 CHILDHOOD'S FAVORITS AND FAIRY STORIES By various authors, such in one hundred forty, the fir tree. Out in the forest stood a pretty little fir tree. It had a good place, it could have sunlight, air there was in plenty, and all around grew many larger comrades, pines as well as furs. But the little fir tree wished ardently to become greater. It did not care for the warm sun and the fresh air. It took no notice of the peasant children who went about talking together when they had come out to look for strawberries and raspberries. Often they came with a whole pot full, or had strung berries on a straw. Then they would sit down by the little fir tree and say, how pretty and small that one is. And the fir tree did not like to hear that at all. Next year he had grown a great joint, and the following year he was longer still. For in fir trees one can always tell by the number of rings they have how many years they have been growing. Oh, if I were only as great a tree as the other side the little fir, then I would spread my branches far around and look out my crown into the wide world. The birds would then build nests in my boughs, and when the wind blew I could gnaw just as grandly as the others yonder. It took no pleasure in the sunshine, in the birds and in the red clouds that went sailing over him morning and evening. When it was winter and the snow lay all around, white and sparkling, a hare would often come jumping along and spring right over the little fir tree. Oh, this made him so angry. But two winters went by, and when the third came the little tree had grown so tall that the hare was obliged to run around it. Oh, to grow, to grow and become old. That's the only fine thing in the world, thought the tree. In the autumn woodcutters always came and fell a few of the largest trees. That was done this year too, and the little fir tree, that was now quite well grown, shuddered with fear for the great stately trees fell to the ground with a crash, and their branches were cut off so that the trees looked quite naked, long and slender. They could hardly be recognized. But then they were laid upon wagons, and horses dragged them away out of the wood. Where were they going? What destiny awaited them? In the spring, when the swallows and the stork came, the tree asked them, Do you know where they were taken? Did you not meet them? The swallows knew nothing about it. But the stork looked thoughtful, nodded his head and said, Yes, I think so. I met many new ships when I flew out of Egypt. On the ships were stately masts. I fancy these were the trees. They smelled like fir. I can assure you they're stately, very stately. All that I were only big enough to go over the sea. What kind of thing is this sea? And how does it look? It would take too long to explain all that, said the stork, and he went away. Rejoice in thy youth, said the sunbeams. Rejoice in thy fresh growth and in the young life that is within thee. And the wind kissed the tree and the dew wept tears upon it. But the fir tree did not understand that. When Christmas time approached, quite young trees were felled, sometimes trees which were neither so old nor so large as this fir tree that never rested but always wanted to go away. These young trees which were always the most beautiful kept all their branches. They were put upon wagons and horses dragged them away out of the wood. Where are they all going? asked the fir tree. They're not greater than I. Indeed, one of them was much smaller. Why do they keep all their branches? Where are they taken? We know that. We know that, chirped the sparrows. Younger in the town we looked in at the windows. We know where they go. Oh, they're dressed up in the greatest pomp and splendor that can be imagined. We have looked in at the windows and have perceived that they are planted in the middle of a warm room and adorned with the most beautiful things, gilt apples, honey cakes, playthings, and many hundred of candles. And then asked the fir tree and trembled through all its branches. And then what happens then? Why, we have not seen anything more, but it was incomparable. Perhaps I may be destined to tread this glorious path one day, cried the fir tree, rejoicingly. That is even better than traveling across the sea. How painfully I longed for it. If it were only Christmas now. Now I am great and grown up like the rest who were led away last year. Oh, if I were only on the carriage. If I were only in the warm room among all the pomp and splendor. And then? Yes, then something even better will come, something far more charming. Or else why should they adorn me so? There must be something grander, something greater still to come. But what? Oh, I'm suffering. I'm longing. I don't know myself. What is the matter with me? Rejoice in us, said air and sunshine. Rejoice in thy fresh youth here in the woodland. But the fir tree did not rejoice at all. But it grew and grew winter and summer. It stood there, green, dark green. The people who saw it said, That's a handsome tree. And at Christmas time it was felled before any one of the others. The axe cut deep into its marrow. And the tree fell to the ground with a sigh. It felt a pain, a sensation of faintness, and could not think at all of happiness, for it was sad at parting from its home, from the place where it had grown up. It knew that it should never again see the dear old companions, the little bushes and flowers all around. Perhaps not even the birds. The parting was not at all agreeable. The tree only came to itself when it was unloaded in a yard with other trees and heard a man say, This one is famous. We only want this one. Now two servants came in gay liveries and carried the fir tree into a large, beautiful parlor. All around the walls hung pitchers, and by the great stoves stood large Chinese bases with lions on the covers. There were rocking chairs, silk and sofas, great tables covered with picture books, and toys worth a hundred times a hundred dollars, at least the children said so. And the fir tree was put into a great tub filled with sand. But no one could see that it was a tub, for it was hung round with green cloth and stood on a large, many colored carpet. Oh, how the tree trembled! What was to happen now? The servants and the young ladies also decked it out. On one branch they hung little nets, cut out of colored paper. Every net was filled with sweet meats, golden apples and walnuts hung down as if they grew there. And more than a hundred little candles, red, white and blue, were fastened to the different boughs. Dolls that looked exactly like real people. The tree had never seen such before. Swung among the foliage and high on the summit of the tree was fixed a tinsel star. It was splendid, particularly splendid. This evening, said all, this evening it will shine. Oh, thought the tree, that it were evening already. Oh, that the lights may be soon lit up. When may that be done? I wonder if trees will come out of the forest to look at me. Will the sparrows fly against the panes? Shall I grow fast here and stand adorned in summer and winter? Yes, he did not guess badly, but he had a complete backache from mere longing, and the backache is just as bad for a tree as the headache for a person. At last the candles were lighted. What a brilliance! What splendor! The tree trembled so in all its branches that one of the candles set fire to a green twig, and it was scorched. Heaven preserve us, cried the young ladies, and they hastily put the fire out. Now the tree might not even tremble. Oh, that was terrible! It was so afraid of setting fire to some of its ornaments, and it was quite bewildered with all the brilliance. And now the folding doors were thrown open, and a number of children rushed in as if they would have overturned the whole tree. The older people followed more deliberately. The little one stood quite silent, but only for a minute. Then they shouted till the room rang. They danced leafily round the tree, and one present after another was plucked from it. What are they about, thought the tree? What's going to be done? And the candles burned down to the twigs, and as they burned down they were extinguished, and then the children received permission to plunder the tree. Oh, they rushed in upon it so that every branch cracked again. If it had not been fastened by the top and by the golden star to the ceiling it would have fallen down. The children danced about with their pretty toys. No one looked at the tree, except one old man, who came up and peaked among the branches, but only to see if a fig or an apple had been forgotten. A story! A story! shouted the children, and they drew a little fat man toward the tree, and he sat down just beneath it. For then we shall be in the green wood, said he, and the tree may have the advantage of listening to my tale. But I can only tell one. Will you hear the story of Ibedi Avedi, or of Clumpy Dumpy, who fell downstairs and was still raised up to honor and married the princess? Ibedi Avedi cried some, Clumpy Dumpy, cried others, and there was a great crying and shouting. Only the fir tree was quite silent and thought, Shall I not be in it? Shall I have nothing to do in it? But he had been in the evenings amusement, and had done what was required of him. And the fat man told about Clumpy Dumpy, who fell downstairs, and yet was raised to honor and married the princess. And the children clapped their hands and cried, Tell another! Tell another! For they wanted to hear about Ibedi Avedi, but they only got the story of Clumpy Dumpy. The fir tree stood quite silent and thoughtful. Never had the birds in the wood told such a story as that. Clumpy Dumpy fell downstairs and yet came to honor and married the princess. Yes, so it happens in the world, thought the fir tree, and believed it must be true, because that was such a nice man who told it. Well, who can know? Perhaps I shall fall downstairs, too, and marry a princess. And it looked forward with pleasure to being adorned again the next evening with candles and toys, gold and fruit. Tomorrow I shall not tremble, it thought. I will rejoice in all my splendor. Tomorrow