Briar Rose, Grimm Brothers

A king and queen once upon a time reigned in a country a great way off,

where there were in those days fairies. Now this king and queen had plenty

of money, and plenty of fine clothes to wear, and plenty of good things to

eat and drink, and a coach to ride out in every day: but though they had

been married many years they had no children, and this grieved them very

much indeed. But one day as the queen was walking by the side of the river,

at the bottom of the garden, she saw a poor little fish, that had thrown itself

out of the water, and lay gasping and nearly dead on the bank. Then the

queen took pity on the little fish, and threw it back again into the river; and

before it swam away it lifted its head out of the water and said, ‘I know

what your wish is, and it shall be fulfilled, in return for your kindness to

me–you will soon have a daughter.‘ What the little fish had foretold soon

came to pass; and the queen had a little girl, so very beautiful that the king

could not cease looking on it for joy, and said he would hold a great feast

and make merry, and show the child to all the land. So he asked his

kinsmen, and nobles, and friends, and neighbours. But the queen said, ‘I

will have the fairies also, that they might be kind and good to our little

daughter.‘ Now there were thirteen fairies in the kingdom; but as the king

and queen had only twelve golden dishes for them to eat out of, they were

forced to leave one of the fairies without asking her. So twelve fairies came,

each with a high red cap on her head, and red shoes with high heels on her

feet, and a long white wand in her hand: and after the feast was over they

gathered round in a ring and gave all their best gifts to the little princess.

One gave her goodness, another beauty, another riches, and so on till she

had all that was good in the world.

Just as eleven of them had done blessing her, a great noise was heard in the

courtyard, and word was brought that the thirteenth fairy was come, with a

black cap on her head, and black shoes on her feet, and a broomstick in her

hand: and presently up she came into the dining- hall. Now, as she had not

been asked to the feast she was very angry, and scolded the king and queen

very much, and set to work 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 of the friendly fairies, who had not yet

given her gift, came forward, and said that the evil wish must be fulfilled,

but that she could soften its mischief; so her gift was, that the king‘s

daughter, when the spindle wounded her, should not really die, but should

only fall asleep for a hundred years.

However, the king hoped still to save his dear child altogether from the

threatened evil; so he ordered that all the spindles in the kingdom should be

bought up and burnt. But all the gifts of the first eleven fairies were in the

meantime fulfilled; for the princess was so beautiful, and well behaved, and

good, and wise, that everyone who knew her loved her.

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 roved

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, humming a tune,

while buzz! went the wheel. ‘How prettily that little thing turns round!‘ said

the princess, and took the spindle and began to try and spin. But scarcely

had she touched it, before the fairy‘s prophecy was fulfilled; the spindle

wounded her, 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 had just come home, and all their court, fell asleep

too; and the horses slept in the stables, and the dogs in the court, the pigeons

on the house-top, and the very flies slept upon the walls. Even the fire on

the hearth left off blazing, and went to sleep; the jack stopped, and the spit

that was turning about with a goose upon it for the king‘s dinner 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; the butler, who was slyly tasting the ale, fell asleep with the

jug at his lips: and thus everything stood still, and slept soundly.

A large hedge of thorns soon grew round the palace, and every year it

became higher and thicker; till at last the old palace was surrounded and

hidden, so that not even the roof or the chimneys could be seen. But there

went a report through all the land of the beautiful sleeping Briar Rose (for

so the king‘s daughter was called): so that, from time to time, several kings‘

sons came, and tried to break through the thicket into the palace. This,

however, none of them could ever do; for the thorns and bushes laid hold of

them, as it were with hands; and there they stuck fast, and died wretchedly.

After many, many years there came a 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, and how a wonderful princess, called Briar Rose, lay in it

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 that they had all stuck fast in it, and died. Then the

young prince said, ‘All this shall not frighten me; I will go and see this Briar

Rose.‘ The old man tried to hinder him, but he was bent upon going.

Now that very day the hundred years were ended; and as the prince came to

the thicket he saw nothing but beautiful flowering shrubs, through which he

went with ease, and they shut in after him as thick as ever. Then he came at

last to the palace, and there in the court lay the dogs asleep; and the horses

were standing in 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

were sleeping on the walls; the spit was standing still; the butler had the jug

of ale at his lips, going to drink a draught; the maid sat with a fowl in her

lap ready to be plucked; and the cook in the kitchen was still holding up her

hand, as if she was going to beat the boy.

Then he went on still farther, 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 on a

couch by the window. She looked so beautiful that he could not take his

eyes off her, so he stooped down and gave her a kiss. But the moment he

kissed her she opened her eyes and awoke, and smiled upon him; and they

went out together; and soon the king and queen also awoke, and all the

court, and gazed on each other with great wonder. And the horses shook

themselves, and the dogs jumped up 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 again; the fire in the kitchen blazed up; round went

the jack, and round went the spit, with the goose for the king‘s dinner upon

it; the butler finished his draught of ale; the maid went on plucking the fowl;

and the cook gave the boy the box on his ear.

And then the prince and Briar Rose were married, and the wedding feast

was given; and they lived happily together all their lives long.

Grandmother

by

Hans Christian Andersen

(1845)

RANDMOTHER is very old, her face is wrinkled, and her hair is

quite white; but her eyes are like two stars, and they have a mild,

gentle expression in them when they look at you, which does you good.

