 Joseph the Dreamer by Amy Steedman. This is the story of Joseph, the boy who had the strangest and most exciting adventures of any boy who ever lived. Joseph was but a little lad when his mother died. His father, Jacob, had loved that mother more than anyone else in the world, so that when she died leaving Joseph and a baby brother, Benjamin, all the love in the father's heart turned toward his two little sons. The elder brothers were strong, grown-up men, quite able to look after themselves and no longer needing their father's care. So perhaps it was no wonder that Jacob made a special favorite of the little lad Joseph and loved him best. At first the older brothers took no notice of their father's way with the younger boy, but as Joseph grew older they began to feel uneasy and envious. Why should this child be marked out for special favor? Their father took no pains to hide the fact that the boy was the apple of his eye. Even his clothes showed this. While his brothers wore the ordinary shepherd clothing, Joseph had a beautiful coat of many colors. His father had made it for him of different pieces of colored cloth joined together, and it was so gay and beautiful that everyone who saw him wearing it said, this must be the son of a great chief. But if the gay coat made them angry, they were more angry still when Joseph began to dream strange dreams, which he always told to them. As they sat around in the fields watching the sheep, the boy would come running to them full of excitement as he begged them to listen to a wonderful dream he had had. Here I pray thee, this dream that I have dreamed, he cried sitting down amongst them. We were binding sheaves in a field, and lo, my sheaf arose and also stood upright, and behold, your sheaves stood round about and bowed to my sheaf. Another time his dream was about the stars. The sun and moon and eleven stars, he said, had all bowed down before him. This was really more than his brothers could bear. Did he really think he was going to rule over them? Were they to bow down before this boasting boy in his fine coat? And even his father did not quite approve of these dreams. But Joseph had not really meant to boast. It was the wonder of the dreams that made him repeat them. If he was proud of his coat of many colors, it was only because it was a gift from his father. He was a straightforward, good-natured boy, clever and brave, and ready to take his turn in watching the flocks or helping his brothers with their work in the fields. But it grew, day by day, more difficult to keep the peace at home, and the only quiet times were when the elder brothers went farther afield to find new pasture for their flocks. It was at one of these times, when the brothers had been gone for some time, that Jacob called Joseph to him and bade him go and find his brothers, and bring back news if they were safe and well. Joseph was now a lad of about seventeen, and this would be the first journey he had taken by himself, so he was eager to show that he was to be trusted, and he set out most cheerfully. After some days he arrived at Shechem, where his father had told him he would find his brothers, but he could find no signs of them there. Unwilling to go home without news, Joseph wandered about until he met a man who had no idea what he was doing. A man who directed him to a place farther on where his brothers might be, and at last he caught sight of their tents in a field far ahead. How lucky he was to find them, he thought to himself, as he hurried forward, eager to meet them. It was a clear day, and the shepherd's keen eyes could see far along the winding road that stretched out across the low hills towards Shechem. Long before Joseph came within hail, his brothers saw his figure in the distance, hastening towards them. Perhaps it was the gay color of his coat that first told them who it was, and perhaps it was the coat that reminded them of their hate and envy, and brought back to their memory again those dreams so full of pride. Behold, this dreamer cometh, they said to one another. Come now, therefore, and let us slay him and cast him into some pit, and we will say, some evil beast hath devoured him, and we shall see what will become of his dreams. With dark looks of hate they watched the gay figure coming so joyfully towards them, and only one heart felt any pity for the boy. Rubin, the eldest brother, made up his mind quickly that he would save him if possible, only he must set to work cunningly, for those other nine brothers were very determined men. So he began by suggesting that it seemed quite unnecessary to kill the boy themselves when the easiest plan would just be to put him down the pit, which was close at hand, and leave him to die, for he thought if he could persuade them to do this, he would come back and save Joseph when the others had gone. Never dreaming of evil, Joseph came on, and now he ran eagerly up to them, and began to give them their father's message. But the rough hands held out to him were not held out in welcome. The brothers seized the boy and savagely tore off his beautiful coat, as if the very sight of it hurt their eyes, and then they hurried him towards the pit which Rubin had pointed out. Then Joseph knew they meant to kill him. He knew that if they threw him into one of those deep, narrow pits, there was no chance of climbing up its deep sides, even if he were not immediately drowned in the water which often gathered at the bottom. Was he never to see his father and little brother again? Never to spend any more happy days in the fields under the blue sky. It was useless to cry out and beg for pity. Rubin, the eldest brother, who might have helped him, was not there, and the others he knew were merciless. The pit was reached, and in spite of his cries, strong hands pushed him forward and over the edge. Down, down he fell into the blackness, until with a terrible thud he reached the bottom. There was no water to break his fall, for the pit was dry. Well, that was done. The cruel brothers went off to a little distance and began to eat their midday meal. But scarcely had they begun when they caught sight of a company of travelers passing along the road close by. There was a long train of camels laden with spices, evidently on their way down to Egypt. Here was a splendid opportunity of making some money out of their evil plans. Instead of leaving Joseph to starve in the pit, they would fetch him out and sell him to these merchants. Most likely they would get a good price for such a strong, young slave. Perhaps when Joseph heard their voices at the pit's mouth, and when they drew him up and lifted him out into the sunshine again, he thought for a moment that they meant to be kind to him after all. But that thought soon vanished. The Midianite merchants were waiting, the bargain was struck, and very soon a rope was bound round his hands, and he was tied to the saddle of the man who had bought him. He knew now they had only taken him out of the pit to sell him as a slave. Meanwhile Rubin had been keeping out of sight, waiting to return and rescue his brother as soon as it was safe to do so. Very cautiously, at last he stole back. But, alas, when he reached the pit he found that it was empty. In his distress he forgot his caution, and cared no longer if his brother's guest what he had meant to do. The child is not, and I, whither shall I go? he cried to them in bitter sorrow when he met them. With angry, sullen looks they told him that Joseph was now far away on his road to Egypt. Rubin must keep their secret. There was but one thing to be done. Joseph's coat lay there, just as they had torn it off his back. They would dip the coat in goat's blood and carry it to their father. The poor, gay-colored little coat, all bloodstained and torn, was brought and held up before Jacob's eyes. This we have found, said the brothers. Know now whether it be thy son's coat or no. Did he not, indeed, know that coach of many colors? Had he not matched and joined together each of the pieces? Had his heart not been filled with pride and love as he watched the boy wearing it with such a gallant air? It is my son's coat, he cried, with a bitter cry of grief. An evil beast hath devoured him. Joseph is without doubt rent in pieces. It might perhaps have seemed better just then for Joseph, if he had been dead, instead of being carried away into slavery. It was a terrible fate, and he might well have become sullen and hopeless in the strange land of Egypt to which the merchant men took him. But instead of being sorry for himself and thinking only of the unkindness and wickedness of his cruel brothers, he made the best of everything and set himself to do his new hard work as well as possible. If he was a slave he would, at any rate, be a thoroughly good slave. And very soon his master, Potiphar, found that this fair-haired, good-looking Hebrew boy was one to be trusted, and, as time went on, he gave him not only his freedom, but made him the chief servant of the household. Then, just when happy days began to dawn for Joseph, misfortune once more overtook him. His master's wife accused him of doing wrong and declared he was thoroughly bad, and so all his well-deserved favors were taken from him, and he was put into prison. Even in prison Joseph's quiet goodness and his wise ways made him a favorite. He was the friend of all the other prisoners, and before long he became the governor's right hand. Still it was weary work to be shut up in prison, and he longed with all his heart for freedom and a chance to win a place for himself in the great world. He knew that Pharaoh, the king of Egypt, was not unfriendly to strangers. If only he could reach his ear, all might be well. At last the chance came. There were two of Pharaoh's servants in the prison, one, the king's cupbearer, and the other his chief baker, and both these were sorely troubled one night because of the dreams they had dreamt. They were sure these dreams had meaning, but who was to explain them? Now Joseph had learned to know a great deal about dreams, and so he listened to these men and told them what he thought their dreams must mean. The chief baker's dream was a sad one. He had dreamt of three baskets which he carried on his head, baskets filled with the king's food, but the birds had come and eaten up all the food. Alas, said Joseph, the three baskets must mean three days, and in three days the baker must be hanged, and the birds would come and eat his flesh. But the cupbearer's dream was a happy one, for he had seen a vine which bore three clusters of grapes, which he had pressed out into the king's cup and presented to Pharaoh. The three clusters of grapes were again three days, said Joseph, and in three days time the cupbearer would be once more free and hand the king his golden cup. But think of me when it shall be well with thee, added Joseph to the cupbearer, and show kindness, I pray thee, unto me, and make mention of me unto Pharaoh, and bring me out of this house, for indeed I was stolen away out of the land of the Hebrews, and here also I have done nothing that they should put me into the dungeon. In three days all that Joseph had said came true. The chief baker was hanged, and the chief butler was set free, and once more stood before the king. Only he quite forgot the man who had been so kind to him in prison, and for two years never once thought of Joseph. But at last something happened that reminded him. Once again it was a dream, but this time the dreamer was Pharaoh, the great king. He had sent for all the cleverest men in the land to explain his dreams to him, but no one could find a meaning for them. Then the cupbearer suddenly remembered Joseph, and came and told the king all that had happened to him when he was in prison. Surely it would be worthwhile to try this man. So Pharaoh sent and brought Joseph out of prison, and asked him if it was true that he could tell the meaning of dreams. There was no pride nor boastfulness in Joseph's answer. Of himself he said he could do nothing, but with God's help he would tell the king all that he could. So Pharaoh told his dreams, and as Joseph listened he knew at once that they had been sent as a warning