I shall hear the story of Clumpy Dumpy again, and perhaps that of Ibedi Avedi, too. And the tree stood all night quiet and thoughtful. In the morning the servants and the chambermaid came in. Now my splendor will begin afresh, thought the fir tree. But they dragged him out of the room and upstairs to the garret, and here they put him in a dark corner where no daylight shone. What's the meaning of this, thought the fir tree? What am I to do here? What is to happen? And he leaned against the wall, and thought, and thought. And he had time enough. Four days and nights went by, and nobody came up. And when at length someone came it was only to put some great boxes in a corner. Now the tree stood quite hidden away, and the supposition is that it was quite forgotten. Now it's winter outside, thought the tree. The earth is hard and covered with snow, and people cannot plant me. Therefore I suppose I'm to be sheltered here until spring comes. How considerate that is! How good people are! If it were only not so dark here and so terribly solitary, not even a little hair? That was pretty out there in the wood when the snow lay thick and the hair sprang past. Yes, even when he jumped over me. But then I did not like it. It is terribly lonely up here. Peep, peep! said a little mouse, and crept forward. And then came another little one. They smelled at the fir tree, and then slipped among the branches. It's horribly cold, said the two little mice, or else it would be comfortable here. Don't you think so, you old fir tree? I'm not old at all, said the fir tree. There are many much older than I. Where do you come from? asked the mice. And what do you know? They were dreadfully inquisitive. Tell us about the most beautiful spot on earth. Have you been there? Have you been in the storeroom, where cheeses lie on the shelves, and hams hang from the ceiling, where one dances on tallow candles, and goes in thin and comes out fat? I don't know that, replied the tree. But I know the wood, where the sun shines and the birds sing. And then it told all about its youth. And the little mice had never heard anything of the kind, and they listened and said, What a number of things you have seen! How happy you must have been! I replied the fir tree, and thought about what it had told. Yes, those were really quite happy times. But then he told of Christmas Eve when he had been hung with sweetmeats and candles. Oh! said the little mice. How happy you have been, you old fir tree! I'm not old at all, said the tree. I only came out of the wood this winter. I'm only rather backward in my growth. What splendid stories you can tell, said the little mice. And next night they came with four other little mice to hear what the tree had to relate. And the more it said, the more clearly did it remember everything, and thought those were quite merry days. But they may come again. Clumpy dumpy fell downstairs, and yet he married the princess. Perhaps I may marry a princess too. And then the fir tree thought of a pretty little birch tree that grew out in the forest. For the fir tree, that birch was a real princess. Who's clumpy dumpy? asked the little mice. And then the fir tree told the whole story. It could remember every single word, and the little mice were ready to leap to the very top of the tree with pleasure. Next night a great many more mice came, and on Sunday two rats even appeared. But these thought the story was not pretty, and the little mice were sorry for that, for now they also did not like it so much as before. You only know one story, asked the rats. Only that one replied the tree. I heard that on the happiest evening of my life. I did not think then how happy I was. That's a very miserable story. Don't you know any about bacon and tallow candles? A storeroom story. No, said the tree. Then we'd rather not hear you, said the rats. And they went back to their own people. The little mice at last stayed away also. And then the tree sighed and said, it was very nice when they sat round me, the merry little mice, and listened when I spoke to them. Now that's past two. But I shall remember to be pleased when they take me out. But when did that happen? Why it was one morning that people came and rummaged in the garret. The boxes were put away and the tree brought out. They certainly threw him rather roughly on the floor, but a servant dragged him away at once to the stairs, where the daylight shone. Now life is beginning again, thought the tree. It felt the fresh air and the first sunbeams, and now it was out in the courtyard. Everything passed so quickly that the tree quite forgot to look at itself. There was so much to look at all round. The courtyard was close to a garden, and here everything was blooming. The roses hung fresh and fragrant over the little pailing. The linden trees were in blossom, and the swallows cried, Quincey wit, quincey wit, my husband's calm. But it was not the fir tree that they meant. Now I shall live, said the tree rejoicingly, and spread its branches far out. But alas they were all withered and yellow, and it lay in the corner among nettles and weeds. The tinsel star was still upon it, and shone in the bright sunshine. In the courtyard a couple of the married children were playing, who had danced round the tree at Christmas time, and had rejoiced over it. One of the youngest ran up and tore off the golden star. Look what is sticking to the ugly old fir tree, said the child, and he trod upon the branches till they cracked again under his boobs. And the tree looked at all the blooming flowers and splendor of the garden, and then looked at itself, and wished it had remained in the dark corner of the garret. It thought of its fresh youth in the wood, of the merry Christmas Eve, and of the little mice which had listened so pleasantly to the story of clumpy-dumpy. Past, past, said the old tree, and I rejoiced when I could have done so. Past, past. And the servant came and chopped the tree into little pieces. A whole bundle lay there. It blazed brightly under the great brewing kettle, and it sighed deeply, and each sigh was like a little shot. And the children, who were at play there, ran up and seated themselves at the fire, looked into it, and cried, Puff, puff! But at each explosion, which was a deep sigh, the tree thought of a summer day in the woods, or of a winter night there, when the stars beamed. He thought of Christmas Eve and of clumpy-dumpy, the only story he had ever heard or knew how to tell, and then the tree was burned. The boys played in the garden, and the youngest had on his breast a golden star, which the tree had worn on its happiest evening. Now that was past, and the tree's life was past. And the story is past too. Past, past. And that's the way with all stories. End of The Fertry Section 141 of Childhood 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 Ralph Snelson. Childhood Favorites and Fairy Stories by various authors. Section 141 The Darning Needle There was once a darning needle who thought herself so fine she imagined she was an embroidering needle. Take care and mind you hold me tight, she said to the fingers that took her out. Don't let me fall. If I fall on the ground I shall certainly never be found again. For I am so fine. That's as it may be, said the fingers, and they grasped her around the body. See, I'm coming with a train, said the darning needle, and she drew a long thread after her. But there was no knot in the thread. The fingers pointed the needle just at the cook's slipper, in which the upper leather had burst, and was to be sewn together. That's vulgar words, said the darning needle. I shall never get through. I'm breaking, I'm breaking, and she really broke. Did I not say so? said the darning needle. I'm too fine. Now it's quite useless, said the fingers, but they were obliged to hold her fast, all the same, for the cook dropped some sealing wax upon the needle and pinned her handkerchief together with it in front. So now I'm a breastpin, said the darning needle. I knew very well that I should come to honor when one is something, one comes through something, and she laughed quietly to herself, and one can never see when a darning needle laughs. There she sat, as proud as if she were an estate coach, and looked all about her. May I be permitted to ask if you are of gold, she inquired of the pin, her neighbor. You have a very pretty appearance and a peculiar head, but it is only little. You must take pains to grow, for it's not everyone that has sealing wax dropped upon him. And the darning needle drew herself up so proudly that she fell out of the handkerchief right into the sink which the cook was rinsing out. Now we're going on a journey, said the darning needle, if I only don't get lost, but she really was lost. I'm too fine for this world, she observed as she lay in the gutter, but I know who I am, and there's always something in that. So the darning needle kept her proud behavior and did not lose her good humor, and things of many kinds swam over her, chips and straws and pieces of old newspapers. Only look how they sail, said the darning needle. They don't know what is under them. I'm here, I remain firmly here. See, there goes a chip thinking of nothing in the world but of himself, of a chip. There's a straw going by now, how he turns, how he twirls about. Don't think only of yourself, you might easily run up against a stone. There swims a bit of newspaper. What's written upon it has long been forgotten, and yet it gives itself airs. I sit quietly and patiently here. I know who I am, and I shall remain what I am. One day something lay close beside her that glittered splendidly. Then the darning needle believed that it was a diamond, but it was a bit of broken bottle, and because it shone, the darning needle spoke to it, introducing herself as a breast-pin. I suppose you are a diamond, she observed. Why, yes, something of that kind. And then each believed the other to be a very valuable thing, and they began speaking about the world and how very conceited it was. I have been in a lady's box, said the darning needle, and this lady was a cook. She