She wears a dress of heavy, rich silk, with large flowers worked on it;

and it rustles when she moves. And then she can tell the most wonderful

stories. Grandmother knows a great deal, for she was alive before father

and mother—that‘s quite certain. She has a hymn-book with large silver

clasps, in which she often reads; and in the book, between the leaves, lies

a rose, quite flat and dry; it is not so pretty as the roses which are

standing in the glass, and yet she smiles at it most pleasantly, and tears

even come into her eyes. ―I wonder why grandmother looks at the

withered flower in the old book that way? Do you know?‖ Why, when

grandmother‘s tears fall upon the rose, and she is looking at it, the rose

revives, and fills the room with its fragrance; the walls vanish as in a

mist, and all around her is the glorious green wood, where in summer the

sunlight streams through thick foliage; and grandmother, why she is

young again, a charming maiden, fresh as a rose, with round, rosy

cheeks, fair, bright ringlets, and a figure pretty and graceful; but the eyes,

those mild, saintly eyes, are the same,—they have been left to

grandmother. At her side sits a young man, tall and strong; he gives her a

rose and she smiles. Grandmother cannot smile like that now. Yes, she is

smiling at the memory of that day, and many thoughts and recollections

of the past; but the handsome young man is gone, and the rose has

withered in the old book, and grandmother is sitting there, again an old

woman, looking down upon the withered rose in the book.

Grandmother is dead now. She had been sitting in her arm-chair,

telling us a long, beautiful tale; and when it was finished, she said she

was tired, and leaned her head back to sleep awhile. We could hear her

gentle breathing as she slept; gradually it became quieter and calmer, and

on her countenance beamed happiness and peace. It was as if lighted up

with a ray of sunshine. She smiled once more, and then people said she

was dead. She was laid in a black coffin, looking mild and beautiful in

the white folds of the shrouded linen, though her eyes were closed; but

every wrinkle had vanished, her hair looked white and silvery, and

around her mouth lingered a sweet smile. We did not feel at all afraid to

look at the corpse of her who had been such a dear, good grandmother.

The hymn-book, in which the rose still lay, was placed under her head,

for so she had wished it; and then they buried grandmother.

On the grave, close by the churchyard wall, they planted a rose-tree;

it was soon full of roses, and the nightingale sat among the flowers, and

sang over the grave. From the organ in the church sounded the music and

the words of the beautiful psalms, which were written in the old book

under the head of the dead one.

The moon shone down upon the grave, but the dead was not there;

every child could go safely, even at night, and pluck a rose from the tree

by the churchyard wall. The dead know more than we do who are living.

They know what a terror would come upon us if such a strange thing

were to happen, as the appearance of a dead person among us. They are

better off than we are; the dead return no more. The earth has been

heaped on the coffin, and it is earth only that lies within it. The leaves of

the hymn-book are dust; and the rose, with all its recollections, has

crumbled to dust also. But over the grave fresh roses bloom, the

nightingale sings, and the organ sounds and there still lives a

remembrance of old grandmother, with the loving, gentle eyes that

always looked young. Eyes can never die. Ours will once again behold

dear grandmother, young and beautiful as when, for the first time, she

kissed the fresh, red rose, that is now dust in the grave.

Little Tiny or Thumbelina

by

Hans Christian Andersen

(1835)

HERE was once a woman who wished very much to have a little child,

but she could not obtain her wish. At last she went to a fairy, and said, ―I

should so very much like to have a little child; can you tell me where I

can find one?‖

―Oh, that can be easily managed,‖ said the fairy. ―Here is a

barleycorn of a different kind to those which grow in the farmer‘s fields,

and which the chickens eat; put it

into a flower-pot, and see what

will happen.‖

―Thank you,‖ said the

woman, and she gave the fairy

twelve shillings, which was the

price of the barleycorn. Then she

went home and planted it, and

immediately there grew up a

large handsome flower,

something like a tulip in

appearance, but with its leaves

tightly closed as if it were still a

bud. ―It is a beautiful flower,‖ said the woman, and she kissed the red

and golden-colored leaves, and while she did so the flower opened, and

she could see that it was a real tulip. Within the flower, upon the green

velvet stamens, sat a very delicate and graceful little maiden. She was

scarcely half as long as a thumb, and they gave her the name of

―Thumbelina,‖ or Tiny, because she was so small. A walnut-shell,

elegantly polished, served her for a cradle; her bed was formed of blue

violet-leaves, with a rose-leaf for a counterpane. Here she slept at night,

but during the day she amused herself on a table, where the woman had

placed a plateful of water. Round this plate were wreaths of flowers with

their stems in the water, and upon it floated a large tulip-leaf, which

served Tiny for a boat. Here the little maiden sat and rowed herself from

side to side, with two oars made of white horse-hair. It really was a very

pretty sight. Tiny could, also, sing so softly and sweetly that nothing like

her singing had ever before been heard. One night, while she lay in her

pretty bed, a large, ugly, wet toad crept through a broken pane of glass in

the window, and leaped right upon the table where Tiny lay sleeping

under her rose-leaf quilt. ―What a pretty little wife this would make for

my son,‖ said the toad, and she took up the walnut-shell in which little

Tiny lay asleep, and jumped through the window with it into the garden.

