He told how she had even wished to pay him with her own money for learning to play it for her. There was yet another way in which Minion tried to please Willam and make him forget his cares. She sang to him. The song which he liked best was one whose words he had never heard before. His music too was strange to him, and yet it pleased him very much. He asked her to speak the words over and over again. He wrote them down, but the sweetness of the tune was more delightful than the words. The song began in this way. Do you know the land where Citron's lemons grow, and oranges under the green leaves glow? Once when she had ended the song she said again, Do you know the land? It must be Italy, said Willam. Have you ever been there? The child did not answer. End of Story 50 End of 50 Famous Stories Retold by James Baldwin This recording is in the public domain.