from God. Seven years of good harvest and plenty of food were coming, and after that seven years of famine, when, if all the food of the good years was eaten up, the people would starve. The warning dreams had been sent so that the corn might be saved up and stored, and it would be a good plan, said Joseph, to find the very wisest and best man in all the land who would undertake to do this. Pharaoh listened thoughtfully, and soon made up his mind. He felt at once that Joseph was a man to be trusted. For as much as God hath showed thee all this, he said, there is none so discreet and wise as thou art. Thou shalt be over my house, and according unto thy word shall all my people be ruled. Only in the throne will I be greater than thou. What a wonderful adventure this was for Joseph. One day only a poor, unknown prisoner, and the next, the lord and ruler over all the land of Egypt, next only to the king in power. But although Joseph's outside life was changed, he himself remained just the same. He was as keen as ever on doing his best, as brave and fearless in serving God and the king, as wise in ruling, as he had been in serving. So when the years of famine came, there were great stores of corn laid up to feed the Egyptians, and not only the people of Egypt, but strangers from other lands came to Joseph, the ruler, to buy food. Then it was that one day, ten, tired, travel-stained men arrived at the city, saying they had come from the far distant land of Canaan to buy corn for their wives and families who were starving. Joseph knew them at once. They were his ten brothers, those brothers whom he had last seen when, as a helpless boy, he had knelt and begged them for mercy. Now they came kneeling to the great ruler, little dreaming that this powerful prince was the young brother they had betrayed and sold into slavery. And Joseph did not mean to tell them just yet. He pretended to take them for spies, and he spoke roughly to them. Thy servants are no spies, the brothers answered humbly. We are the sons of one man in the land of Canaan, and behold, the youngest is this day with our father, and one is not. Even then Joseph pretended that he did not believe them. No, they must first prove their words by bringing their youngest brother to him. They might leave one of their number behind as a hostage and take corn for their families and return to fetch their brother. This he said because he longed to see Benjamin again. The men listened sadly to what the great man said. They must have the corn or their families would starve. And yet how could they leave one of their brothers behind when they knew their father would never allow Benjamin to return with them? This is just what we deserve, they said to one another. We would not listen to Joseph when he begged for mercy, and now this is our punishment. Did I not beg you not to hurt the child? said Ruben. They did not know, of course, that the great ruler could understand what they were saying in their own language. But as Joseph listened he was obliged to turn away to hide the tears that were in his eyes. There was nothing for it but to agree to the conditions, so it was decided that Simeon should be left behind, and the order was given that all the sacs should be filled with corn and that every man's ash should be laden with as much corn as could be carried. Only, instead of taking money for the corn, Joseph ordered that it should be secretly hidden in the sacs, each man's money in his sack of corn. So the men started off on their journey home, and traveling all day came at night to an inn to rest. There one of the men opened his sack to give his ass some food. What, then, was his surprise to find his bundle of money tied up in the mouth of his sack? The other brothers gathered round and looked on in amazement. Yes, it was quite true. There was the money which was the price of the corn, not the penny of it taken. What could it mean? But they were still more amazed when at last they came to their journey's end and found, when they opened their sacs, that all their money had been returned. There was a bundle of money in each sac. It was so strange that they grew uneasy and frightened. Then, too, they were obliged to tell their father that Simeon had been left behind as a hostage, and that the great Lord of the country had taken them for spies, and had demanded that Benjamin should return with them before he would believe their story. But Jacob would not hear of parting with his youngest son. Had he not lost two sons already, first his beloved Joseph and now Simeon, will you also take Benjamin from me, he said? All these things are against me. In vain Reuben promised that he would bring Benjamin safely back. Jacob only shook his head. My son shall not go down with you, he said. His brother is dead, and he is left alone. If mischief befall him by the way in which he go, then shall ye bring down my gray hairs with sorrow to the grave. Now, that was all very well while the corn lasted, but when the famine still went on and all the corn was eaten up, there was nothing to be done but to go back to Egypt and try to buy some more. And it was no use going without Benjamin, for had not the great Lord of the country declared, ye shall not see my face except your brother be with you. So at last Jacob was obliged to let his precious son go with his brothers, although it almost broke his heart to part with him. Now Joseph had been quite sure that his brothers would return, and when at last they appeared he was overjoyed to see Benjamin was with them. He ordered a great feast to be made and invited them all to dine with him, but still he kept his secret, and they did not guess who he was, although they could not help noticing that Benjamin was singled out for special favor. So their sacks were filled again with corn, and the brothers prepared to set out joyfully on their return journey. Only this time Joseph had ordered his servants to put his silver cup into Benjamin's sack. The men had not gone far before they were overtaken by the great ruler's servants who accused them of stealing their Lord's silver cup. Of course they indignantly denied this, but when the baggage was searched the cup was found in Benjamin's sack. Now indeed was their joy turned into blackest sorrow. They must go back at once to try and explain matters to the Lord of the land, but would he listen to them? At first Joseph pretended to be very angry, but as he listened to their tale and heard how they dared not face their father without the beloved youngest son, he saw that they had earned his forgiveness, and he kept up the pretense no longer. Sending all the servants away he held out his hands to his brothers, his eyes blinded with tears. I am Joseph, your brother, whom you sold into Egypt, he said. Now therefore be not grieved nor angry with yourselves that he sold me hither, for God did send me here before you to preserve life. At first the brothers could scarcely believe their ears. Could this great Lord really be their little brother Joseph, and could he really forgive them their cruelty? Then Joseph put his arm around Benjamin's neck and kissed him, and afterwards kissed each of his other brothers. So that they began to feel that the wonderful story was real and not a mere dream. There was no fear of famine for them now. Nothing in all the land was too good for the brothers of the great ruler, and ere long there were wagons and camels on their way to Canaan to fetch Jacob, the old father, and all the wives and children belonging to the ten brothers. They would all now share in Joseph's good fortune. So Jacob's sorrow was turned into joy when the news was brought to him that Joseph was alive and governor over all the land of Egypt. It sounded almost like a magic tale, and at first Jacob could not believe it, but at last when he saw the wagons and heard Joseph's own message to him, his heart was filled with joy and thankfulness. It is enough, he cried. Joseph, my son, is yet alive. I will go and see him before I die. It was a long journey for such an old man, but joy gave him strength to endure it, and at the end Joseph stood waiting to welcome him. Joseph, the great ruler, clad in rich robes, living in princely state whose word was law, and who held the highest honors in the land. End of Joseph the Dreamer Once upon a time there was a farmer and his wife who had one daughter, and she was courted by a gentleman. Every evening he used to come to see her, and stop to supper at the farmhouse, and the daughter used to be sent down to the cellar to draw beer for supper. So one evening she had gone down to draw beer, and she happened to look up at the ceiling while she was drawing, and she saw a mallet stuck in one of the beams. It must have been there for a long, long time, but somehow or other she had never noticed it before, and she began thinking, and she thought it was very dangerous to have that mallet there, for she said to herself, suppose me and him was to be married, and we was to have a son, he was to grow up to be a man, and come down into the cellar to draw beer like I'm doing now, and the mallet was to fall on his head and kill him. What a dreadful thing it would be! And she put down the candle and the jug, sat herself down, and began a crying. Well they began to wonder upstairs how it was that she was so long drawn the beer, and her mother went down to see after her, and she found her sitting on a settle crying, and the beer running over the floor. Why, whatever is the matter, said her mother. Oh mother, she said, look at that horrid mallet! Suppose we was to be married, and we was to have a son, and he was to grow up, and he needed to come down to the cellar and draw the beer, and the mallet was to fall on his head and kill him. What a horrid thing that would be! Dear, dear, what a dreadful thing it would be! said the mother, and she sat herself down a side of the daughter, and started a crying too. Then after a bit the father began to wonder that they didn't come back, and he went down into the cellar to look after them himself, and there they too sat a crying, and the beer running all over the floor. Whatever is the matter, says he. Why, says the mother, look at that horrid mallet! Just suppose if our daughter and her sweetheart was to be married, and was to have a son, and he was to grow up, and was to come down to the cellar to draw the beer, and the mallet was to fall on his head and kill him. What a dreadful thing that would be! Dear, dear, so it would! said the father, and he sat himself down a side of the other two, and started a crying. Now the gentleman got tired of stopping up in the kitchen by himself, and at last he went down into the cellar too to see what they were after, and there they three sat crying side by side, and the beer running all over the floor, and he ran straight and turned it up in the tap. Then he said, whatever are you three doing, sitting there crying and letting the beer run all over the floor? Oh, says the father, look at that horrid mallet! Suppose you and our daughter was to be married, and was to have a son, and he was to grow up, and was to come down into the cellar to draw the beer, and the mallet was to fall on his head and kill him. And then they all started to cry worse than before. But the gentleman burst out laughing, and reached up and pulled out the mallet, and then he said, I've traveled many miles, and I've never met three such big sillies as you three before, and now I shall start out on my travels again, and when I can find three bigger sillies than you three, I'll come back and marry your daughter. So he wished them goodbye, and started off on his travels, and left them all a crying because the girl had lost her sweetheart. Well, he set out, and he traveled a long way, and at last he came to a woman's cottage that had some grass growing on the roof, and the woman was trying to get her cow to go up a ladder to the grass, and the poor thing did not go. So the gentleman asked the woman what she was doing. Why lucky, she said, look at all that beautiful grass. I'm going to get the cow on the roof to eat it. She'll be quite safe, brush out to a string around her neck, and pass it down the