In the swampy margin of a broad stream in the garden lived the toad,

with her son. He was uglier even than his mother, and when he saw the

pretty little maiden in her elegant bed, he could only cry, ―Croak, croak,

croak.‖

―Don‘t speak so loud, or she will wake,‖ said the toad, ―and then she

might run away, for she is as light as swan‘s down. We will place her on

one of the water-lily leaves out in the stream; it will be like an island to

her, she is so light and small, and then she cannot escape; and, while she

is away, we will make haste and prepare the state-room under the marsh,

in which you are to live when you are married.‖

Far out in the stream grew a number of water-lilies, with broad green

leaves, which seemed to float on the top of the water. The largest of these

leaves appeared farther off than the rest, and the old toad swam out to it

with the walnut-shell, in which little Tiny lay still asleep. The tiny little

creature woke very early in the morning, and began to cry bitterly when

she found where she was, for she could see nothing but water on every

side of the large green leaf, and no way of reaching the land. Meanwhile

the old toad was very busy under the marsh, decking her room with

rushes and wild yellow flowers, to make it look pretty for her new

daughter-in-law. Then she swam out with her ugly son to the leaf on

which she had placed poor little Tiny. She wanted to fetch the pretty bed,

that she might put it in the bridal chamber to be ready for her. The old

toad bowed low to her in the water, and said, ―Here is my son, he will be

your husband, and you will live happily in the marsh by the stream.‖

―Croak, croak, croak,‖ was all her son could say for himself; so the

toad took up the elegant little bed, and swam away with it, leaving Tiny

all alone on the green leaf, where she sat and wept. She could not bear to

think of living with the old toad, and having her ugly son for a husband.

The little fishes, who swam about in the water beneath, had seen the

toad, and heard what she said, so they lifted their heads above the water

to look at the little maiden. As soon as they caught sight of her, they saw

she was very pretty, and it made them very sorry to think that she must

go and live with the ugly toads. ―No, it must never be!‖ so they

assembled together in the water, round the green stalk which held the leaf

on which the little maiden stood, and gnawed it away at the root with

their teeth.

Then the leaf

floated down

the stream,

carrying Tiny

far away out of

reach of land.

Tiny sailed

past many

towns, and the

little birds in

the bushes saw

her, and sang,

―What a lovely

little creature;‖

so the leaf

swam away

with her farther

and farther, till

it brought her

to other lands.

A graceful little

white butterfly

constantly

fluttered round

her, and at last

alighted on the leaf. Tiny pleased him, and she was glad of it, for now the

toad could not possibly reach her, and the country through which she

sailed was beautiful, and the sun shone upon the water, till it glittered

like liquid gold. She took off her girdle and tied one end of it round the

butterfly, and the other end of the ribbon she fastened to the leaf, which

now glided on much faster than ever, taking little Tiny with it as she

stood. Presently a large cockchafer flew by; the moment he caught sight

of her, he seized her round her delicate waist with his claws, and flew

with her into a tree. The green leaf floated away on the brook, and the

butterfly flew with it, for he was fastened to it, and could not get away.

Oh, how frightened little Tiny felt when the cockchafer flew with

her to the tree! But especially was she sorry for the beautiful white

butterfly which she had fastened to the leaf, for if he could not free

himself he would die of hunger. But the cockchafer did not trouble

himself at all about the matter. He seated himself by her side on a large

green leaf, gave her some honey from the flowers to eat, and told her she

was very pretty, though not in the least like a cockchafer. After a time, all

the cockchafers turned up their feelers, and said, ―She has only two legs!

how ugly that looks.‖ ―She has no feelers,‖ said another. ―Her waist is

quite slim. Pooh! she is like a human being.‖

―Oh! she is ugly,‖ said all the lady cockchafers, although Tiny was

very pretty. Then the cockchafer who had run away with her, believed all

the others when they said she was ugly, and would have nothing more to

say to her, and told her she might go where she liked. Then he flew down

with her from the tree, and placed her on a daisy, and she wept at the

thought that she was so ugly that even the cockchafers would have

nothing to say to her. And all the while she was really the loveliest

creature that one could imagine, and as tender and delicate as a beautiful

rose-leaf. During the whole summer poor little Tiny lived quite alone in

the wide forest. She wove herself a bed with blades of grass, and hung it

up under a broad leaf, to protect herself from the rain. She sucked the

honey from the flowers for food, and drank the dew from their leaves

every morning. So passed away the summer and the autumn, and then

came the winter,— the long, cold winter. All the birds who had sung to

her so sweetly were flown away, and the trees and the flowers had

withered. The large clover leaf under the shelter of which she had lived,

was now rolled together and shrivelled up, nothing remained but a

yellow withered stalk. She felt dreadfully cold, for her clothes were torn,

and she was herself so frail and delicate, that poor little Tiny was nearly

frozen to death. It began to snow too; and the snow-flakes, as they fell

upon her, were like a whole shovelful falling upon one of us, for we are

tall, but she was only an inch high. Then she wrapped herself up in a dry

leaf, but it cracked in the middle and could not keep her warm, and she

shivered with cold. Near the wood in which she had been living lay a

corn-field, but the corn had been cut a long time; nothing remained but

the bare dry stubble standing up out of the frozen ground. It was to her

like struggling through a large wood. Oh! how she shivered with the

cold. She came at last to the door of a field-mouse, who had a little den

under the corn-stubble. There dwelt the field-mouse in warmth and

comfort, with a whole roomful of corn, a kitchen, and a beautiful dining

room. Poor little Tiny stood before the door just like a little beggar-girl,

and begged for a small piece of barley-corn, for she had been without a

morsel to eat for two days.

―You poor little creature,‖ said the field-mouse, who was really a

good old field-mouse, ―come into my warm room and dine with me.‖

She was very pleased with Tiny, so she said, ―You are quite welcome to

stay with me all the winter, if you like; but you must keep my rooms

clean and neat, and tell me stories, for I shall like to hear them very

much.‖ And Tiny did all the field-mouse asked her, and found herself

very comfortable.