had five fingers on each hand, and I never saw anything so conceited as those five fingers, and yet they were only there that they might take me out of the box and put me back into it. Were they of good birth, asked the bit of bottle. No indeed, replied the darning needle, but very hotty. There were five brothers, all of the finger family. They kept very proudly together, though they were of different lengths. The outermost the thumbling was short and fat. He walked out in front of the ranks, and only had one joint in his back, and could only make a single bow. But he said that if he were hacked off a man, that man was useless for service in war. Dainty Mouth, the second finger, thrust himself into sweet and sour, pointed to sun and moon, and gave the impression when they wrote. Long man the third looked at all the others over his shoulder. Gold border the fourth went about with a golden belt round his waist, and little play man did nothing at all, and was proud of it. There was nothing but bragging among them, and therefore I went away. And now we sit here and glitter, said the bit of bottle. At that moment more water came into the gutter, so that it overflowed, and the bit of bottle was carried away. So he is disposed of, observed the darning needle. I remain here, I am too fine. But that's my pride, and my pride is honourable. And proudly she sat there, and had many great thoughts. I could almost believe I had been born of a sunbeam, I'm so fine. It really appears as if the sunbeams were always seeking for me under the water. Ah, I'm so fine that my mother cannot find me. If I had my old eye, which broke off, I think I should cry. But no, I should not do that. It's not genteel to cry. One day a couple of street boys lay grubbing in the gutter, where they sometimes found old nails, farthings, and similar treasures. It was dirty work, but they took great delight in it. Oh, cried one who had pricked himself with the darning needle. There's a fellow for you. I'm not a fellow. I'm a young lady, said the darning needle. But nobody listened to her. The sealing wax had come off, and she had turned black. But black makes one look slender, and she thought herself finer even than before. Here comes an eggshell sailing along, said the boys, and they stuck the darning needle fast in the eggshell. White walls and black myself. That looks well, remarked the darning needle. Now one can see me. I only hope I shall not be seasick. But she was not seasick at all. It is good against seasickness if one has a steel stomach, and does not forget that one is a little more than an ordinary person. Now my seasickness is over. The finer one is, the more one can bear. Crack went the eggshell, for a wagon went over her. Good heavens, how it crushes one, said the darning needle. I'm getting seasick now. I'm quite sick. But she was not really sick, though the wagon went over her. She lay there at full length, and there she may lie. End of the Darning Needle. Recording by Sarah Williams. She had a little house of her own, a little garden too, this woman of whom I'm going to tell you, but for all that she was not quite happy. If only I had a little child of my own, she said, how the walls would ring with her laughter, how the flowers would brighten at her coming, then indeed I should be quite happy. And an old witch heard what the woman wished, and said, oh, but that is easily managed. Here is a barley-corn, planted in the flower pot, intend it carefully, and then you will see what will happen. The woman was in a great hurry to go home and plant the barley-corn, but she did not forget to say thank you to the old witch. She not only thanked her, she even stayed to give her six silver pennies. Then she hurried away to her home, took a flower pot, and planted her precious barley-corn. And what do you think happened? Almost before the corn was planted, upshot a large and beautiful flower. It was still unopened. The petals were folded closely together, but it looked like a tulip. It really was a tulip, a red and yellow one too. The woman loved flowers. She stooped and kissed the beautiful bud. As her lips touched the petals, they burst open. And oh, wonder of wonders, there in the very middle of the flower, there sat a little child, such a tiny, pretty little maiden she was. They called her Thumbelina. That was because she was no bigger than the woman's thumb. And where do you think she slept? A little walnut shell, lined with blue. That was her cradle. When she slept, little Thumbelina lay in her cradle on a tiny heap of violets, with the petal of a pale pink rose to cover her. And where do you think she played? A table was her playground. On the table, the woman placed a plate of water. Little Thumbelina called that her lake. Round the plate were scented flowers, the blossoms lying on the edge, while the pale green stalks reached thirstily down to the water. In the lake floated a large tulip leaf. This was Thumbelina's little boat. Seated there, she sailed from side to side of her little lake, rowing cleverly with two white horse hairs. As she rode backwards and forwards, she sang softly to herself. The woman listening heard, and thought she had never known so sweet a song. And now such a sad thing happened. In through the broken window pane hopped a big toad, and oh, such an ugly big toad. She hopped right onto the table, where Thumbelina lay dreaming in her tiny cradle under the pale pink rosely. She peeped at her this ugly old toad. How beautiful the little maiden is, she croaked. She will make a lovely bride for my handsome son. And she lifted the little cradle, with Thumbelina in it, and hopped out through the broken window pane, down into the garden. At the foot of the garden was a broad stream. Here, under the muddy banks, lived the old toad with her son. How handsome she thought him, but he was really very ugly. Indeed, he was exactly like his mother. When he saw little Thumbelina in her tiny cradle, he croaked with delight. To not make so much noise, said his mother, or you will wake the tiny creature. We may lose her if we are not careful. The slightest breeze would waft her far away. She is as light as Gossamer. Then the old toad carried Thumbelina out into the middle of the stream. She will be safe here, she said, as she laid her gently on one of the leaves of a large water lily, and paddled back to her son. We will make ready the best rooms under the mud, she told him. And then you and the little maiden will be married. Poor little Thumbelina, she had not seen the ugly big toad yet, nor her ugly son. When she woke up early in the morning, how she wept. Water all around her. How could she reach the shore? Poor little Thumbelina. Down under the mud, the old toad was very busy, decking the best room with buttercups and buds of water lilies to make it gay for her little daughter-in-law, Thumbelina. Now we will go to bring her little bed and place it ready, said the old toad. And together she and her son swam out to the leaf where little Thumbelina sat. Here is my handsome son, she said. He is to be your husband. And she bowed low in the water, for she wished to be very polite to the little maiden. Croak croak, was all the young toad could say, as he looked at his pretty little bride. And they took away the tiny little bed, and Thumbelina was left all alone. How the tears stained her pretty little face. How fast they fell into the stream. Even the fish as they swam hither and thither, thought how it rains today, as the tiny drops fell thick and fast. They popped up their heads and saw the forlorn little maiden. She shall not marry the ugly toad, they said, as they looked with eager eyes at the pretty child. No, she shall not marry the ugly toad. But what could the little fish do to help Thumbelina? Oh, they were such clever little fish. They found the green stem which held the leaf on which Thumbelina sat. They bit it with their little sharp teeth, and they never stopped biting. Till at last they bit the green stem through, and away down the stream floated the leaf, carrying with it little Thumbelina. Free, free, she sang, and her voice tinkled as a chime of fairy bells. Free, free, she sang merrily as she floated down the stream, away, far away, out of the reach of the ugly old toad and her ugly son. And as she floated on, the little wild bird sang around her, and on the banks the little wild hair-bells bowed to her. Butterflies were flitting here and there in the sunshine. A pretty little white one fluttered onto the leaf on which sat Thumbelina, he loved the tiny maiden so well that he settled down beside her. Now she was quite happy. Birds around her, flowers near her, and the water gleaming like gold in the summer sunshine. What besides could little Thumbelina wish? She took off her sash and threw one end of it around the butterfly. The other end she fastened firmly to the leaf. On and on floated the leaf and the little maiden in the butterfly. Suddenly a great cockchafer buzzed along. Alas, he caught sight of little Thumbelina. He flew to her, put his claw around her tiny waist, and carried her off up onto a tree. Poor little Thumbelina, how frightened she was. How grieved she was, too, for had she not lost her little friend the butterfly? Would he fly away, she wondered, or would her sash hold him fast? The cockchafer was charmed with the little maiden. He placed her tenderly on the largest leaf he could find. He gathered honey for her from the flowers, and as she sipped it, he sat near and told her how beautiful she looked. But there were other chafers lying in the tree, and when they came to see little Thumbelina, they said, she is not pretty at all. She has only two legs, said one. She has no feelers, said another. Some said she was too thin. Others said she was too fat. And then they all buzzed and hummed together. How ugly she is, how ugly she is. But all the time little Thumbelina was the prettiest, daintiest little maiden that ever lived. And now the cockchafer, who had flown off with little Thumbelina, thought he had been rather foolish to admire her. He looked at her again. Pretty? No. After all, she