chimney, and tie it to my wrist as I go about the house so she can't fall out without my knowing it. Oh, you poor silly. So the gentleman, you should cut the grass and throw it down to the cow. But the woman thought that it was much easier to get the cow up on the ladder than to get the grass down, so she pushed and coked and got her up, then tied a string around her neck and passed it down the chimney, fasten it to her own wrist, and the gentleman went on his way, but he hadn't gone far when the cow tumbled off the roof, and hung by a string tied around her neck, and it strangled her. And the weight of the cow tied to her wrist, pulled the woman up the chimney, and she stuck fast halfway and was smothered in soot. Well, that was one big silly. And then the gentleman went on and on, and he went to an inn to stop for the night, and they were so full at the inn, they had to put him in a double-bedded room, and another traveler was asleep in the other bed. The other man was a very pleasant fellow, and they got very friendly together, but in the morning when they were both getting up, the gentleman was surprised to see the other hang his trousers on the knobs of the chest of drawers, and run across the room and try to jump into them, and he tried over and over again and couldn't manage it, and the gentleman wondered whatever he was doing it for. At last he stopped and wiped his face with his handkerchief. Oh dear, he says, I do think trousers are the most awkward kind of clothes that it ever were. I can't think who could have invented such things. It takes me the best part of an hour to get into mine every morning, and I get so hot. How do you manage yours? So the gentleman burst out laughing and showed him how to put them on, and he was very much obliged to him, and he said he never should have thought of doing it that way. So that was another big silly. Then the gentleman went on his travels again, and he came to a village, and outside the village there was a pond, and round the pond was a crowd of people, and they had got rakes and brooms and pitchforks reaching into the pond, and the gentleman asked what was the matter. Why? They said, matter enough, moons tumbled into the pond, and we can't rake around anyhow. So the gentleman burst out laughing and told them to look up into the sky, and it was only the shadow in the water, but they wouldn't listen to him, and abused him shamefully, and he got away as quick as he could. So there was a whole lot of sillies bigger than them three sillies at home. So the gentleman turned back home again and married the farmer's daughter, and if they didn't live happily ever after, that's nothing to do with you or me. End of The Three Sillies. Recording by Robin on June 7th, 2010. The Pirate's Pocket Book This is LibriVox Recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Lauren McCullough, www.laurenmccullough.com. The Pirate's Pocket Book by Dion Clayton Calthrupp. This book you hold in your hand belonged once to a very celebrated pirate. He was so celebrated that the newspapers of that time always said nice things about him, and always knew what he was doing before he did himself. As he was a very truthful man, he did the things, so that the editors might not get into trouble, which was kind, by which I do not mean that he was always kind. Nobody knew how old he was. Some said that he was so old that he had never been born. Some said that he must be young, or he could not be so wicked. So you see, there were two opinions about him. There are always two opinions about a celebrated man. If you look at him, you will see that he dressed to please himself. He wore a nice hat, but you have noticed that, and he had a roving eye, by which I do not mean his eye walked about, like this. But that he looked around him a good deal. If you are thinking of becoming a pirate, and there is plenty of room at the top of every profession, you will have to look about a good deal, because you will have enemies. Tom Tomb, that was not his name, but it was the way he signed other people's checks, and your father and mother will tell you that this is a very mean trick. Live partly on an island, and partly on board the inky murk. You will understand that I mean not with one foot on the island and one on the boat, but sometimes on one and sometimes on the other. Now T.T. never robbed the poor, because it was not worth his while, but any person who looked rich suffered accordingly. The inky murk was the name of his boat. You can make one curiously like it with two chairs and a rug. One day, Tomb captured a young fellow, a very handsome lad too. It was off a certain island where Tom Tomb had a neat cottage, in the garden of which he grew flowers for a pastime, because of course he needed a little time to himself in between his tremendous fights. The young fellow was stealing flowers. He was surprised to see Captain Tomb. When I say he was surprised, you will see what I mean by this picture. What Cinderella does Matt do you mean? Yelled Tomb, in a voice like a railway accident, by stealing my flowers. I thought they were wild. So the young fellow, taking his pipe from his mouth. Wild, shrieked Tomb. Wild, he bawled. This last yell was so powerful that three of his buttons flew off his coat. The young fellow caught them neatly in his hand, and presented them to the captain on bended knee. The neat act saved the lads life. In honor to serve you, Captain Thomas Tomb, he said. You know me? Asked Tomb, smiling upon the boy. I thought it must be your face, said the lad boldly. He was about to speak again, had not Tomb silenced him with a gesture. He liked the lad. Had he spoken again, Tomb would have silenced him forever. He was about to say that any other man with a face like that would have died long ago from wounded vanity. Would you care to be a pirate, my youthful fellow? Said Tomb, the lad hesitated. My father, he began. Dead, said Tomb, in a hollow voice. My mother, dead, Tomb replied, in a monotonous whisper. My brother and sister, Tomb raised a sorrowful hand. His heart was touched. My family, said the young man in despair. My poor boy, said Tomb with tears in his eyes. My poor dear fellow, I killed them all not an hour ago. Then my sweetheart would object to my becoming a pirate, said the lad weepingly. Enough, said Tomb. You are called from Hengeforth, dingy David, now to sea. For ten years they plundered upon the Spanish Main until they acquired so much money that Bilge Island, Tomb's business address, smelt of hoarded gold and the beach glittered with jewels. Then both Tomb and David, I am keeping the secret of his real name to the end, became tired of so much adventure. They had sailed in many seas. The Spanish Main, commonly known as the Dining Room Carpet Waters, the Kitchen Archipelago, the Drawing Room Inland Sea, the Creek of Conservatory, and the Lake of Passages. They had roamed the wilderness of the high street, the terrors of the gardens they knew, and the gulf of Front Hall with common water. So they retired for a breathing space and a wash to that island where their neat cottage stood and the geraniums grew. They moored the inky murk to a low-growing pom-pom tree, and then, stepping carefully, like those unaccustomed to dry land, or wetland either, for the matter of that, they gazed upon each other in silence. No one, not even the most careful observer, would have recognized in the two dusty figures the once spruce forms of Captain Thomas Tomb and Dingy David. Home! said the young fellow, throwing a diamond at a wave crest. When I say diamond, they were always finding them in the corners of their pockets. Home! Once more! Send her a dust mat! exclaimed Tomb. Let me hear you! Oh, let me hear you say that word again! Home! said the young fellow, gazing at the ripe acapellies hanging overhead. Mastering his ill-concealed emotion, T.T. rose and strode. When I say strode, T.T. never walked. He strolled, strutted, strode, or stepped invariably, towards the house. Through open the door, ex-x-o-z! What a sight met his eyes! Dust! Dust! Dust! Everywhere dust met his eye. When I say that, I mean that he saw dust, over all the simple cottage furniture he loved. He groaned three times. The young man who was idly chewing the stone of a cringet, turned and saw, through the open door, dust, dust, dust. Leaping to his feet, he rushed to the captain's side. Captain, he said, we must have a charwoman. I say charwoman, meaning a woman who is paid to do work that other servants are hired to do, but will not. And less time than it takes to skin in a quota-torque. Dingy David was in the rowing boat, making for the shore of the mainland. Sixty-eight hours of hard rowing without arrest brought the strong young fellow to the coast. It was night. A light burned in the window of a lonely cottage that stood upon the shore. It was the work of a moment for Dingy David to seize upon the beautiful maiden who was writing jam labels by the light of the solitary candle. Such are the lives of the humble. Without a glance at her face, he carried her at breakneck speed to the boat, pushed off in road-like Hercules for the island. Exactly 136 hours, which is five days, 16 hours, from the time he started, David brought the captive beauty and laid her, senseless with fatigue, at the feet of Tom Tomb. What have we here? Asked Tomb, pronouncing the H very clearly. A charwoman sighed, responded David, and smiling, the lad fell asleep. When he awoke, the sun was shining and the day was warm. One glance showed him that the cottage was a model of cleanliness. Pirates are sharp glancers. A smell of breakfast smote his nostrils pleasantly. It was the work of a moment to dash into the house. Wash, shave, and there, upon a snowy bed, were laid the very close in which, long years ago, he had been captured. In another moment, he was in them and dashing downstairs, doing up the buttons as he went. He flung himself, panting, into the breakfast room. The glorious girl looked up from her bacon with a cry. Tomb started to his feet. The young man opened his mouth. A man atrood, he called. Wensless, she exclaimed. For once, Tomb's cool courage failed him. He started back. The sweethearts in each other's arms. Listen, said Tomb, when he regained his breath, and they, gazing into each other's eyes, listened. Gaze elsewhere, said Tomb. And I will unfold a tale. In the heat of the moment, he put his sleeve into the butter, a man atrood spraying to his assistants. Tomb unfolded her in his embrace. This lady is my daughter, he said, turning to Wensless, who stood amazed. I will not bother you with the story, said Tomb. But five and forty years ago, I wooed and wed her lovely mother. Twenty-one years ago today, a man atrood was born, and her mother, after lingering two years, died, leaving the poor girl in the care of an honest fishwife. When I say honest, I mean as honest as her profession would allow. I roam the seas as a pirate. Sorrow made me merciless. Then when I wished to return to my daughter, I found that I had lost her address. Father, said a menatrude. My daughter, he exclaimed. I am a careless man. And I, said Wensless, what is the secret of my birth? Going up to him, Tomb with one superb movement bared the youth's arm. Upon it was tattooed in golden purple the crest of a noble family. As I thought, exclaimed Tomb. Then he removed his hat. Lord Wensless of Winchie's lawn. Then my father was, the youth began. The Duke of Thingamaru, said Tomb, bowing low. A cry sounded from the cellars of the cottage. Tomb again started. I had forgotten, said he. Then he put his hand into his pocket and drew forth this very book. Ten years ago, said he, consulting his notes. I told you that I had killed your family. It was not true. Not true. Said Lord Wensless. For so we must now call him. Not strictly accurate, Tomb replied. I murdered them in these cellars with ten years' provisions. With a noble gesture, he flung the key of the cellars upon the table. Release them, my lord, he said. We draw a veil over the rapturous meeting. When the boat was loaded with the noble family, Lord Wensless arsed while Dingy David and her minotrude tomb stood hand in hand in front of Captain Thomas' tomb. You