―We shall have a visitor soon,‖ said the field-mouse one day; ―my

neighbor pays me a visit once a week. He is better off than I am; he has

large rooms, and wears a beautiful black velvet coat. If you could only

have him for a husband, you would be well provided for indeed. But he

is blind, so you must tell him some of your prettiest stories.‖

But Tiny did not feel at all interested about this neighbor, for he was

a mole. However, he came and paid his visit dressed in his black velvet

coat.

―He is very rich and learned, and his house is twenty times larger

than mine,‖ said the field-mouse.

He was rich and learned, no doubt, but he always spoke slightingly

of the sun and the pretty flowers, because he had never seen them. Tiny

was obliged to sing to him, ―Lady-bird, lady-bird, fly away home,‖ and

many other pretty songs. And the mole fell in love with her because she

had such a sweet voice; but he said nothing yet, for he was very cautious.

A short time before, the mole had dug a long passage under the earth,

which led from the dwelling of the field-mouse to his own, and here she

had permission to walk with Tiny whenever she liked. But he warned

them not to be alarmed at the sight of a dead bird which lay in the

passage. It was a perfect bird, with a beak and feathers, and could not

have been dead long, and was lying just where the mole had made his

passage. The mole took a piece of phosphorescent wood in his mouth,

and it glittered like fire in the dark; then he went before them to light

them through the long, dark passage. When they came to the spot where

lay the dead bird, the mole pushed his broad nose through the ceiling, the

earth gave way, so that there was a large hole, and the daylight shone

into the passage. In the middle of the floor lay a dead swallow, his

beautiful wings pulled close to his sides, his feet and his head drawn up

under his feathers; the poor bird had evidently died of the cold. It made

little Tiny very sad to see it, she did so love the little birds; all the

summer they had sung and twittered for her so beautifully. But the mole

pushed it aside with his crooked legs, and said, ―He will sing no more

now. How miserable it must be to be born a little bird! I am thankful that

none of my children will ever be birds, for they can do nothing but cry,

‗Tweet, tweet,‘ and always die of hunger in the winter.‖

―Yes, you may well say that, as a clever man!‖ exclaimed the field-

mouse, ―What is the use of his twittering, for when winter comes he must

either starve or be frozen to death. Still birds are very high bred.‖

Tiny said nothing; but when the two others had turned their backs on

the bird, she stooped down and stroked aside the soft feathers which

covered the head, and kissed the closed eyelids. ―Perhaps this was the

one who sang to me so sweetly in the summer,‖ she said; ―and how much

pleasure it gave me, you dear, pretty bird.‖

The mole now stopped up the hole through which the daylight

shone, and then accompanied the lady home. But during the night Tiny

could not sleep; so she got out of bed and wove a large, beautiful carpet

of hay; then she carried it to the dead bird, and spread it over him; with

some down from the flowers which she had found in the field-mouse‘s

room. It was as soft as wool, and she spread some of it on each side of

the bird, so that he might lie warmly in the cold earth. ―Farewell, you

pretty little bird,‖ said she, ―farewell; thank you for your delightful

singing during the summer, when all the trees were green, and the warm

sun shone upon us.‖ Then she laid her head on the bird‘s breast, but she

was alarmed immediately, for it seemed as if something inside the bird

went ―thump, thump.‖ It was the bird‘s heart; he was not really dead,

only benumbed with the cold, and the warmth had restored him to life. In

autumn, all the swallows fly away into warm countries, but if one

happens to linger, the cold seizes it, it becomes frozen, and falls down as

if dead; it remains where it fell, and the cold snow covers it. Tiny

trembled very much; she was quite frightened, for the bird was large, a

great deal larger than herself,—she was only an inch high. But she took

courage, laid the wool more thickly over the poor swallow, and then took

a leaf which she had used for her own counterpane, and laid it over the

head of the poor bird. The next morning she again stole out to see him.

He was alive but very weak; he could only open his eyes for a moment to

look at Tiny, who stood by holding a piece of decayed wood in her hand,

for she had no other lantern. ―Thank you, pretty little maiden,‖ said the

sick swallow; ―I have been so nicely warmed, that I shall soon regain my

strength, and be able to fly about again in the warm sunshine.‖

―Oh,‖ said she, ―it is cold out of doors now; it snows and freezes.

Stay in your warm bed; I will take care of you.‖

Then she brought the swallow some water in a flower-leaf, and after

he had drank, he told her that he had wounded one of his wings in a

thorn-bush, and could not fly as fast as the others, who were soon far

away on their journey to warm countries. Then at last he had fallen to the

earth, and could remember no more, nor how he came to be where she

had found him. The whole winter the swallow remained underground,

and Tiny nursed him with care and love. Neither the mole nor the field-

mouse knew anything about it, for they did not like swallows. Very soon

the spring time came, and the sun warmed the earth. Then the swallow

bade farewell to Tiny, and she opened the hole in the ceiling which the

mole had made. The sun shone in upon them so beautifully, that the

swallow asked her if she would go with him; she could sit on his back, he

said, and he would fly away with her into the green woods. But Tiny

knew it would make the field-mouse very grieved if she left her in that

manner, so she said, ―No, I cannot.‖

―Farewell, then, farewell, you good, pretty little maiden,‖ said the

swallow; and he flew out into the sunshine.

Tiny looked after him, and the tears rose in her eyes. She was very

fond of the poor swallow.