was not very pretty. He would have nothing to do with her, and away he and all the other chafers flew. Only first they carried little Thumbelina down from the tree and placed her on a daisy. She wept because she was so ugly, so ugly that the chafers could not live with her. But all the time, you know, she was the prettiest little maiden in the world. She was living all alone in the wood now, but it was summer and she could not feel sad or lonely while the warm golden sunshine touched her so gently, while the birds sang to her and the flowers bowed to her. Yes, little Thumbelina was happy. She ate honey from the flowers and drank dew out of the golden butter cups and danced and sang the live long day. But summer passed away and autumn came. The birds began to whisper of flying to warmer countries and the flowers began to fade and hang their heads. And as autumn passed away, winter came. Cold, dreary winter. Thumbelina shivered with cold. Her little frock was thin and old. She would certainly be frozen to death, she thought, as she wrapped herself up in a withered leaf. Then the snow began to fall and each snowflake seemed to smother her she was so very tiny. Close to the wood lay a corn field. The beautiful golden grain had been carried away long ago. Now there was only dry, short stubble. But to little Thumbelina the stubble was like a great forest. She walked through the hard field. She was shaking with cold. All at once she saw a little door just before her. She looked again. Yes, it was a door. The field mouse had made a little house under the stubble and lived so cosily there. She had a big room full of corn and she had a kitchen and pantry as well. Perhaps I shall get some food there, thought the cold and hungry little maiden, as she stood knocking at the door, just like a tiny beggar child. She had had nothing to eat for two long days. Oh, she was very hungry. What a tiny little thing you are, said the field mouse as she opened the door and saw Thumbelina. Come in and dine with me. How glad Thumbelina was and how she enjoyed dining with the field mouse. She behaved so prettily, the old field mouse told her she might live with her while the cold weather lasted, and she'll keep my room clean and neat, and she'll tell me stories, she added. That is how Thumbelina came to live with the field mouse and to meet Mr. Mole. We shall have a visitor soon, said the field mouse. My neighbor, Mr. Mole, comes to see me every weekday. His house is very large and he wears a beautiful coat of black velvet. Unfortunately, he is blind. If you tell him your prettiest stories, he may marry you. Now the Mole was very wise and very clever, but how could little Thumbelina ever care for him? Why, he did not love the sun, nor the flowers, and he lived in a house underground. No, Thumbelina did not wish to marry the Mole. However, she must sing to him when he came to visit his neighbor, the field mouse. When she had sung Ladybird, Ladybird, Fly Away Home, and Boys and Girls Come Out to Play, the Mole was charmed and thought he would like to marry the little maiden with the beautiful voice. Then he tried to be very agreeable. He invited the field mouse and Thumbelina to walk along the underground passage he had dug between their houses. Mr. Mole was very fond of digging underground. As it was dark, the Mole took a piece of tinderwood in his mouth and led the way. The tinderwood shone like a torch in the dark passage. A little bird lay in the passage, a little bird who had not flown away when the flowers faded and the cold winds blew. It was dead, the Mole said. When he reached the bird, the Mole stopped and pushed his nose right up through the ceiling to make a hole through which the daylight might shine. There lay the swallow, his wings pressed close to his side, his little head and legs drawn in under his feathers. He had died of cold. Poor little swallow, thought Thumbelina, all wild birds were her friends. Had they not sung to her and fluttered round her all the glad summer days? But the Mole kicked the swallow with his short legs. That one will sing no more, he said roughly. It must be sad to be born a bird and to be able only to sing and fly. I am thankful that of my children will be birds. And he proudly smoothed down his velvet coat. Yes, said the field mouse, what can a bird do but sing? When the cold weather comes, it is useless. Thumbelina said nothing. Only when the others moved on, she stooped down and stroked the bird gently with her tiny hand and kissed its closed eyes. That night the little maiden could not sleep. I will go to see the poor swallow again, she thought. She got up out of her tiny bed. She wove a little carpet of hay. Down the long underground passage, little Thumbelina walked, carrying the carpet. She reached the bird at last and spread the carpet gently round him. She fetched warm cotton and laid it over the bird. Even down on the cold earth, he will be warm now, let the gentle little maiden. Farewell, she said sadly. Farewell, little bird. Did you sing to me through the long summer days when the leaves were green and the sky was blue? Farewell, little swallow. And she stooped to press her tiny cheeks against soft feathers. As she did so, she heard. What could it be? Pit-pat, pit-pat. Could the bird be alive? Little Thumbelina listened still. Yes, it was the beating of the little bird's heart that she heard. He had not been dead after all, only frozen with cold. The little carpet and the covering the little maid had brought warmed the bird. He would get well now. What a big bird he seemed to Thumbelina. She was almost afraid now, for she was so tiny. She was tiny, but she was brave. Drawing the covering more closely round the poor swallow, she brought her own little pillow that the bird's head might rest softly. Thumbelina stole out again the next night. Would the swallow look at her? She wondered. Yes, he opened his eyes and looked at little Thumbelina, who stood there with a tiny torch of tinderwood. Thanks, thanks, little Thumbelina, he twittered feebly. Soon I shall grow strong and fly out in the bright sunshine once more. Thanks, thanks, little maiden. Oh, but it is too cold. It snows and freezes, for now it is winter, said Thumbelina. Stay here and be warm, and I will take care of you. And she brought the swallow water and a leaf. And the little bird told her all his story, how he had tried to fly to the warm countries, and how he had torn his wing on a black thorn bush and fallen to the ground, but he could not tell her how he had come to the underground passage. All winter the swallow stayed there, and Thumbelina was often in the long passage, with her little torch of tinderwood. But the mole and the field mouse did not know how Thumbelina tended and cared for the swallow. At last spring came, and the sun sent its warmth down where the swallow lay in the underground passage. Little Thumbelina opened the hole which the mole had made in the ceiling, and the sunshine streamed down in the swallow and the little girl. How the swallow longed to soar away, up and up to be lost to sight in the blue, blue sky. Come with me, little Thumbelina, said the swallow. Come with me to the blue skies and the green woods. But Thumbelina remembered how kind the field mouse had been to her when she was cold and hungry, and she would not leave her. Farewell, farewell then, little maiden, twitted the swallow as he flew out and up, up into the sunshine. Thumbelina loved the swallow dearly. Her eyes were full of tears as she watched the bird disappearing till he was only a tiny speck of black, and now sad days came to little Thumbelina. The golden corn was once more waving in the sunshine above the house of the field mouse, but Thumbelina must not go out lest she lose herself among the corn. Not go out in the bright sunshine, oh poor little Thumbelina. You must get your wedding clothes ready this summer, said the field mouse. You must be well provided with linen and worsted. My neighbour the mole will wish a well-dressed bride. The mole had said he wished to marry little Thumbelina before the cold winter came again. So Thumbelina sat at the spinning wheel through the long summer days, spinning and weaving with four little spiders to help her. In the evening the mole came to visit her. Summer will be over, he said, and we shall be married. But oh little Thumbelina did not wish the summer to end. Live with the dull old mole who hated the sunshine, who would not listen to the song of the birds, live underground with him, little Thumbelina wish the summer would never end. The spinning and weaving were over now. All the wedding clothes were ready. Autumn was come. Only four weeks in the wedding day will have come, said the field mouse, and little Thumbelina wept. I will not marry the tiresome old mole, she said. I shall bite you with my white tooth if you talk such nonsense, said the field mouse. Among all my friends not one of them has such a fine velvet coat as the mole. His cellars are full and his rooms are large. You ought to be glad to marry so well, she ended. Was there no escape from the underground home? Little Thumbelina wondered. The wedding day came. The mole arrived to fetch his little bride. How could she say goodbye forever to the beautiful sunshine? Farewell, farewell, she cried, and waved her little hands toward the glorious sun. Farewell, farewell, she cried, and threw her tiny arms around her little red flower, growing at her feet. Tell the dear swallow when he comes again, she whispered to the flower. Tell him I will never forget him. Tweet, tweet, was all that Thumbelina heard. Tweet, tweet, could it be the swallow? The flutter of wings was round her. Little Thumbelina looked. How glad she was, for there, indeed, was the little bird she had tended and cared for so long. She told him, weeping, she must not stay. She must marry the mole and live underground, and never see the sun, the glorious sun. Come with me, come with me, little Thumbelina, twitted the swallow. You can sit on my back, and I will fly you to warmer countries, far from the tiresome old mole. Over mountains and seas we