must come and see us, father, said she. My little minotrude, he said. You can bet your back hair your poor old father will come. Lord W. rung Tomb's hand. His emotion was too great for words. They stepped into the boat and sailed away. As they touched the mainland, they started. Boom! Boom! Came the sound of guns across the water. Tom Tomb was at his old game. End of The Pirate's Pocket Book Recording by Lauren McCullough www.laurenmccullough.com The Nightingale and the Rose by Oscar Wilde 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 Mary Beth Blackburn The Nightingale and the Rose by Oscar Wilde She said that she would dance with me if I brought her red roses, cried the young student. But in all my garden, there is no red rose. From her nest in the home oak tree, the Nightingale heard him. And she looked out through the leaves and wondered. No red rose in all my garden, he cried, and his beautiful eyes filled with tears. Ah, on what little things does happiness depend. I have read all that Wisemen have written, and all the secrets of philosophy are mine. Yet for want of a red rose is my life made wretched. Here at last is a true lover, said the Nightingale. Night after night have I sung of him, though I knew him not. Night after night have I told his story to the stars, and now I see him. His hair as dark as the hyacinth blossom, and his lips are as red as the rose of his desire. But passion has made his face like pale ivory, and sorrow has set her seal upon his brow. The prince gives a ball tomorrow night, murmured the young student, and my love will be of the company. If I bring her a red rose, she will dance with me till gone. If I bring her a red rose, I shall hold her in my arms, and she will lean her head upon my shoulder, and her hand will be clasped in mine. But there is no red rose in my garden, so I shall sit lonely, and she will pass me by. She will have no heat of me, and my heart will break. Here indeed is the true lover, said the Nightingale. What I sing of he suffers, what is joy to me, to him is pain. Surely love is a wonderful thing. It is more precious than emeralds, and dearer than fine opals. Pearls and pomegranates cannot buy it, nor is it set forth in the marketplace. It may not be purchased of the merchants, nor can it be weighed out in the balance for gold. The musicians will sit in their gallery, said the young student, and play upon their stringed instruments, and my love will dance to the sound of the hearth and the violin. She will dance so lightly that her feet will not touch the floor, and the courtiers in their gay dresses will throng round her. But with me she will not dance, for I have no red rose to give her. And he flung himself down on the grass, and buried his face in his hands, and wept. Why is he weeping? asked a little green lizard, as he ran past him with his tail in the air. Why indeed? said a butterfly, who was fluttering about after ascending. Why indeed? whispered a daisy to his neighbor in a soft, low voice. He is weeping for a red rose, said the nightingale. For a red rose, they cried, how very ridiculous! And the little lizard, who was something of a cynic, lacked outright. But the nightingale understood the secret of the student's sorrow, and she sat silent in the oak tree, and thought about the mystery of love. Suddenly she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air. She passed through the grove like a shadow, and like a shadow she sailed across the garden. In the center of the grass plot was standing a beautiful rose tree, and when she saw it she flew over to it, and lit upon a spray. Give me a red rose, she cried, and I will sing you my sweetest song. But the tree shook its head. My roses are white, it answered, as white as the foam of the sea, and wider than the snow upon the mountain. But go to my brother, who grows round the old sundial, and perhaps he will give you what you want. So the nightingale flew over to the rose tree that was growing round the old sundial. Give me a red rose, she cried, and I will sing you my sweetest song. But the tree shook its head. My roses are yellow, it answered, as yellow as the hair of the mermaidan, who sits upon an amber throne, and yellower than the daffodil that blooms in the meadow before the mower comes with his sky. But go to my brother, who grows beneath the student's window, and perhaps he will give you what you want. So the nightingale flew over to the rose tree that was growing beneath the student's window. Give me a red rose, she cried, and I will sing you my sweetest song. But the tree shook its head. My roses are red, it answered, as red as the feet of the dove, and redder than the great fans of coral that wave and wave in the ocean cavern. But winter has chilled my veins, and the frost has nipped my buds, and the storm has broken my branches, and I shall have no roses at all this year. One red rose is all I want, cried the nightingale. Only one red rose! Is there no way by which I can get it? There is a way, answered the tree. But it is so terrible that I dare not tell it to you. Tell it to me, said the nightingale. I am not afraid. If you want a red rose, said the tree, you must build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with your own heart's blood. You must sing to me with your breast against a thorn. All night long you must sing to me, and the thorn must pierce your heart, and the lifeblood must flow into my veins and become mine. Death is a great price to pay for a red rose, cried the nightingale. And life is very dear to all. It is pleasant to sit in the green wood, and to watch the sun in his chariot of gold, and the moon in her chariot of pearl. Sweet is the scent of the hawthorn, and sweet are the bluebells that hide in the valley, and the heather that glows on the hill. Yet love is better than life. And what is the heart of a bird compared to the heart of a man? So she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air. She swept over the garden like a shadow, and like a shadow she sailed through the grove. The young student was still lying on the grass where she had left him, and the tears were not yet dry in his beautiful eyes. Be happy, cried the nightingale. Be happy. You shall have your red rose. I will build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with my own heart's blood. All that I ask of you in return is that you will be a true lover, for love is wiser than philosophy, though she is wise, and mightier than power, though he is mighty. Flame-colored are his wings, and colored like flame is his body. His lips are sweet as honey, and his breath is like frankincense. The student looked up from the grass and listened, but he could not understand what the nightingale was saying to him, for he only knew the things that are written down in books. But the oak tree understood, and felt sad, for he was very fond of the little nightingale who had built her nest in his branches. Sing to me one last song, he whispered. I shall feel very lonely when you are gone. So the nightingale sang to the oak tree, and her voice was like water bubbling from a silver jar. When she had finished her song, the student got up, and pulled a notebook and a lead pencil out of his pocket. She has formed, he said to himself, as he walked away through the grove. That cannot be denied to her. But has she got feeling? I'm afraid not. In fact, she is like most artists. She is all style without any sincerity. She would not sacrifice herself for others. She thinks merely of music, and everybody knows that the arts are selfish. Still, it must be admitted that she has some beautiful notes in her voice. What a pity it is that they do not mean anything, or do any practical good. And he went into his room, and lay down on his little pallet bed, and began to think of his love. And after a time he fell asleep. And when the moon shone in the heavens, the nightingale flew to the rose tree, and set her breast against the thorn. All night long she sang with her breast against the thorn, and the cold crystal moon leaned down and listened. All night long she sang, and the thorn went deeper and deeper into her breast, and the lifeblood ebbed away from her. She sang first of the birth of love in the heart of a boy and a girl, and on the topmost spray of the rose tree there blossomed a marvelous rose, petal-flowing petal as song flowed song. Pale was it at first, as the mist that hangs over the river. Pale as the feet of the morning, and silver as the wings of the dawn. As the shadow of a rose in a mirror of silver, as the shadow of a rose in a water pool, so was the rose that blossomed on the topmost spray of the tree. But the tree cried to the nightingale to press closer against the thorn. Press closer, little nightingale, cried the tree, or the day will come before the rose is finished. So the nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and louder and louder grew her song, for she sang of the birth of passion in the soul of a man and a maid. And a delicate flush of pink came to the leaves of the rose, like the flush in the face of the bridegroom when he kisses the lips of the bride. But the thorn had not reached her heart, so the rose's heart remained white, for only in nightingale's heart blood can crimson the heart of a rose. And the tree cried to the nightingale to press closer against the thorn. Press closer, little nightingale, cried the tree, or the day will come before the rose is finished. So the nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and the thorn touched her heart, and a fierce pang of pain shot through her. Bitter, bitter was the pain, and wilder and wilder grew her song, for she sang of the love that is perfected by death, of the love that dies not in the tomb. And the marvelous rose became crimson, like the rose of the eastern sky. Crimson was the girdle of petals, and crimson as a ruby was the heart. But the nightingale's voice grew fainter, and her little wings began to beat, and a film came over her eyes. Fainter and fainter grew her song, and she felt something choking in her throat. Then she gave one last burst of music. The white moon heard it, and she forgot the dawn and lingered on in the sky. The red rose heard it, and it trembled all over with ecstasy, and opened its petals to the cold morning air. Echo bore it to open her purple cavern in the hills, and woke the sleeping shepherds from their dreams. It floated through the reeds of the river, and they carried its message to the sea. Look, look, cried the tree. The rose is finished now. But the nightingale made no answer, for she was lying dead in the long grass with the thorn in her heart. And at noon the student opened his window and looked out. Why, what a wonderful piece of luck, he cried! Here is a red rose! I have never seen any rose like it in all my life. It is so beautiful that I am sure it has a long Latin name, and he leaned down and plucked it. Then he put on his hat, and ran up to the professor's house with the rose in his hand. The daughter of the professor was sitting in the doorway, winding blue silk on her reel, and her little dog was lying at her feet. You said that you would dance with me if I brought you a red rose, cried the student. Here is the reddest rose in all the world. You will wear it tonight next to your heart, and as we dance together it will tell you how I love you. But the girl frowned. I am afraid it will not go with my dress, she answered. And besides, the chamberlain's nephew has sent me some real jewels, and everybody knows that jewels cost far more than flowers. Well, upon my word, you are very ungrateful, said the student angrily, and he threw the rose into the street where it fell into the gutter, and the cartwheel went over it. Ungrateful, said the girl. I tell you what, you are very rude. And after all, who are you? Only a student. Why, I don't believe you have even got silver buckles to your shoes as the chamberlain's nephew has. And she got it from her chair and went into the house. What a silly thing love is, said the student as he walked away. It is not half as useful as logic, for it does not prove anything, and it is always telling one of things that are not going to happen, and