―Tweet, tweet,‖ sang the bird, as he flew out into the green woods,

and Tiny felt very sad. She was not allowed to go out into the warm

sunshine. The corn which had been sown in the field over the house of

the field-mouse had grown up high into the air, and formed a thick wood

to Tiny, who was only an inch in height.

―You are going to be married, Tiny,‖ said the field-mouse. ―My

neighbor has asked for you. What good fortune for a poor child like you.

Now we will prepare your wedding clothes. They must be both woollen

and linen. Nothing must be wanting when you are the mole‘s wife.‖

Tiny had to turn the spindle, and the field-mouse hired four spiders,

who were to weave day and night. Every evening the mole visited her,

and was continually speaking of the time when the summer would be

over. Then he would keep his wedding-day with Tiny; but now the heat

of the sun was so great that it burned the earth, and made it quite hard,

like a stone. As soon, as the summer was over, the wedding should take

place. But Tiny was not at all pleased; for she did not like the tiresome

mole. Every morning when the sun rose, and every evening when it went

down, she would creep out at the door, and as the wind blew aside the

ears of corn, so that she could see the blue sky, she thought how beautiful

and bright it seemed out there, and wished so much to see her dear

swallow again. But he never returned; for by this time he had flown far

away into the lovely green forest.

When autumn arrived, Tiny had her outfit quite ready; and the field-

mouse said to her, ―In four weeks the wedding must take place.‖

Then Tiny wept, and said she would not marry the disagreeable

mole.

―Nonsense,‖ replied the field-mouse. ―Now don‘t be obstinate, or I

shall bite you with my white teeth. He is a very handsome mole; the

queen herself does not wear more beautiful velvets and furs. His kitchen

and cellars are quite full. You ought to be very thankful for such good

fortune.‖

So the wedding-day was fixed, on which the mole was to fetch Tiny

away to live with him, deep under the earth, and never again to see the

warm sun, because he did not like it. The poor child was very unhappy at

the thought of saying farewell to the beautiful sun, and as the field-mouse

had given her permission to stand at the door, she went to look at it once

more.

―Farewell bright sun,‖ she cried, stretching out her arm towards it;

and then she walked a short distance from the house; for the corn had

been cut, and only the dry stubble remained in the fields. ―Farewell,

farewell,‖ she repeated, twining her arm round a little red flower that

grew just by her side. ―Greet the little swallow from me, if you should

see him again.‖

―Tweet, tweet,‖ sounded over her head suddenly. She looked up, and

there was the swallow himself flying close by. As soon as he spied Tiny,

he was delighted; and then she told him how unwilling she felt to marry

the ugly mole, and to live always beneath the earth, and never to see the

bright sun any more. And as she told him she wept.

―Cold winter is coming,‖ said the swallow, ―and I am going to fly

away into warmer countries. Will you go with me? You can sit on my

back, and fasten yourself on with your sash. Then we can fly away from

the ugly mole and his gloomy rooms,—far away, over the mountains,

into warmer countries, where the sun shines more brightly—than here;

where it is always summer, and the flowers bloom in greater beauty. Fly

now with me, dear little Tiny; you saved my life when I lay frozen in that

dark passage.‖

―Yes, I will go with you,‖ said Tiny; and she seated herself on the

bird‘s back, with her feet on his outstretched wings, and tied her girdle to

one of his strongest feathers.

Then the swallow rose in the air, and flew over forest and over sea,

high above the highest mountains, covered with eternal snow. Tiny

would have been frozen in the cold air, but she crept under the bird‘s

warm feathers, keeping her little head uncovered, so that she might

admire the beautiful lands over which they passed. At length they

reached the warm countries, where the sun shines brightly, and the sky

seems so much higher above the earth. Here, on the hedges, and by the

wayside, grew purple, green, and white grapes; lemons and oranges hung

from trees in the woods; and the air was fragrant with myrtles and orange

blossoms. Beautiful children ran along the country lanes, playing with

large gay butterflies; and as the swallow flew farther and farther, every

place appeared still more lovely.

At last they came to a blue lake, and by the side of it, shaded by trees

of the deepest green, stood a palace of dazzling white marble, built in the

olden times. Vines clustered round its lofty pillars, and at the top were

many swallows‘ nests, and one of these was the home of the swallow

who carried Tiny.

―This is my house,‖ said the swallow; ―but it would not do for you to

live there—you would not be comfortable. You must choose for yourself

one of those lovely flowers, and I will put you down upon it, and then

you shall have everything that you can wish to make you happy.‖

―That will be delightful,‖ she said, and clapped her little hands for

joy.

A large marble pillar lay on the ground, which, in falling, had been

broken into three pieces. Between these pieces grew the most beautiful

large white flowers; so the swallow flew down with Tiny, and placed her

on one of the broad leaves. But how surprised she was to see in the

middle of the flower, a tiny little man, as white and transparent as if he

had been made of crystal! He had a gold crown on his head, and delicate

wings at his shoulders, and was not much larger than Tiny herself. He

was the angel of the flower; for a tiny man and a tiny woman dwell in

every flower; and this was the king of them all.

―Oh, how

beautiful he is!‖

whispered Tiny to

the swallow.

The little

prince was at first

quite frightened at

the bird, who was

like a giant,

compared to such

a delicate little

creature as

himself; but when

he saw Tiny, he was delighted, and thought her the prettiest little maiden

he had ever seen. He took the gold crown from his head, and placed it on

hers, and asked her name, and if she would be his wife, and queen over

all the flowers.