will fly, to the country where the summer never ends, and the sunlight always shines. Then little Thumbelina seated herself on her dear swallow's back, and put her tiny feet on his outstretched wing. She tied herself firmly with her little sash to the strongest feather of the bird. Then the swallow soared high into the air, high above forests and lakes, high above the big mountains that were crested with snow, he soared. And little Thumbelina shivered as she felt the cold air, but soon she crept under the bird's warm feathers, and only pushed out her little head to see the beauty all around her. They had reached the warm countries now, and the sun was more brilliant here, the flowers more radiant. On and on flew the swallow, till he came to a white marble palace, half ruined it was, and vine leaves trailed up the long slender pillars. And among the broad green leaves, many a swallow had built his nest, and one of these nests belonged to Thumbelina's little swallow. This is my home, said the bird, but you shall live in one of these brilliant flowers in the loveliest of them all, and little Thumbelina clapped her hands with joy. The swallow flew her to a stately sunflower, and set her carefully on one of the broad yellow petals. But think what was her surprise? In the very heart of the flower stood a little prince, fair and transparent as a crystal. On his head he wore a crown of gold, on his shoulders a pair of delicate wings, and he was small, every bit as small as Thumbelina. He was the spirit of the flower. For you know in each flower there is a spirit, a tiny little boy or girl, but this little prince was king of all the flower spirits. The little king thought Thumbelina the loveliest maiden he had ever seen. He took off his golden crown and placed it on the tiny head of the little maid, and in a silvery voice he asked, will you be my bride, little Thumbelina, and reign with me over the flower spirits? How glad Thumbelina was! The little king wished to marry her. Yes, she would be his little queen. Then out of each blossom stepped tiny little children, they came to pay their homage to little Thumbelina. Each one brought her a present, and the most beautiful of all the presents was a pair of wings, delicate as gossamer, and when they were fastened on the shoulders of the little queen, she could fly from flower to flower, and the swallow sat on his nest above and sang his sweetest bridal song for the wedding of little Thumbelina. End of section 142. Recording by Sarah Williams, Germantown, Maryland, June 2008. Section 143 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 Porick. Childhood's favorites and fairy stories. By various authors. Section 143. The Tinderbox. By Hans Christian Andersen. A story about a tinderbox? Yes, but then it was such a wonderful one. Why, it must certainly have been a magic box. It belonged to an old witch, this tinderbox. But it had been left right down inside a tree by the ugly old witch's grandmother. But get it again, she must, for she knew it really was a magic tinderbox. But how could she get it? Ah, here was her chance. Tramp, tramp, right, left, right, left. She heard the steps come nearer and nearer. She looked. There was a soldier coming along. Tramp, tramp. She could see him now, with a knapsack on his back and his sword at his side. The soldier had been to the wars and was coming home. Good evening. So the witch, as he came close to her. Good evening. What a bright sword you wear, and what a big knapsack. You shall have as much money as you wish for yourself. Thank you, old witch, said the soldier. But it did not tell her that she did not look as though she had much money to spare. He was too wise to say anything but thank you, old witch. Do you see that big tree? She said, and she pointed to one that stood close by the wayside. It is hollow inside. Climb up to the top, and you will see a hole. It is large. You must creep through it, and let yourself down, right down under the tree. Tie a rope round your waist, and I will haul you up again when you call. Oh, what am I to do under the tree? asked the soldier. What are you to do? Why did not I tell you you should have money? It is there under the tree. Copper, silver, gold, old, cried the witch in a rough and eager voice. When you come to the bottom of the tree, there is a large passage. It is quite light. Indeed, it is a blaze with light. More than a hundred lamps are burning. There you will see three doors. The keys are in the keyholes. Unlock the doors and walk in. In the first room in the middle of the floor is a big box. On the top of it sits a dog. He has big eyes, they are big as saucers. But do not let that trouble you. You shall have my blue checked apron. Spread it on the floor. Go forward quickly, seize the dog, and face him on it. After that is done, you can open the box, and take out as much money as you wish. It is true, the box holds only copper coins. But if you would rather have silver, just walk into the next room. There sits another dog on another box with big eyes. Eyes as big as doors, as big as middle wheels. But never mind that. Place the dog on my apron. Then open the box, and take as much silver as you wish. But if you would rather have gold, why then open the third door. There you will see another dog. Sitting on another box. This one is tremendous, quite gigantic. And he has eyes, oh such great rolling eyes. There is light as a round tower. He is a dog indeed. But do not let that trouble you. Place him on my blue-checked apron, and he will not hurt you. Then take gold, as much gold as ever you wish. Splendid! said the soldier. You see he had been to the wars, and was a brave man. Splendid, but what am I to give you, old witch? You will wish something. I am quite certain of that. No, said the witch. I do not wish one single coin. But I do wish my old tinder-box. My grandmother left it behind her, the last time she went down the tree. Well, tie the rope around my waist, said the soldier. Here it is, said the witch. And here is my blue-checked apron. It is very important! Up the tree climbed the soldier, into the tree he crept, through the hole at the top, and down, down the hollow inside he slipped. And there he was, in a wide passage, lighted, as the witch had said, by a hundred burning lamps. The soldier unlocked the first door he saw. There sat the dog with eyes as big as saucers, staring at him in great surprise. I must obey my orders, thought the soldier. He placed the witch's apron on the floor, seized the dog bravely, and placed him on the apron. Then he opened the box. It was full of copper coins. He crammed his manny's he cut into his pocket, shut the lid, placed the dog again on the box, and passed on to the second door. He unlocked it. Yes! There sat another dog on another box, with great eyes as big as mill-wheels. If you stare at me so hard, you will hurt your eyes, said the soldier, and thought what a joke he'd made. Then he seized the dog, placed it on the witch's apron, and raised the lid of the second box. Silver! Every coin was silver! The soldier threw away all his copper coins. In a great hurry, he must have silver! He stuffed his pockets and his knapsack with the silver coins, and clapped his hands. He was rich now! On he went to the third room. He unlocked it. There indeed was another box and another dog. And oh, horrible! The soldier almost shut his eyes! The dog had eyes, great, big, rolling eyes, eyes as large as the round tower, and they would not keep still. No, round and round they rolled! But the soldier was brave. He had been to the wars. Good evening! He said, and he lifted his hat respectfully, for never before in all his life had he seen so big, so enormous a creature. Then he walked straight up to the dog. Could he lift him? Yes, he took the immense animal in his arms, set him on the witch's apron, and opened the third box. Gold! It was full of gold! He would be able to buy the whole town! And all the sugar plums, and all the tin soldiers, and all the rocking horses, and whips in the world! The soldier was delighted! He threw away a silver money. Silver! He did not want silver! Here was gold! Gold! He filled his pockets and his knapsack. But he could not bear to stop there. No! He crammed his cap and his boots so full that he could hardly walk. He was really rich at last! He shut the lid, placed the dog again on the box, and went out of the room along the passage. Then he shouted up the tree. Hello, old witch! Hold me up again! Have you got the tinder box? Said the witch. Oh, that I'd quite forgotten! Answered the soldier, and he went back to fetch it. When he came back, the witch took the rope, and hauled and hauled, till there was a soldier, once more safe on the high road, just as he was before. Only now he was rich! So rich that he had become very bold! He had gold in his pockets, gold in his knapsack, gold in his cap, gold in his boots! What are you going to do with the tinder box? Just tell me that! Said the soldier. That is no business of yours! Said the witch. You have the gold! Give me the tinder box! Rubbish! Said the soldier. He'd grown rude as well as rich, you see. Rubbish! Take your choice! Tell me at once what you mean to do with the tinder box, or I will draw my sword and cut off your head! I won't tell you! Screamed the witch. And the soldier cut off her head, and the poor witch lay there dead. But the soldier did not stay to look at her. In a great hurry he took all his gold, and tied it up in the blue-checked apron. He slung it across his shoulder, put the tinder box in his pocket, and marched off to town. How grand he felt! What heaps of gold he had in his bundle! When the soldier reached the town, he walked straight to the finest hotel, and asked for the best rooms, and for dinner ordered all his favourite puddings and fruits. The servant who cleaned his boots tossed her head. Shabby boots for a rich man to wear, she said. But next day the soldier had bought himself very grand new boots, and gay clothing, so that no one could possibly call him Shabby. Shabby? No. He was a great man now, and people crowded round this rich