making one believe things that are not true. In fact, it is quite unpractical, and as in this age to be practical as everything, I shall go back to philosophy and study metaphysics. So he returned to his room, and pulled out a great dusty book, and began to read. End of The Nightingale and the Rose by Oscar Wilde. Recorded by Marybeth Blackburn, Louisville, Kentucky. Bittery by Joseph Jacobs. This is a LibraVox recording. All LibraVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibraVox.org. Bittery. Once upon a time, there were two kings' daughters living in a bower near the Bonnie Mildams of Bittery. And Sir William came wooing the eldest, and won her love and plighted troth with glove and with ring. But after time he looked upon the youngest, with her cherry cheeks and golden hair, and his love grew toward her till he cared no longer for the eldest one. So she hated her sister for taking away Sir William's love. And day by day her hate grew upon her, and she plotted, and she planned how to get rid of her. So one fine morning, fair and clear, she said to her sister, Let us go, and see our father's boats come in at the Bonnie Mildams of Bittery. So they went there hand in hand. And when they got to the river's bank, the youngest got upon a stone to watch for the coming of the boats. And her sister, coming behind her, caught her round the waist, and dashed her into the rushing millstream of Bittery. Oh, sister, sister, reach me your hand, she cried, as she floated away. And you shall have half of all I've got or shall get. No, sister, I'll reach you no hand of mine, for I am the heir to all your land. Shame on me if I touch the hand that has come twix me in my own heart's love. Oh, sister, oh, sister, then reach me your glove, she cried as she floated further away. And you shall have your William again. Sink on, cried the cruel princess. No hand or glove of mine you'll touch. Sweet William will be all mine when you're sunk beneath the Bonnie Mildstream of Bittery. And she turned and went home to the King's Castle. And the princess floated down the millstream, sometimes swimming and sometimes sinking, till she came near the mill. Now the miller's daughter was cooking that day, and needed water for her cooking. And as she went to draw it from the stream, she saw something floating toward the mill dam. She called out, Father, Father, draw your dam. There's something white, a merry-maid, or a milk-white swan, coming down the stream. So the miller hastened to the dam and stopped the heavy, cruel mill wheels. And then they took out the princess and laid her on the bank. Fair and beautiful she looked as she lay there. In her golden hair were pearls and precious stones. You could not see her waist for her golden girdle. And the golden fringe of her white dress came down over her lily feet. But she was drowned, drowned. And as she lay there in her beauty, a famous Harper passed by the mill dam of Bittery, and saw her sweet pale face. And though he traveled on far away, he never forgot that face. And after many days, he came back to the Bonnie Mildstream of Bittery. But then Ollie could find of her where they had put her to rest were her bones and her golden hair. So he made a harp out of her breastbone and her hair, and traveled on up the hill from the mill dam of Bittery till he came to the castle of the king, her father. That night they were all gathered in the castle hall to hear the great Harper, King, Queen, their daughter and son, Sir William, and all their court. And first the Harper sang to his old harp, making them joy and be glad or sorrow and weep just as he liked. But while he sang, he put the harp he had made that day on a stone in the hall. And presently it began to sing by itself, low and clear, and the Harper stopped and all were hushed. And this is what the harp sang. Oh, yonder, see, it's my father, King, Bittery, oh, Bittery. And yonder, see, it's my mother, Queen, by the Bonnie mill dams, oh, Bitter, understands my brother Hugh. They all wondered, and the Harper told them how he had seen the princess lying drowned on the bank near the Bonnie mill dams of Bittery, and how he had afterwards made this harp out of her hair and breastbone. Just then the harp began singing again, and this was what it sang, loud and clear. The harp snapped and broke and never sang more. End of Bittery. Recording by Robin on June 11th, 2010. The Gift of Gold Laker by William Elliot Griffiths 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 Anna 2010. The Gift of Gold Laker by William Elliot Griffiths A thousand years ago, the great Buddhist gospel came to Japan to make the Roth people gentle and the cruel kind. Human beings at once began to care for animals. The nobles and common folks alike were glad to hear the good news and learn how to help one another and the dumb brutes. The Empress ordered that a pagoda should be built in every province and a temple in every village. So happy was everyone to see a rise in his village so grand a building that even the boys and girls helped in the work. Some carried stones and wood, others brought clay and plaster. Even the ladies cut off their long black hair and handed made into ropes to haul the materials. The big tree trucks cut into the forest were drawn to the carpenters who smoothed and shaped them into temple columns. Soon, in many a village, tall and stately edifices rose high above the thatched cottages of the humble folks. The longest looping roof, instead of being covered with rice straw, was handsomely shingled and the new timber gave out a sweet smell. When the rich pole was put up, the builders set a bow and arrow at each end hoping to shoot and kill any demons that should come near. But they were most afraid of fire that might burn down the building and thus make all their work come to naught. So at the end of the gable, they fixed the great devil's tile on which were molded, figures of the water weed to put out the flames. To guard against sparks that might flight out of the chimneys of houses nearby, they planted rows of tall trees to act as a wall of defense. Thus they hoped to keep Lord Buddha's temple standing for a thousand years. Then the mendicwood, carving paint and work metal, came up from the capital city to make the inside glorious to behold. Soon, the lights and the incense, the shining brass, the burning candles, and brilliant altar furniture, the loft columns made of whole careful trees, the ceiling of grain wood, the silking rows of writing on the reading desk, the intoning of the sacred books, and the chanting of the priests who were dressed in silk robes made a splendid sight and a charming sound. Isn't it delightful? said one wrinkled old Granny. I feel quite young again, for I can see and hear and smell as never before. Yes, such music and sweet odours and such glory to look upon. I never expected to see. Said her daughter, who was a mother and had brought her boy Toko with her. As for the temple itself, it was full of grown people and children, admiring everything. They felt grateful for the good doctrine taught by the learned priests, some of whom had travelled across the sea from Korea. The first sermon of the Bounds was on being kind to all creatures. It was our duty, said he, to love even the worms and the crickets. All the beasts of the field and the burns of the air also rejoiced that Buddha's doctrine had come to the Mikado's realm. For now human beings were kinder than ever to their dumb friends with wings or on forefeet. Even during the winter no bird froze or de-starved. Farmers were patient even with the monkeys that there were so numerous as to be mischievous. In the field the white heron could walk unfightened in the furrows behind the ploughmen, picking up its food joyfully. The simple folk were easily pleased, for as yet there was no gilding or varnish of fine art, but only plain wood and metal. There was no gold leaf or shiny vermilion or violet lacquer yet. Rough and nude enough the sacred building might seem to a traveller, for it could not compare for a moment with gorgeous temples in India, the gilded ceilings of Korea or the porcelain pagodas of China. Happy though they were, yet every one of the villagers wondered how they could make their temples still more lovely. Some even dreamed at night of the foul pagodas of which their bounds took them. One farmer who was very kind to the cranes and who carefully refrained from ever killing even an insect was specially eager to transfer the sheen of the beetles and the gloss of feathers to common wood, and long he pondered on how to do it. He would have the brillancy of the dragonfly cover up the knot marks and the metallic luster of the pheasant's wings on plain pine, but how to compass the mystery filled him with care. One night, very with his work in the rice field, as he slept, a beautiful white bird with black tips on its wing feathers appeared to him and talked about making the tables and altars glossy and rich in color. I am the spirit of the lacquer tree that grows in the deep forest. I poison the man that wound me. My truck has a milk white sap, tap it, and stir up the juice in a wooden vessel. Then when it becomes thick, apply it to wood. Then the temple columns will shine like jet. Be wise and don't laugh when I tell you a secret. It must dry in a wet atmosphere. Guard yourself for there is danger. Put not your hands in the liquid. Persevere, be clean. Farewell. The farmer woke up and wondered what all this meant, but tired and sleepy his eyes were soon closed again. Not till the raven crocked to tell the sun was risen did he wake up again. Then remembering the vision, he saliated, forth axing hand with his boy who carried a pail into the forest. Coming to a tree, he gave it a blow and out trickled a white juice. It made his nose and eyes tingle, but collecting a bite or so of the stuff, he took it home. And after agitating it in a platter, left it quiet overbite. The next morning everybody in the house was groaning. Nosees, eyes, and lips smothered. What was the cause? The now dark fluid was not yet suspected. Another night and their mouths and eyelids felt as if hornets had stung them. On the third day, with their eyes nearly closed, they fumbled about like blind folks. For the first time they suspected the tree juice, now very black and ugly, were tampered to throw it away. Nevertheless, though suffering, the farmer lad and father kept a temper and were kinder than ever to the birds in the field. At night in his dreams, the spirit of the tree in the form of a white crane again appeared to the farmer. Try again and be not discouraged. For your faithfulness in keeping the tree juice, even when you were poisoned, I shall reveal to you another secret, even that of colors and to your son that of gold. This art shall not be born in the fire, like that of the clay which makes cup and vase. I shall show you what water can do. Go forth again. Have more patience. They obeyed, and this time the father brought also his fair daughter. Behold the three armed with eggs, saps, pout, and bucket, going forth among the bamboo and into the forest. Selecting a fat trunk, the tree arranged themselves in line a few yards apart. Then praying first to the spirit of the tree and begging pardon for wounding its body, the man ran forward and gave a resounding whack which seemed to stun the tree and make it weep. Drops fell like tears. At the same moment, there rose out of the top branches the same white crane which he had seen in his dream. The memory of the stinging poisonous sap made the boy hesitate to rush forward and insert the spout so that the sap should not be wasted. As if to encourage the lad, the crane flew down lower and lower and then in circles round the boy's head. So, plucking up courage, he dashed up and squeezed the spout into the gaping wound made by the axe. Nearly blinded by the acrid fumes, father and son at a distance waited to see the girl trip forth bravely with the bucket. Only one circling of the encouraged crane around the maiden's head was necessary to give her nerve. In a moment, into the vessel which she placed on the ground, the white sap fell. Drip, drip, like milk it issued until the bucket