This certainly was a very different sort of husband to the son of a

toad, or the mole, with my black velvet and fur; so she said, ―Yes,‖ to the

handsome prince. Then all the flowers opened, and out of each came a

little lady or a tiny lord, all so pretty it was quite a pleasure to look at

them. Each of them brought Tiny a present; but the best gift was a pair of

beautiful wings, which had belonged to a large white fly and they

fastened them to Tiny‘s shoulders, so that she might fly from flower to

flower. Then there was much rejoicing, and the little swallow who sat

above them, in his nest, was asked to sing a wedding song, which he did

as well as he could; but in his heart he felt sad for he was very fond of

Tiny, and would have liked never to part from her again.

―You must not be called Tiny any more,‖ said the spirit of the

flowers to her. ―It is an ugly name, and you are so very pretty. We will

call you Maia.‖

―Farewell, farewell,‖ said the swallow, with a heavy heart as he left

the warm countries to fly back into Denmark. There he had a nest over

the window of a house in which dwelt the writer of fairy tales. The

swallow sang, ―Tweet, tweet,‖ and from his song came the whole story.

She Was Good for Nothing

by

Hans Christian Andersen

(1853)

HE mayor stood at the open window. He looked smart, for his

shirt-frill, in which he had stuck a breast-pin, and his ruffles, were

very fine. He had shaved his chin uncommonly smooth, although he had

cut himself slightly, and had stuck a piece of newspaper over the place.

―Hark ‘ee, youngster!‖ cried he.

The boy to whom he spoke was no other than the son of a poor

washer-woman, who was just going past the house. He stopped, and

respectfully took off his cap. The peak of this cap was broken in the

middle, so that he could easily roll it up and put it in his pocket. He stood

before the mayor in his poor but clean and well-mended clothes, with

heavy wooden shoes on his feet, looking as humble as if it had been the

king himself.

―You are a good and civil boy,‖ said the mayor. ―I suppose your

mother is busy washing the clothes down by the river, and you are going

to carry that thing to her that you have in your pocket. It is very bad for

your mother. How much have you got in it?‖

―Only half a quartern,‖ stammered the boy in a frightened voice.

―And she has had just as much this morning already?‖

―No, it was yesterday,‖ replied the boy.

―Two halves make a whole,‖ said the mayor. ―She‘s good for

nothing. What a sad thing it is with these people. Tell your mother she

ought to be ashamed of herself. Don‘t you become a drunkard, but I

expect you will though. Poor child! there, go now.‖

The boy went on his way with his cap in his hand, while the wind

fluttered his golden hair till the locks stood up straight. He turned round

the corner of the street into the little lane that led to the river, where his

mother stood in the water by her washing bench, beating the linen with a

heavy wooden bar. The floodgates at the mill had been drawn up, and as

the water rolled rapidly on, the sheets were dragged along by the stream,

and nearly overturned the bench, so that the washer-woman was obliged

to lean against it to keep it steady. ―I have been very nearly carried

away,‖ she said; ―it is a good thing that you are come, for I want

something to strengthen me. It is cold in the water, and I have stood here

six hours. Have you brought anything for me?‖

The boy drew the bottle from his pocket, and the mother put it to her

lips, and drank a little.

―Ah, how much good that does, and how it warms me,‖ she said; ―it

is as good as a hot meal, and not so dear. Drink a little, my boy; you look

quite pale; you are shivering in your thin clothes, and autumn has really

come. Oh, how cold the water is! I hope I shall not be ill. But no, I must

not be afraid of that. Give me a little more, and you may have a sip too,

but only a sip; you must not get used to it, my poor, dear child.‖ She

stepped up to the bridge on which the boy stood as she spoke, and came

on shore. The water dripped from the straw mat which she had bound

round her body, and from her gown. ―I work hard and suffer pain with

my poor hands,‖ said she, ―but I do it willingly, that I may be able to

bring you up honestly and truthfully, my dear boy.‖

At the same moment, a woman, rather older than herself, came

towards them. She was a miserable-looking object, lame of one leg, and

with a large false curl hanging down over one of her eyes, which was

blind. This curl was intended to conceal the blind eye, but it made the

defect only more visible. She was a friend of the laundress, and was

called, among the neighbors, ―Lame Martha, with the curl.‖ ―Oh, you

poor thing; how you do work, standing there in the water!‖ she

exclaimed. ―You really do need something to give you a little warmth,

and yet spiteful people cry out about the few drops you take.‖ And then

Martha repeated to the laundress, in a very few minutes, all that the

mayor had said to her boy, which she had overheard; and she felt very

angry that any man could speak, as he had done, of a mother to her own

child, about the few drops she had taken; and she was still more angry

because, on that very day, the mayor was going to have a dinner-party, at

which there would be wine, strong, rich wine, drunk by the bottle. ―Many

will take more than they ought, but they don‘t call that drinking! They

are all right, you are good for nothing indeed!‖ cried Martha indignantly.

―And so he spoke to you in that way, did he, my child?‖ said the

washer-woman, and her lips trembled as she spoke. ―He says you have a

mother who is good for nothing. Well, perhaps he is right, but he should

not have said it to my child. How much has happened to me from that

house!‖

―Yes,‖ said Martha; ―I remember you were in service there, and

lived in the house when the mayor‘s parents were alive; how many years

ago that is. Bushels of salt have been eaten since then, and people may

well be thirsty,‖ and Martha smiled. ―The mayor‘s great dinner-party to-

day ought to have been put off, but the news came too late. The footman

told me the dinner was already cooked, when a letter came to say that the

mayor‘s younger brother in Copenhagen is dead.‖

―Dead!‖ cried the laundress, turning pale as death.