fellow, told him all the sights that were to be seen in their city, all about their king too, and the beautiful princess, his daughter. I should like to see her, this wonderful princess, said the soldier. But you cannot see her, they told him. She lives, the beautiful princess, in a great copper castle, with walls and towers all round. Only the king visits her there, for it was once foretold, that she would marry a common soldier, and that our king does not wish. I must see her once, just once, thought the soldier. But how was he going to find the way into the castle? That was the question. Meanwhile he led a merry life. He drove about in the king's park. He went to the theatre. He gave money to the poor, because he remembered how miserable it was to have no money in his own pocket. The soldier was always gaily dressed now. He had a great many friends who said he was a real gentleman, and that pleased him very much. And so he went on, day after day, spending money and giving money, but getting none. Till at last the gold came to an end. He had only two copper coins left. He was only a poor soldier once more. Leaving the grand hotel, he went to live in a small room. He found a tiny attic, just under a roof, up, oh, so many stairs! Here he lived, mending his own clothes, brushing his own boots. He had no visitors, for his grand friends would not take the trouble to walk up so many stairs to his little attic. Hungry? Yes, he was hungry too, and as he had no money to buy even a farthing candle, he had to sit alone in the dark. One evening he suddenly thought of the witch's tinder-box. Surely in it there were matches! The soldier opened it eagerly. Yes, there lay the matches. He seized one and struck it on the tinder-box. No sooner had he done this than the door burst suddenly open, and there, there, staring at him, stood the dog with eyes as big as saucers. What does my master command? asked the dog. No wonder the old witch wished the tinder-box for her very own, thought the soldier. Allowed, he said to the dog, Fetch me some money! And the dog instantly vanished to do his master's bidding. He was back in a moment, and lo, in his mouth was a big bag, full of pennies. Why, this is a magic box! said the soldier. I have a treasure indeed! And so he had, for listen! Striked the box once, the dog with eyes as large as saucers appeared. Striked twice, and the dog with eyes as big as mill-wheels appeared. Striked thrice, and there appeared the monster-dog with eyes that rolled round and round, and were as large as the round tower itself. All three dogs did the soldier's bidding. Now the soldier could have gold again, gold as much as ever he wished. He moved once more to the grand rooms in the fine hotel. He had gay clothes again, and now, strangely enough, all his friends came to see him, and liked him as much as ever. One evening the soldier's thoughts wandered away to the beautiful princess. The beautiful princess was shut up so safely in the great copper palace. It is ridiculous that no one sees the princess, thought the soldier. I want to see her, and I shall. He pulled out his tinder-box, struck a light, and lo! There stood the dog with eyes as large as saucers. It is the middle of the night, said the soldier, but I must see the princess, if it is only for a moment. The dog bounded out of the door, and before the soldier had time to wonder what he would do or say if the beautiful princess really appeared, there she was. Yes, there she was, fast asleep, on the dog's back. She was beautiful, so beautiful, that the soldier was quite sure that she was a real princess. He stooped and kissed her hand. She was so beautiful he could not help it. Then off ran the dog back to the copper palace with the princess. I had such a strange dream last night, the princess told the king and queen at breakfast next morning. I dreamed that an enormous dog came and carried me off to a soldier, and the soldier kissed my hand. It was a strange dream, she murmured. The princess must not be left alone to-night, said the queen. She may be frightened if she dreams again. And she told an old dame who lived at court to sit in the princess's room at night. But what were the queen have said if she had known that what the princess told them was no dream, but something that had really and truly happened? Well, that evening the soldier thought he would like to see the princess again. He struck a light, and there stood one of his obedient dogs. Bring the princess, ordered the soldier, and the dog vanished to do his master's will. The old dame sat beside the princess's bed. She had heard all about the princess's dream. Was she dreaming herself now? She wondered. She pinched herself. No, she was wide awake. Yet she saw a dog, a real dog, with eyes as large as saucers in front of her. The dog seized the princess and ran off. But although he ran very quickly, the old dame found time to put on her galoshes before she followed. How she panted along! How she ran, the faithful old dame! She was just in time to see the princess and the dog's back disappear into a large house. I shall mark the house, so that I may know it in the morning, she thought. And she took a piece of white chalk and made a great white cross on the door. Then she walked home and slept. Soon afterwards the dog carried the princess back to the copper palace, and noticed the great white cross on the door of the hotel where his master lived. And what do you think he did? Oh, he was a wise dog! He took a piece of chalk and he put a great white cross on every door in the town. Early next morning the king and the queen and all the lords and ladies of the court were astir. They had heard the old dame's story and were going to see the house with a great white cross. They had scarcely started when the king's eyes fell on a great white cross. Here it is! cried the king eagerly. What nonsense you talk, my dear! It is here! said the queen. For almost at the same moment she too had seen a door with a great white cross. Then all the lords and ladies cried, It is here! It is here! As one after another they saw doors marked with great white crosses. The hubbub was terrible and the poor old dame was quite bewildered. How could she tell which door she had marked? It was quite useless. The dog had perplexed everybody and they went back to the copper palace knowing no more than when they left it. But the queen was a clever woman. She could do more than just sit very properly on a throne. The same evening she took her big gold scissors and cut up a large piece of silk into small pieces. These she sewed together into a pretty little bag. Then she filled the bag with the finest grains of wheat. With her own hands she tied the bag around the princess's waist, after which she took her gold scissors again and cut a tiny little hole in the bag. A hole just big enough to let the grains of wheat drop out whenever the princess moved. That night the dog came again and carried the princess off to the soldier. And the soldier wished he were a prince. For then he wouldn't marry this beautiful princess. Now although the dog had very big eyes, eyes as large as saucers, he did not notice the tiny grains of wheat as they dropped out all along the road from the palace to the soldier's window. Under the window the dog stopped and climbed up the wall with the princess into the soldier's room. The next morning the king and queen followed the little grains of wheat and very easily found out where the princess had been. Then the soldier was seized and put into prison. Oh, oh how dark and tiresome it was! But it was worse than that one day when they told him he was to be hanged. Hanged to-morrow? They told him. What a fright the soldier was in! And, worst of all, he had left his tinder-box at the hotel. Morning came. Through the narrow bars of his little window the soldier could see the people all hurrying out of town. They were going to see him hanged. He heard the drums. He saw the soldiers marching along. He wished he were marching with them. Alas! Alas! They could never be now! A little shoemaker's apprentice, but a leather apron, came running along. He was in such a hurry that he lost one of his slippers. It fell close under the soldier's window as he sat hearing out through the narrow bars. The soldier called to the boy. There is no hurry, for I am still here. Nothing will happen till I go. I will give you two pence if you will run to the house where I used to live and fetch me my tinder-box. He must run all the way! The shoemaker's boy thought he would like to earn two pence, and off he raced to bring the tinder-box. He found it. He used his little box, he said to himself. But back he raced with it to the soldier. And then what do you think happened? Outside the town the scaffold had been raised. The soldiers were drawn up round it, as well as crowds of people. The king and queen were there too, seated on a magnificent throne, exactly opposite the judges and councillors. The rope was being put round the soldier's neck when he turned to the king and queen and earnestly entreated one last favour. Only to be allowed to smoke one pipe of tobacco? What a harmless request! How could the king refuse so harmless a request? Yes, said his Majesty. You may smoke one pipe of tobacco. The soldier took out his tinder-box, struck a match, once, twice, thrice, and lo, there before him, stood the three enormous dogs, waiting his commands. Help me! shouted the soldier. Do not let me be hanged! At once the three terrible dogs rushed at the judges and councillors, tossed them high into the air so that as they fell they were broken into pieces. The king began to speak. Perhaps he was going to forgive the soldier. But no one knows what he was going to say, for the biggest dog gave him no time to finish his sentence. He rushed at the king and queen, flung them high into the air, so that when they fell down they too were broken all to pieces. Then the soldiers and the people, who were all terribly frightened, shouted in a great hurry. Brave soldier! You shall be our king, and the beautiful princess shall be our queen! And while they