was nearly full, but she and her father and brother kept at a distance. They waited at home until the stars went out and gone again before approaching the tree again to bring in the twenty-four hours yield. Letters this morning make ourselves pure by cleansing ourselves carefully, said the father, as the tree spirit said. Fresh from the bath, and in clean clothes, they sailed forth and brought home their price. Night after night, the feather-robbed spirit of the tree spoke to both father and son in vision, each time commending their faithfulness. Slowly, day by day, the soreness and poisonous effect of the fresh juice now made into shiny lacquer passed off. They learned to apply it skillfully, clothing common wood with a hard glossy armor. Their wooden bowls, set to dry on shelf soft with a wet cloth, became like glazed porcelain and their little breakfast table like enamel. Yet the mystery of gloss was not gained in fire but by water. With each opening of the morning glory, the elder gained fresh patience and the younger moist skill. Neither heat nor cold, salt or sour, hurt lacquer, and common wood seemed like metal. Out of paper covered with this hard varnish, laid on in many coats. The warriors made coats as tough as iron. It was now the boys turning his dreams to be told fresh secrets from the screen. He learned to mix the varnish with many colors. When he laid away his working moisture, the luster became dazzling brilliant. One day, adding gold leaf, he found the noble mixture made extraordinary beauty. So still keeping his secret, he traveled to Nara, the capital, and learned drawing and painting from the Korean artists. Toko now became a decorator of temples and a make of altar furniture. He fashioned writing boxes for poetry parties and tasks for the learned monks. On the cabinet of drawers for his mother, he drew and finished in gold lacquer a picture of his native village and the fields and hills toward the west. The fame of his skill reached the ears of the emperor, who invited him to make a splendid picnic box for which he paid him a thousand rows of silk. A tray for the empress was the wonder of all in the palace. With gold leaf and lacquer, the village temple now looked like an imperial shrine. Pilgrims traveled from all over the empire to admire its explainer and take back home stories of a beauty they had never dreamed of before. Yet all this time, even when the golden wind bells, tinkling in the mouths of the phoenixes that hung along the temple eves, seemed to sing his fame in the evening breezes, did not the artist forget the tree spirit that first told him to be pure and to persevere. But one night in a dream, when he sleeping under the old home roof, the silverly white crane again appeared to him. Yet this time, silent, with no message, speak, said the once farmer land, now a great master who had many pupils in art. How can I express my grateful heart for your kindness to me? I have fame, honor, and wealth, besides the joy of serving the Lord Buddha in making his temples beautiful and the emperor's palace glorious, besides caring for my old father and mother. What may I do for thee, my guardian spirit? Lord Buddha will ever incline the children of Japan to treat gently the snowy heron and the silk white cranes forever. But do you and your successors on the panel, the tray, the screen, and the writing box make the crane and heron comrades of the gold-lacquered mountains and trees, the landscape, and the rice fields? Let them pre-dare feathers, or sow in the air, or bask in the red disc of the morning sun, or a mead, the curling spray of the ocean, the sport themselves enjoy. Thus, let all the world, for a hoban's eye, or a thousand generations, be grateful for the gift of the lacquered tree. And to this day it is appointed that though clay can win a glycerin robe, only the kion, while the tree juice finds its body in moisture. Shining gold and brilliant colors rise out of the fire, while lacquer owes its richest luster to the mystery of water. Even yet, unlike on the landscape warmed by the sun and on the picture wrought by the artist, the snowy heron steps dately, and the white crane flies to the mountain. So shall it ever be in everlasting great Japan? End of The Gift of Gold Lacquer, Recording by Anna The Tale of Benjamin Bunny by Beatrix Potter One morning a little rabbit sat on a bank. He pricked his ears and listened to the trick-trot, trick-trot of a pony. A geek was coming down the road. It was driven by Mr. McGregor, and beside him sat Mrs. McGregor in her best bonnet. As soon as they had passed, little Benjamin Bunny slid down into the road and sat off, with a hop, skip, and a jump, to call upon his relations who lived in the wood at the back of Mr. McGregor's garden. That wood was full of rabbit holes, and in the nearest, sandiest hole of all, cousins Flopsie, Mopsie, Cottontail, and Peter. Old Mrs. Rabbit was a widow. She earned her living by knitting rabbit wool mittens and muffin teas. I once bought a pair at a bazaar. She also sold herbs and rosemary tea and a rabbit tobacco, which we would call lavender. Little Benjamin did not very much want to see his aunt. He came round the back of the fir tree, and nearly tumbled upon the top of his cousin Peter. Peter was sitting by himself. He looked poorly, and was dressed in a red cotton pocket handkerchief. Peter, said Little Benjamin in a whisper, Who has got your clothes? Peter replied, the scare crow in Mr. McGregor's garden, and described how he had been chased about. The garden had dropped his shoes in coat. Little Benjamin sat down beside his cousin and assured him that Mr. McGregor had gone out in a gig, and Mrs. McGregor also, and certainly for the day, because she was wearing her best bonnet. Peter said he hoped that it would rain. At this point, Old Mrs. Rabbit's voice was heard inside the rabbit-hole, calling, Cotton-tail, cotton-tail, fetch some more chamomile. Peter said he thought he might feel better if he went for a walk. They went away hand in hand, and got upon the flat top of the wall at the bottom of the wood. From here they looked down into Mr. McGregor's garden. Peter's coat and shoes were plainly to be seen on the scare crow, topped with an old tamishanter of Mr. McGregor's. Little Benjamin said it spoils people's clothes to squeeze under a gate. The proper way to get in is to climb down a pear-tree. Peter fell down head-first, but it was of no consequence, as the bed below was newly-raped and quite soft. It had been sewn with lettuces. They left a great many odd little foot-marks all over the bed, especially Little Benjamin, who was wearing clogs. Little Benjamin said that the first thing to be done was to get back Peter's clothes in order that they might be able to use the pocket handkerchief. They took them off the scare crow. There had been rain during the night. There was water in the shoes, and the coat was somewhat shrunk. Benjamin tried on the tamishanter, but it was too big for him. Then he suggested that they should fill the pocket handkerchief with onions, as a little present for his aunt. Peter did not seem to be enjoying himself. He kept hearing noises. Benjamin, on the contrary, was perfectly at home and ate a lettuce leaf. He said he was in the habit of coming to the garden with his father to get lettuces for their Sunday dinner. The name of Little Benjamin's papa was old Mr. Benjamin Bunny. The lettuces certainly were very fine. Peter did not eat anything. He said he should like to go home. Presently he dropped half the onions. Little Benjamin said it was not possible to get back up the pear-tree with a load of vegetables. He led the way boldly toward the other end of the garden, then went along a little walk on planks under a sunny red brick wall. The mice sat on their doorsteps cracking cherry stones. They winked to Peter Rabbit and Little Benjamin Bunny. Presently Peter let the pocket handkerchief go again. They got amongst flower pots and frames and tubs. Peter heard noises worse than ever. His eyes were as big as lollipops. He was a step or two in front of his cousin when he suddenly stopped. This is what those little rabbits saw around that corner. Little Benjamin took one look and then in half a minute less than no time, he hid himself and Peter and the onions underneath a large basket. The cat got up and stretched herself and came and sniffed at the basket. Perhaps she liked the smell of the onions. Anyway, she sat upon the top of the basket. She sat there for five hours. I cannot draw you a picture of Peter and Benjamin underneath the basket because it was quite dark and because the smell of the onions was fearful. It made Peter Rabbit and Little Benjamin cry. The sun got round behind the wood and it was quite late in the afternoon, but still the cat sat upon the basket. At length there was a pitter-patter, pitter-patter, and some bits of mortar fell from the wall above. The cat looked up and saw old Mr. Benjamin Bunny prancing along the top of the wall of the upper terrace. He was smoking a pipe of rabbit tobacco and had a little switch in his hand. He was looking for a sun. Old Mr. Bunny had no opinion whatever of cats. He took a tremendous jump off the top of the wall onto the top of the cat and cuffed it off the basket and kicked it into the garden house, scratching off a handful of fur. The cat was too much surprised to scratch back. When Old Mr. Bunny had driven the cat into the greenhouse, he locked the door. Then he came back to the basket and took out his son, Benjamin, by the ears, and whipped him with a little switch. Then he took out his nephew Peter. Then he took out the handker tip of onions and marched out of the garden. When Mr. McGregor returned about half an hour later, he observed several things which perplexed him. It looked as though some person had been walking all over the garden in a pair of clogs, only the footmarks were too ridiculously little. Also, he could not understand how the cat could have managed to shut herself up, inside the greenhouse locking the door upon the outside. When Peter got home, his mother forgave him, because she was so glad to see that he had found his shoes in coat. Cotton tail and Peter folded up the pocket handker tip, and Old Mrs. Rabbit strung up the onions and hung them from the kitchen ceiling with a rabbit tobacco. End of The Tale of Benjamin Bunny. Recording by Stacey Cologne, Fort Worth, Texas. For more information, when a volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Natalie Sullivan. All About The Little Small Red Hen By Anonymous Once upon a time, though I can't say exactly when, there lived away in the country a little small red hen. She wore a nice little apron and a little sun bonnet, too, and she walked pickety-pickety as little hens always do. She had lived the whole of her little life in the same little house it stood, all by itself in a lonely spot just at the edge of a wood. It was very snug and cozy and warm, and the garden wasn't big, but just what a little small red hen could nicely manage to dig. And once upon a time, just the same time, of course, there also lived a wicked old fox among the heathen course. Slyly, slyly, he crept around the fields, stealing geese and ducks and cocks, dressed in a hat and long gray coat, this wicked, cunning old fox. His house was parched on top of the hill. It was made of rock and stone. He and his wife, old mother fox, they lived there all alone. It was large and damp and draughty, ugly and cold and bare. A tidy little small red hen would never be happy there. Now the wicked old fox had often tried over and over again to catch by some sly trick or other the little small red hen. But she was far too clever for him. She never let him find her, and whenever she left her little house, she would lock the door behind her. One morning, very early in D., before the sun was hot, the wicked old fox said to mother fox, put on the big black pot, I'm going to have another try. I shall soon be back, and then I promise you'll see at last I've caught the little small red hen. So he put on his cap and shouldered a sack, and walked very sly and slow. And after a while he came in sight of the snug little house below. And