―Yes, certainly,‖ replied Martha; ―but why do you take it so much to

heart? I suppose you knew him years ago, when you were in service

there?‖

―Is he dead?‖ she exclaimed. ―Oh, he was such a kind, good-hearted

man, there are not many like him,‖ and the tears rolled down her cheeks

as she spoke. Then she cried, ―Oh, dear me; I feel quite ill: everything is

going round me, I cannot bear it. Is the bottle empty?‖ and she leaned

against the plank.

―Dear me, you are ill indeed,‖ said the other woman. ―Come, cheer

up; perhaps it will pass off. No, indeed, I see you are really ill; the best

thing for me to do is to lead you home.‖

―But my washing yonder?‖

―I will take care of that. Come, give me your arm. The boy can stay

here and take care of the linen, and I‘ll come back and finish the

washing; it is but a trifle.‖

The limbs of the laundress shook under her, and she said, ―I have

stood too long in the cold water, and I have had nothing to eat the whole

day since the morning. O kind Heaven, help me to get home; I am in a

burning fever. Oh, my poor child,‖ and she burst into tears. And he, poor

boy, wept also, as he sat alone by the river, near to and watching the

damp linen.

The two women walked very slowly. The laundress slipped and

tottered through the lane, and round the corner, into the street where the

mayor lived; and just as she reached the front of his house, she sank

down upon the pavement. Many persons came round her, and Lame

Martha ran into the house for help. The mayor and his guests came to the

window.

―Oh, it is the laundress,‖ said he; ―she has had a little drop too much.

She is good for nothing. It is a sad thing for her pretty little son. I like the

boy very well; but the mother is good for nothing.‖

After a while the laundress recovered herself, and they led her to her

poor dwelling, and put her to bed. Kind Martha warmed a mug of beer

for her, with butter and sugar—she considered this the best medicine—

and then hastened to the river, washed and rinsed, badly enough, to be

sure, but she did her best. Then she drew the linen ashore, wet as it was,

and laid it in a basket. Before evening, she was sitting in the poor little

room with the laundress. The mayor‘s cook had given her some roasted

potatoes and a beautiful piece of fat for the sick woman. Martha and the

boy enjoyed these good things very much; but the sick woman could

only say that the smell was very nourishing, she thought. By-and-by the

boy was put to bed, in the same bed as the one in which his mother lay;

but he slept at her feet, covered with an old quilt made of blue and white

patchwork. The laundress felt a little better by this time. The warm beer

had strengthened her, and the smell of the good food had been pleasant to

her.

―Many thanks, you good soul,‖ she said to Martha. ―Now the boy is

asleep, I will tell you all. He is soon asleep. How gentle and sweet he

looks as he lies there with his eyes closed! He does not know how his

mother has suffered; and Heaven grant he never may know it. I was in

service at the counsellor‘s, the father of the mayor, and it happened that

the youngest of his sons, the student, came home. I was a young wild girl

then, but honest; that I can declare in the sight of Heaven. The student

was merry and gay, brave and affectionate; every drop of blood in him

was good and honorable; a better man never lived on earth. He was the

son of the house, and I was only a maid; but he loved me truly and

honorably, and he told his mother of it. She was to him as an angel upon

earth; she was so wise and loving. He went to travel, and before he

started he placed a gold ring on my finger; and as soon as he was out of

the house, my mistress sent for me. Gently and earnestly she drew me to

her, and spake as if an angel were speaking. She showed me clearly, in

spirit and in truth, the difference there was between him and me. ‗He is

pleased now,‘ she said, ‗with your pretty face; but good looks do not last

long. You have not been educated like he has. You are not equals in

mind and rank, and therein lies the misfortune. I esteem the poor,‘ she

added. ‗In the sight of God, they may occupy a higher place than many

of the rich; but here upon earth we must beware of entering upon a false

track, lest we are overturned in our plans, like a carriage that travels by a

dangerous road. I know a worthy man, an artisan, who wishes to marry

you. I mean Eric, the glovemaker. He is a widower, without children, and

in a good position. Will you think it over?‘ Every word she said pierced

my heart like a knife; but I knew she was right, and the thought pressed

heavily upon me. I kissed her hand, and wept bitter tears, and I wept still

more when I went to my room, and threw myself on the bed. I passed

through a dreadful night; God knows what I suffered, and how I

struggled. The following Sunday I went to the house of God to pray for

light to direct my path. It seemed like a providence that as I stepped out

of church Eric came towards me; and then there remained not a doubt in

my mind. We were suited to each other in rank and circumstances. He

was, even then, a man of good means. I went up to him, and took his

hand, and said, ‗Do you still feel the same for me?‘ ‗Yes; ever and

always,‘ said he. ‗Will you, then, marry a maiden who honors and

esteems you, although she cannot offer you her love? but that may

come.‘ ‗Yes, it will come,‘ said he; and we joined our hands together,

and I went home to my mistress. The gold ring which her son had given

me I wore next to my heart. I could not place it on my finger during the

daytime, but only in the evening, when I went to bed. I kissed the ring till

my lips almost bled, and then I gave it to my mistress, and told her that

the banns were to be put up for me and the glovemaker the following

week. Then my mistress threw her arms round me, and kissed me. She

did not say that I was ‗good for nothing;‘ very likely I was better then

than I am now; but the misfortunes of this world, were unknown to me

then. At Michaelmas we were married, and for the first year everything

went well with us. We had a journeyman and an apprentice, and you

were our servant, Martha.‖

―Ah, yes, and you were a dear, good mistress,‖ said Martha, ―I shall

never forget how kind you and your husband were to me.‖

―Yes, those were happy years when you were with us, although we

had no children at first. The student I never met again. Yet I saw him

once, although he did not see me. He came to his mother‘s funeral. I saw

him, looking pale as death, and deeply troubled, standing at her grave;

for she was his mother. Sometime after, when his father died, he was in

foreign lands, and did not come home. I know that he never married, I

believe he became a lawyer. He had forgotten me, and even had we met

he would not have known me, for I have lost all my good looks, and

perhaps that is all for the best.‖ And then she spoke of the dark days of

trial, when misfortune had fallen upon them.