led the soldier to the royal carriage, the great big dogs bounded along in front. Little boys whistled gaily, and the guards presented arms. Then the princess was sent for, and made queen, which he liked much better than living shut up in a copper palace. And the wedding feast lasted for eight whole days. And the three monster wizard dogs sat at the table, staring around them with all their eyes. End of section 143. Recording by Porick. Section 144 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 144. Boots and His Brothers by George Webb Dacent. Once upon a time there was a man who had three sons, Peter, Paul, and John. John was Boots, of course, because he was the youngest. I can't say the man had anything more than these three sons. For he hadn't one penny to rub against another. And so he told his sons over and over again they must go out into the world and try to earn their bread. For there at home there was nothing to be looked for but starving to death. Now near the man's cottage was the king's palace. And you must know just against the king's windows a great oak had sprung up, which was so stout and big that it took away all the light from the king's palace. The king said he would give many, many dollars to the man who could fell the oak. But no one was man enough for that. For as soon as ever one chip of the oak's trunk flew off, two grew in its stead. A well, too, the king would have dug, which was to hold water for the whole year. For all his neighbors had wells, but he hadn't any, and that he thought a shame. So the king said he would give to anyone who could dig him such a well as would hold water for a whole year round, both money and goods. But no one could do it. For the king's palace lay high, high up on a hill, and they had dug only a few inches before they came upon the living rock. But as the king had set his heart on having these two things done, he had it given out far and wide in all the churches of his kingdom, that he who could fell the big oak in the king's courtyard, and get him a well that would hold water the whole year round, should have the princess and half the kingdom. Well, you may easily know there was many a man who came to try his luck. But for all their hacking and hewing, and all their digging and delving, it was no good. The oak got bigger and stouter at every stroke, and the rock didn't get any softer either. So one day those three brothers thought they'd set off and try too, and their father hadn't a word against it, for even if they didn't get the princess and half the kingdom, it might happen they may get a place somewhere with a good master, and that was all he wanted. So when the brothers said they thought of going to the palace, their father said, yes, at once. So Peter, Paul, and Jack went off from their home. Well, they hadn't gone far before they came to a fir wood, and up along one side of it rose a steep hillside, and as they went, they heard something hewing and hacking away up on the hill among the trees. I wonder now, what is that hewing away up yonder? said Jack. You're always so clever with your wonderings, said Peter and Paul at once. What wonder is it pray that a woodcutter should stand and hack up on a hillside? Still, I'd like to see what it is after all, said Jack, and up he went. Oh, if you're such a child, it will do you good to go and take a lesson, bowled out his brothers after him. But Jack didn't care for what they said. He climbed the steep hillside towards where the noise came, and when he reached the place, what do you think he saw? Why, an axe that stood there hacking and hewing all of itself at the trunk of a fir. Good day, said Jack. So you stand here all alone and hew, do you? Yes, I have stood and hewed and hacked a long, long time waiting for you, said the axe. Well, here I am at last, said Jack, as he took the axe, pulled it off its handle and stuffed both head and handle into his wallet. So when he got down again to his brothers, they began to jeer and laugh at him. And now what funny thing was it you saw up yonder on the hillside, they said. Oh, it was only an axe we heard, said Jack. So when they had gone a bit farther, they came under a steep spur of rock, and up there they heard something digging and shoveling. I wonder now, said Jack, what is digging and shoveling up yonder at the top of the rock? Ah, you're always so clever with your wondering, said Peter and Paul again, as if you've never heard a woodpecker hacking and pecking at a hollow tree. Well, well, said Jack, I think it would be a piece of fun just to see what it really is. And so off he set to climb the rock while the others laughed and made game of him, but he didn't care a bit for that. Up he climbed, and when he got near the top, what do you think he saw? Why, a spade that stood digging and delving. Good day, said Jack, so you stand here all alone and dig and delve. Yes, that's what I do, said the spade, and that's what I've done this many a long day waiting for you. Well, here I am, said Jack again, as he took the spade and knocked it off its handle and put it into his wallet and then down again to his brother's. Well, what was it so rare and strange, said Peter and Paul, that you saw up there at the top of the rock? Oh, said Jack, nothing more than a spade, that was what we heard. So they went on again, a good bit, till they came to a brook. They were all thirsty, all three after their long walk, and so they lay down beside the brook to have a drink. Wonder now, said Jack, where all this water comes from. I wonder if you're right in the head, said Peter and Paul in one breath. If you're not mad already, you'll go mad very soon with your wonderings. Where the brook comes from, indeed. Have you never heard how water rises from a spring in the earth? Yes, but still I have a great fancy to see where this brook comes from, said Jack. So up alongside the brook he went, in spite of all that his brothers bawled after him. Nothing could stop him. On he went. So as he went up and up, the brook got smaller and smaller and at last, a little way farther on. What do you think he saw? Why, a great walnut, and out of that the water trickled. Good day, said Jack again. So you lie here and trickle and run down all alone? Yes, I do, said the walnut. And here I have trickled and run this many a long day waiting for you. Well, here I am, said Jack, as he took a lump of moss and plugged up the hole that the water mightn't run out. Then he put the walnut into his wallet and ran down to his brothers. Well now, said Peter and Paul, have you found out where the water comes from? A rare sight it must have been. Oh, after all, it was only a hole it ran out of, said Jack. And so the others laughed and made game of him again. But Jack didn't mind that a bit. After all, I had the fun of seeing it, said he. So when they had gone a bit farther, they came to the king's palace. But as everyone in the kingdom had heard how they might win the princess and half the realm, if they could only fell the big oak and dig the king's well, so many had come to try their luck that the oak was now twice as stout and big as it had been at first, for two chips grew for everyone they hewed out with their axes. As I dare say, you all bear in mind. So the king had now laid it down as a punishment that if anyone tried and couldn't fell the oak, he should be put on a barren island and both his ears would be clipped off. But the two brothers didn't let themselves be scared by that. They were quite sure they could fell the oak. And Peter, as he was the eldest, was to try his hand first. But it went with him as with all the rest who had hewn the oak. For every chip he cut out, two grew in its place. So the king's men seized him and clipped off both his ears and put him out on the island. Now Paul, he was to try his luck, but he fared just the same. When he had hewn two or three strokes, they began to see the oak grow. And so the king's men seized him, too, and clipped his ears and put him out on the island. And his ears they clipped closer because they said he ought to have taken a lesson from his brother. So now Jack was to try. If you will look like a marked sheep, we're quite ready to clip your ears at once, and then you'll save yourself some bother, said the king, for he was angry with him for his brother's sake. Well, I'd like to just try first, said Jack. And so he got leave. Then he took his axe out of his wallet and fitted it to its handle. Hue away, he said to his axe, and away it hewed making the chips fly again so that it wasn't long before down came the oak. When that was done, Jack pulled out his spade and fitted it to its handle. Dig away, said he to the spade. And so the spade began to dig and delve till the earth and rock flew out in splinters. And so he had the well soon dug out, you may think. And when he had got it as big and deep as he chose, Jack took out his walnut and lay it in one corner of the well and pulled the plug of moss out. Trickle and run, said Jack. And so the nut trickled and ran till the water gushed out of the hole in a stream and in a short time the well was brimful. Then Jack had felled the oak which shaded the king's palace and dug the well in the palace yard. In the palace yard. And so he got the princess and half the kingdom, as the king had said. But it was lucky for Peter and Paul that they had lost their ears else they had heard each hour and day how every one said. Well, after all, Jack wasn't so much out of his mind when he took to wondering. Section 145. 