he laid the sack very softly down on the ground behind a tree, and then lay down to wait and watch, as quiet as quiet could be. He was getting tired of waiting there when the house door opened wide, and the little small red hen came forth to gather sticks outside. Walking pickety-pickety, exceedingly neat and prim, and the wicked old fox lay watching, she never once thought of him. While she was picking up the sticks, he slipped behind the door, and laughed ho-ho to himself very low, as he put the sack on the floor. He stood there hiding, chuckling, and peeping through the crack, and he saw the little small red hen in a minute or two come back. She stepped inside with her bundle of sticks as cheerful as one could be, when the wicked old fox sprang full at her throat. I've got you now! cried he. What good are bolts and bars, he said? How silly you must be to think that you could ever keep out a cunning old fox like me. Of course the poor little small red hen was now in a terrible fright. She gave a scream and dropped her sticks they tumbled left and right. But she just had time to fly in a beam that went across overhead, quite out of reach of the wicked old fox. But I'll have you yet, he said. Then he began to run round and round, and round and round beneath, looking up every now and then, laughing and showing his teeth. It made her dreadfully dizzy and faint. She gave a cluck and a lurch. She gave a flap and a flutter and a flop and fell right off her perch. Then the wicked old fox threw open his sack and in less than half a minute he had picked her up with a cry of joy and hastily stuffed her in it. He swung it over his shoulder, smiled, and started off for his den. How nice you'll be for supper, said he, my dear little small red hen. So there she was, poor thing, you see, shut up quite tight in the sack. She found it most unpleasant there, clothes and stuffy and black. But she thought of her little scissors and her apron pocket hid. I will cut a hole and see where I am, she said, and so she did. Now the sun was hot and all the time it was getting hotter still, and the wicked old fox grew very tired as he climbed the hethy hill. He dropped on the mossy bank and said, It may be lazy, but I think I'll just have forty winks. And his wicked eyes blinked and shut. The little small hen, indeed, was also very glad to rest a bit from the jogs and dolps and the bangs and bumps she had. And she thought, if I cut a little hole, why not a big one too? And she cut a slit that was long enough to let her hole self through. Wasn't she pleased to be free again? She said, I must run double quick. But before I go I'll manage to play the wicked fox a trick. And she took a great big knobby stone as large as a lump of coal, and heaved and pushed and pushed and heaved till she got it through the hole. And then she scuttled panting home as fast as her legs would go, not walking pickety-pickety this time, oh, dear, no. She scuttered and fluttered down the hill and scampered through the door. Thank goodness, she said, all out of breath. I'm safe at home once more. But when the wicked old fox woke up, it was getting dark and late. He sholdered the sack and found it now a most remarkable weight. Dear me, he said, she weighs like a goose. I thought she'd be light as a wren. What a splendid supper we'll have tonight. Off the little small red hen. So heavily, weirdly, trudged he home and kept shifting the sack about. And when at last he came to his door, there was old mother Fox looking out. She said to him, you look tired, my dear, and he answered, ah, she's caught. And he puffed and licked his lips and said, she's twice as fat as I thought. He asked, my love is the pot on the boil? It's boiling fast, she replied. He said, then take the lid off, my dear, and we'll pop her plump inside. So old mother Fox took off the lid, hot and steaming and black, while the old wicked fox with hurry and haste untied the mouth of the sack. And splash went in the great big stone. It was a splash, my word. I don't suppose a splash so loud has ever before been heard. The bees and birds and bunnies all who had gone to bed for the night. For miles around woke up with a jump and a most tremendous fright. And the boiling water in the pot splashed out on every side, and terribly scalded the wicked old fox and mother Fox, and they died. There they lay, all still and stark, up in the house on the hill. There they lay, and for all I know, there they are lying still. But the hen lived happily just as before in her dear little house by the wood, walking pickety-pickety, working as hard as she could. I've had a great many troubles. I hope they won't happen again. Anything for a quiet life, said the little small red hen. End of All About the Small Little Red Hen, recording by Natalie Sullivan. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings were in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. How David Spared Saul's Life, from Story of the Bible, by Jesse Lyman Hurlbut. First Samuel 23 verse 1 to 23 verse 12. After this, David and his men hid in many places in the mountains of Judah, often hunted by Saul, but always escaping from him. At one time Jonathan, Saul's son, came to meet David in a forest and said to him, Fear not, for the Lord is with you, and Saul my father shall not take you prisoner. You will yet be the king of Israel, and I shall stand next to you, and my father knows this. And Jonathan and David made again the promise to be true to each other, and to each other's children always. Then they parted, and David never again saw his dear friend Jonathan. At one time David was hiding with a few men in a great cave near the Dead Sea at a place called Ingeti. They were far back in the darkness of the cave when they saw Saul come into the cave alone and lie down to sleep. David's men whispered to him, Now is the time of which the Lord said, I will give your enemy into your hand, and you may do to him whatever you please. Then David went towards Saul very quietly with his sword in his hand. His men looked to see him kill Saul, but instead he only cut off a part of Saul's long robe. His men were not pleased at this, but David said to them, May the Lord forbid that I should do harm to the man whom the Lord has anointed as king. And David would not allow his men to harm Saul. After a time Saul rose up from sleep and went out of the cave. David followed him at a distance and called out to him, My Lord the King, Saul looked around, and there stood David bowing to him and holding up the piece of his royal robe. David said to Saul, My Lord, O King, Why do you listen to the words of men who tell you that David is trying to do you harm? This very day the Lord gave you into my hand in the cave, and some told me to kill you. But I said, I will not do harm to my Lord, for he is the Lord's anointed king. See, my Father, see the skirt of your robe. I cut it off to show you that I would do you no harm, though you are hunting after me to kill me. May the Lord judge between you and me, and may the Lord do justice for me upon you, but my hands shall not touch you. When Saul heard these words, his old love for David came back to him, and he cried out, Is that your voice, my son David? And Saul wept and said, You are a better man than I am, for you have done good to me, while I have been doing harm to you. May the Lord reward you for your kindness to me this day. I know it is God's will that you shall be king, and you will rule over this people. Now give to me your word in the name of the Lord, that you will not destroy my family, but that you will spare their lives. And David gave his promise to Saul in the name of the Lord, and Saul led his men away from hunting David to his palace at Gibea, but David kept still in his hiding place, for he could not trust Saul's promises to spare his life. And it was not long before Saul was again seeking for David in the wilderness of Judah, with Abner, Saul's uncle, the commander of his army, and under him three thousand men From his hiding place in the mountains, David looked down on the plain and saw Saul's camp almost at his feet. That night David and Abishai, one of David's men, came down quietly and walked into the middle of Saul's camp, while all his guards were asleep. Saul himself was sleeping, with his spear standing in the ground at his head, and a bottle of water tied to it. Abishai, David's follower, knew that David would not kill King Saul, and he said to David, God has given your enemy into your hand again. Let me strike him through to the ground, one stroke, only once. I will not need to strike twice. But David said, You shall not destroy him. Who can strike the anointed of the Lord without being guilty of a crime? Let the Lord strike him, or let him die when God wills it, or let him fall in battle. But he shall not die by my hand. Let us take his spear and his water bottle and let us go. So David took Saul's spear and his bottle of water, and then David and Abishai walked out of the camp without awakening anyone. In the morning David called out to Saul's men and to Abner, the chief of Saul's army. Abner, where are you? Why do you not answer? Abner! And Abner answered, Who are you calling to the camp? Then David said, Are you not a great man, Abner? Who is like you in all Israel? Why have you not kept your watch over the king? You deserve to be put to death for your neglect. See, here is the king's spear and his bottle of water. Saul knew David's voice, and he said, Is that your voice, my son David? And David answered, It is my voice, my lord, oh king. Why do you pursue me? What evil have I done? May God deal with the men who have stirred you up against me. I am not worth all the trouble you are taking to hunt for me. The king of Israel is seeking for one who is as small as a flea or a little bird in the mountains. Then Saul said, I have done wrong. Come back, my son David, and I will no longer try to do harm to you, for you have spared my life today. David said, Let one of the young men come and take the king's spear, as I have spared your life today. May the Lord spare mine. So David went his way, for he would not trust himself in Saul's hands, and Saul led his men back to his home in Gebia. David now was leading quite an army and was a powerful ruler. He made an agreement with the king of the Philistines who lived at Gath, King Akish, and went down to the plain by the Great Sea to live among the Philistines. And Akish gave him a city called Ziklag, on the south of the tribe land of Judah. To this place David took his followers, and there he lived during the last year of Saul's reign. End of How David Spared Saul's Life Recording by Rhonda Fetterman Recording are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libervox.org. Rating by Bologna Times The Life and Adventures of Poor Puss by Lucy Gray Poor Puss, the subject of the following memoir, was the favorite companion of Widow Whales and her little girl Julia. She departed this life in her fifth year, and was interred at the bottom of the garden last Thursday morning at half past eight o'clock. The cause of her death proceeded from an internal disorder and shortness of breath. For a week or more, it was evident that her end was fast approaching, as her strength was nearly gone, and she was unable to perform her usual duties. The principal events in the life of poor Puss, we shall now endeavor to relate. She was born at a farmhouse in the neighborhood of Isengwald. At a very early period in life she became addicted to little petty thefts and misdemeanors, such as getting into the dairy and lapping the cream from the bowls, and stealing meat or anything that happened to be on the table, as soon as ever she had a chance. For these, and other acts of transgression, she frequently got a good whipping, so that she was very shy of going into the dairy again. When she got a little older, she would frequently run about in the yard and play with Old Keeper and hide herself in his kennel, where she would remain concealed behind the door, and when Keeper wanted to come in, she would spring at him and scratch his nose. But Keeper did not lick such fun as this, and so he fell, quite vexed, and bit a piece of her tail end, which so frightened poor Puss, that she durst not come near him for a long time to come. The mother of poor Puss now thought it was high time that she should begin to fend for herself, and so she took her into the barn on a mousing expedition. For a long time they watched the whole of a mouse, which appeared to be the residence of a whole family, and at length the old mouse came out, followed by six little ones. The old cat seized the old mouse and killed three or four of the little ones. The young cat seized hold of one and wanted to play with it, but it slipped into the hole, and she could see no more of it. The other little mouse was running away as fast as it could, but Puss sprang at it and gave it a nip, which made it quiet enough. Puss soon became a good hand at killing mice, but her pride received a severe check. For one day a large rat was running across the barn, and Puss, thinking it was a large mouse, ran to seize it, but the rat turned round and seized Puss by the nose, and bit her severely so that she went away to her mother, mewing very piteously with her face all swelled and covered with blood. Puss durst not meddle with rats for a long time after this, but at length she got stronger and would kill them, and many other such a vermin. She had plenty of work, for there were many rats at the farmhouse. While pursuing a large rat one day, she set her foot into a trap, which had been set to catch them, and though she was taken out very carefully by the farmer's daughters who were swinging in an old tree at the bottom of the orchard, it hurt her very much, and she was lame for many weeks after. Puss was now become a fine, healthy, good-looking cat, and a smart-looking tomcat in the neighborhood paid his court to miss Puss, and asked her by kind looks and gentle actions if she would become his wife. Puss scolded and scratched for some time, but at length they made a match of it, and in due time Puss became a mother. She, however, notwithstanding all her skill in concealing them, was doomed to see her small family torn from her, and shared the same fate as her brothers and sisters had experienced on former occasions. As Puss was rambling in the fields some time after her confinement, in pursuit of some birds, a number of gentlemen were coursing for hairs, and when the dogs saw Puss they immediately started after her. Puss ran as fast as she could, but the dogs ran much faster than she, and were just at her heels when she reached a tree, and saved her life by climbing up it. Puss was now safe from the dogs, and she remained in the tree for some time before she durst come down again. On her return to the farmhouse three boys who had been to school were playing in the fields. Each boy had a large stick on his shoulder, and as soon as they saw Puss they ran after her. She again took refuge in a tree, but the boys threw stones at her, and hit her so hard that she, at length, fell senseless to the ground. One of the boys seized poor Puss, and they were going to have some rare sport, as they said, by fastening the cat on a board, and then launching it on the pond, after which they would set the dogs at her. And Puss could only keep them off by scratching their noses. Everything was in readiness. Puss was bound upon the board, and they were just going to sail it into the middle of the pond, when the schoolmaster came past, and the boys were obliged, after receiving a good flogging, to set poor Puss at liberty. Shortly after these adventures a friend paid a visit to the farmhouse, and being very much in want of a good cat, he took poor Puss with him to York. Puss's new mistress had a fine canary bird, which she was very fond of. One day the canary had got through the wires of his cage, and Puss, seeing it perched on the table, could not resist the temptation, but sprang at it, and seized it in her claws. The poor canary was almost eaten, when the master came into the room, and seeing what was done, he took a whip, and would have killed poor Puss, but for little Mary, who begged him to spare her life. Puss was a good mouser, and soon cleared the house of them. She soon got acquainted with town life, such as climbing walls and houses, and jumping from roof to roof, either in gossiping with her neighbors, or in search of prey. Once, while showing to some other cats how clever she was in jumping about, she fell into the street, and would have been killed, but for some fat sheep that were passing along the street at the time, and Puss had the good luck to fall upon the back of one of them, which had so much wool on it as not at all to hurt her. The next adventure and misfortune of poor Puss was to examine the contents of a pigeon coat in the neighborhood. After climbing up a great height, she contrived to leap down on the board, and got in among the pigeons, where she made sad havoc among the young birds. But the master, hearing a great noise, went up, and Puss escaped through the door, or she would have paid the penalty with her life. Puss would no doubt feel very miserable after this wholesale murder, which she had committed among the pigeons, for she had killed about a dozen of them. She had escaped many deaths, and as she was now getting old, she thought it high time to reform. Cats have always had a bad character for stailing, and too frequently have they merited it. The most degrading circumstance in the history of poor Puss is the following. Puss had jumped from the gateway into the street, where an Italian was playing an organ with a dressed up monkey by his side. The monkey at once ran after Puss, and, seizing her by the tail, bit off the greatest part of it. This misfortune she took so to heart that she never afterwards rallied. She was seldom seen in the house. She became asthmatical, and after lingering some time, she departed this life to the great grief of her numerous friends and relatives, among whom she was highly respected. On earth short was her stay. Her trials were severe, but she has passed away, and gone we know not where. End of The Life and Adventures of Poor Puss, by Lucy Gray. Once upon a time there lived a king and a queen who had no children, and this they lamented very much. But one day, as the queen was walking by the side of the river, a little fish lifted its head out of the water and said, Your wish shall be fulfilled and you shall soon have a daughter. With that little fish had foretold soon came to pass, and the queen had a little girl who was so very beautiful that the king could not cease looking on her for joy, and determined to hold a great feast. So he invited not only his relations, friends, and neighbors, but all the fairies that they might be kind and good to his little daughter. Now there were 13 fairies in his kingdom, and he had only 12 golden dishes for them to eat out of, so that he was obliged to leave one of the fairies without an invitation. The rest came, and after the feast was over, they gave all their best gifts to the little princess. One gave her virtue, another beauty, another riches, and so on, till she had all that was excellent in the world. When eleven had done blessing her, the thirteenth, who had not been invited, and was very angry on that account came in and determined to take her revenge, so she cried out, The king's daughter shall in her fifteenth year be wounded by a spindle and fall down dead. Then the twelfth, who had not yet given her gift, came forward and said that the bad wish must be fulfilled, but that she could soften it, and that the king's daughter should not die, but fall asleep for a hundred years. But the king hoped to save his dear child from the threatened evil, and ordered that all the spindles in the kingdom should be bought up and destroyed. All the fairies' gifts were in the meantime fulfilled, for the princess was so beautiful and well-behaved and amiable and wise that every one who knew her loved her. Now it happened that on the very day she was fifteen years old, the king and queen were not at home, and she was left alone in the palace, so she roamed about by herself, and looked at all the rooms and chambers, till at last she came to an old tower to which there was a narrow staircase ending with a little door. In the door there was a golden key, and when she turned it the door sprang open, and there sat an old lady spinning away very busily. Why, how now good mother, said the princess. What are you doing there? Spinning, said the old lady, and nodded her head. How prettily that little thing turns round, said the princess, and took the spindle and began to spin. But scarcely had she touched it before the prophecy was fulfilled and she fell down lifeless on the ground. However, she was not dead, but had only fallen into a deep sleep, and the king and the queen, who just then came home, and all their court, fell asleep too, and the horses slept in the stables, and the dogs in the yard, and the pigeons on the housetop, and the flies on the walls. Even the fire on the hearth left off blazing, and went to sleep, and the meat that was roasting stood still, and the cook who was at that moment pulling the kitchen boy by the hair to give him a box on the ear, for something he had done amiss. Let him go, and both fell asleep, and so everything stood still, and slept soundly. A high hedge of thorns soon grew round the palace, and every year it became higher and thicker, till at last the whole palace was surrounded and hidden, so that not even the roof or chimneys could be seen. But there went to report through all the land of the beautiful sleeping briar rose, for thus was the king's daughter called, so that from time to time several king's sons came, and tried to break through the thicket into the palace. This they could never do. For the thorns and bushes laid hold of them as it were with hands, and there they stuck fast and died miserably. After many, many years there came another king's son into that land, and an old man told him the story of the thicket of thorns, and how a beautiful palace stood behind it, in which was a wondrous princess, called briar rose, asleep with all her court. He told, too, how he had heard from his grandfather, that many, many princes had come, and had tried to break through the thicket, but had stuck fast and died. Then the young prince said, On this shall not frighten me, I will go and see briar rose. The old man tried to dissuade him, but he persisted in going. Now that very day the hundred years were completed, and as a prince came to the thicket he saw nothing but beautiful flowering shrubs, through which he passed with ease, and they closed after him as firm as ever. Then he came at last to the palace, and there in the yard lay the dogs asleep, and the horses and the stables, and on the roof sat the pigeons fast asleep with their heads under their wings. And when he came into the palace the flies slept on the walls, and the cook in the kitchen was still holding up her hand as if she would beat the boy, and the maid sat with a black fowl in her hand ready to be plucked. Then he went on still further, and all was so still that he could hear every breath he drew. Till at last he came to the old tower and opened the door of the little room in which briar rose was, and there she lay fast asleep, and looked so beautiful that he could not take his eyes off, and he stooped down and gave her a kiss. But the moment he kissed her, she opened her eyes and awoke and smiled upon him. Then they went out together, and presently the king and queen also awoke, and all the court, and they gazed on each other with great wonder. And the horses got up and shook themselves, and the dogs jumped about and barked. The pigeons took their heads from under their wings and looked about and flew into the fields. The flies on the walls buzzed away. The fire in the kitchen blazed up and cooked the dinner. And the roast meat turned round again. The cook gave the boy the box on his ear so that he cried out, and the maid went on plucking the fowl. And then was the wedding of the prince and briar rose celebrated, and they lived happily together all their lives. End of Grimm's fairy stories, Briar Rose, recording by Stacey Cologne, Fort Worth, Texas.