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 Chris C. Childhood's Favorites and Fairy Stories by various authors. Section 145. The Husband Who Was to Mine the House. by George Webb Descent Once on a time there was a man so surly and cross he never thought his wife did anything right in the house. So one evening, in hay-making time, he came home, scolding and swearing and showing his teeth and making a dust. Dear love, don't be so angry. There's a good man, said his goodie. Tomorrow let's change our work. I'll go out with the mowers and moe and you shall mine the house at home. Yes, the husband thought, that would do very well. He was quite willing, he said. So early next morning his goodie took a sigh over her neck and went out into the hay-field with the mowers and began to moe. But the man was to mine the house and do the work at home. First of all he wanted to churn the butter, but when he had churned a while, he got thirsty and went down to the cellar to tap a barrel of ale. So just when he had knocked in the bung and was putting the tap into the cask, he heard overhead the pig come into the kitchen. Then off he ran up the cellar steps with the tap in his hand as fast as he could to look after the pig lest it should upset the churn. But when he got up and saw the pig had already knocked the churn over and stood there rooting and grunting amongst the cream, which was running all over the floor, he got so wild with rage that he quite forgot the ale barrel and ran at the pig as hard as he could. He caught it too, just as it ran out of doors and gave it such a kick that piggy lay for dead on the spot. Then all at once he remembered he had the tap in his hand, but when he got down to the cellar every drop of ale had run out of the cask. Then he went into the dairy and found enough cream left to fill the churn again, and so he began to churn for butter they must have at dinner. When he had churned a bit, he remembered that their milking cow was still shut up in the stable and hadn't had a bit to eat or drop to drink all the morning, though the sun was high. Then all at once he thought it was too far to take her down to the meadow, so he just get her up on the housetop for the house, you must know, was thatched with sods, and a fine crop of grass was growing there. Now their house lay close up against a steep down, and he thought if he laid a plank across to the thatch at the back he'd easily get the cow up, but still he couldn't leave the churn for there was his little babe crawling about on the floor, and if I leave it, he thought, the child is sure to upset it. So he took the churn on his back and went out with it, but then he thought he'd better first water the cow before he turned her out on the thatch. So he took up a bucket to draw water out of the well, but as he stooped down at the well's brink, all the cream ran out of the churn over his shoulders and down into the well. Now it was near dinner time, and he hadn't even got the butter yet, so he thought he'd best boil the barge and fill the pot with water and hung it over the fire. When he had done that, he thought the cow might perhaps fall off the thatch and break her leg or her neck, so he got up on the house to tie her up. One end of the rope he made fast to the cow's neck, and the other he slipped down the chimney and tied around his own thigh, and he had to make haste for the water now began to boil at the pot, and he had still to grind the oatmeal. So he began to grind away, but while he was hard at it, down fell the cow off the housetop after all. As she'd fell, she'd dragged the man up the chimney by the rope. There he stuck fast, and as for the cow, she hung halfway down the wall, swinging between heaven and earth, for she could neither get down nor up. And now the goodie had waited seven lengths and seven breaths for her husband to come and call him home to dinner, but never a call they had. At last she thought she'd waited long enough and went home, but when she got there and saw the cow hanging in such an ugly place, she ran up and cut the rope in two with her scythe, but as she did this, down came her husband out of the chimney, and so when his old dame came inside the kitchen, there she found him standing on his head in the porridge pot. Section 146 of Charlotte'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, recording by Ms. Scarlett. Childhood's Favourites and Fairy Stories, by various others. Better Cup, by George V. Baysant Once on a time there was an old wife who sat and baked. Now you must know that this old wife had a little son who was so plump and fat and so fond of good things that they called him Buttercup. She had a dog too, whose name was Goltooth, and as she was baking, all at once Goltooth began to bark. When out Buttercup there's a deer, said the old wife, and see what Goltooth is barking at. So the boy ran out and came back crying out. Oh heaven help us, here comes a great big witch with her head under her arm and a bag at her back. Jump under the knitting through and hide yourself, said his mother. So in came the old hack. Good day, said she. God bless you, said Buttercup's mother. Isn't your Buttercup at home today? Asked the hack. No, that he isn't. He's out in the wood with his father shooting grouse. Play take it, said the hack. For I had such a little silver knife I wanted to give him. Here I am, said Buttercup, under the kneeling through, and out he came. I'm so old and stiff in the back, said the hack. You must creep into the bag and fetch it for yourself. But when Buttercup was well in the bag, the hack threw it over her back and strode off, and when they had gone a good bit of the way, the old hack got tired and asked. How far is it off to Snorvik? Of a mile, answered Buttercup. So the hack put down the sack on the road, and went aside by herself into the wood, and lay down to sleep. Meantime, Buttercup said to work, and put a hole in the sack with his knife. Then he crept out and put a grid roof of a fir tree into the sack, and ran home to his mother. When the hack got home and saw what there was in the sack, you may fancy she was in a fine rage. Next day, the old wife said and baked the game, and her doll began to bark, just as he did the day before. Run out, Buttercup, my boy, said she, and see what Gultus is barking at. Well, I never tried to Buttercup as soon as he got out. If there isn't that ugly old beast coming again, with her head under her arm, and the great sack at her back. Under the knitting through, with you on height, said his mother. Good day, said the hack. Is your Buttercup at home today? I'm sorry to say he isn't, said his mother. He's out in the wood with his father, shooting gross. What a bore, said the hack. Here I have a beautiful little silver spoon I want to keep him. Peep, peep, here I am, said Buttercup, and crept out. I'm so stiff in the back, said old witch. You must creep into the sack and fetch it out for yourself. So when Buttercup was well into the sack, the hack swung it over her shoulders and set up home as fast as her legs could carry her. But when they had gone a good bit, she grew weary and asked. How far is it off the snoring? A mile and a half answered Buttercup. So the hack sat down the sack and went aside into the wood to sleep a bit. But while she slept, Buttercup made a hole in the sack and got out and put a great stone into it. Now, when the old witch had got home, she made a great fire on the earth and put a big pot on it and got everything ready to boil Buttercup. But when she took the sack, she thought she was going to turn out Buttercup into the pot. Then plumped the stone and made a hole in the bottom of the pot, so that the water ran out and quenched the fire. Then the old hack was in a dreadful rage and said, If he makes himself ever so heavy next time, he shouldn't take me in again. The third day, everything went just as it had gone twice before. Goltus began to bark and Buttercup's mother said to him, Do run out and see what our dog is barking at. So out he went, but he soon came back crying out. Heaven save us! Here comes the old hack again, with her head under her arm and a sack at her back. Jemper the kneeling side through and Hyde, said his mother. Good day, said the hack, as she came in at dawn. Is your Buttercup at home today? You're very kind to ask after him, said his mother, but he's out in the woods with his father, shooting grouse. What a bore now, said the old hack. Here have I got such beautiful little silver fork for him. Peep peep, here I am, said Buttercup, as he came out from under the kneeling through. I'm so stiff in the back, said the hack. You must creep into the sack and fetch it out for yourself. But when the Buttercup was well inside the sack, the old hack swung it across her shoulders and set off as fast as she could. This time she did not turn aside to sleep by the way, but went straight home with Buttercup in the sack, and when she reached her house it was Sunday. The old hack said to her daughter, Now you must take Buttercup and kill him, and boil him nicely till I come back, for I'm off to church to pig my guests to dinner. So, when all in the house were gone to church, the daughter was to take Buttercup and kill him, but then she didn't know how to set about it at all. Stop a bit, said Buttercup, I'll soon show you how to do it, just lay your head on the shopping block and you'll soon see. So the poor silly thing let her head down, and Buttercup took the knacks and chopped her head off, just as if she had been a chicken. Then he laid her head in the bed and popped her body in the pot, and boiled it so nicely and when he had done that, he climbed up on the roof and dragged up with him the third tree root and the stone, and put one over the door and the other at the top of the chimney. So, when the household came back from church, and saw the head on the bed, they thought it was the daughter who lay there asleep, and then they thought that would just taste the broth. Good buy my truth, Buttercup, bruth, said the old hag. Good buy my truth, daughter bruth, said Buttercup down the chimney, but no one hated him. So the old hag's husband, who was every bit as bad as she, took the spoon to have a taste. Good buy my truth, Buttercup, bruth, said he. Good buy my truth, daughter bruth, said Buttercup down the chimney pipe. Then they all began to wonder who it could be that shattered so, and run out to see. But when they came out at door, Buttercup threw down on them the third tree root and the stone, and broke all their heads to bits. After that, he took all the golden silver that lay in the house, and went home to his mother, and became a rich man. End of section 146, Buttercup, recording by Ms. Scarlett.