―We had five hundred dollars,‖ she said, ―and there was a house in

the street to be sold for two hundred, so we thought it would be worth

our while to pull it down and build a new one in its place; so it was

bought. The builder and carpenter made an estimate that the new house

would cost ten hundred and twenty dollars to build. Eric had credit, so he

borrowed the money in the chief town. But the captain, who was

bringing it to him, was shipwrecked, and the money lost. Just about this

time, my dear sweet boy, who lies sleeping there, was born, and my

husband was attacked with a severe lingering illness. For three quarters

of a year I was obliged to dress and undress him. We were backward in

our payments, we borrowed more money, and all that we had was lost

and sold, and then my husband died. Since then I have worked, toiled,

and striven for the sake of the child. I have scrubbed and washed both

coarse and fine linen, but I have not been able to make myself better off;

and it was God‘s will. In His own time He will take me to Himself, but I

know He will never forsake my boy.‖ Then she fell asleep. In the

morning she felt much refreshed, and strong enough, as she thought, to

go on with her work. But as soon as she stepped into the cold water, a

sudden faintness seized her; she clutched at the air convulsively with her

hand, took one step forward, and fell. Her head rested on dry land, but

her feet were in the water; her wooden shoes, which were only tied on by

a wisp of straw, were carried away by the stream, and thus she was found

by Martha when she came to bring her some coffee.

In the meantime a messenger had been sent to her house by the

mayor, to say that she must come to him immediately, as he had

something to tell her. It was too late; a surgeon had been sent for to open

a vein in her arm, but the poor woman was dead.

―She has drunk herself to death,‖ said the cruel mayor. In the letter,

containing the news of his brother‘s death, it was stated that he had left in

his will a legacy of six hundred dollars to the glovemaker‘s widow, who

had been his mother‘s maid, to be paid with discretion, in large or small

sums to the widow or her child.

―There was something between my brother and her, I remember,‖

said the mayor; ―it is a good thing that she is out of the way, for now the

boy will have the whole. I will place him with honest people to bring him

up, that he may become a respectable working man.‖ And the blessing of

God rested upon these words. The mayor sent for the boy to come to

him, and promised to take care of him, but most cruelly added that it was

a good thing that his mother was dead, for ―she was good for nothing.‖

They carried her to the churchyard, the churchyard in which the poor

were buried. Martha strewed sand on the grave and planted a rose-tree

upon it, and the boy stood by her side.

―Oh, my poor mother!‖ he cried, while the tears rolled down his

cheeks. ―Is it true what they say, that she was good for nothing?‖

―No, indeed, it is not true,‖ replied the old servant, raising her eyes

to heaven; ―she was worth a great deal; I knew it years ago, and since the

last night of her life I am more certain of it than ever. I say she was a

good and worthy woman, and God, who is in heaven, knows I am

speaking the truth, though the world may say, even now she was good for

nothing.‖

The Emperor’s New Suit

by

Hans Christian Andersen

(1837)

ANY, many years ago lived an emperor, who thought so much of new

clothes that he spent all his money in order to obtain them; his only

ambition was to be always well dressed. He did not care for his soldiers,

and the theatre did not amuse him; the only thing, in fact, he thought

anything of was to

drive out and show a

new suit of clothes.

He had a coat for

every hour of the

day; and as one

would say of a king

―He is in his cabinet,‖

so one could say of

him, ―The emperor is

in his dressing-

room.‖

The great city

where he resided was

very gay; every day many strangers from all parts of the globe arrived.

One day two swindlers came to this city; they made people believe that

they were weavers, and declared they could manufacture the finest cloth

to be imagined. Their colours and patterns, they said, were not only

exceptionally beautiful, but the clothes made of their material possessed

the wonderful quality of being invisible to any man who was unfit for his

office or unpardonably stupid.

―That must be wonderful cloth,‖ thought the emperor. ―If I were to

be dressed in a suit made of this cloth I should be able to find out which

men in my empire were unfit for their places, and I could distinguish the

clever from the stupid. I must have this cloth woven for me without

delay.‖ And he gave a large sum of money to the swindlers, in advance,

that they should set to work without any loss of time. They set up two

looms, and pretended to be very hard at work, but they did nothing

whatever on the looms. They asked for the finest silk and the most

precious gold-cloth; all they got they did away with, and worked at the

empty looms till late at night.

―I should very much like to know how they are getting on with the

cloth,‖ thought the emperor. But he felt rather uneasy when he

remembered that he who was not fit for his office could not see it.

Personally, he was of opinion that he had nothing to fear, yet he thought

it advisable to send somebody else first to see how matters stood.

Everybody in the town knew what a remarkable quality the stuff

possessed, and all were anxious to see how bad or stupid their neighbours

were.

―I shall send my honest old minister to the weavers,‖ thought the

emperor. ―He can judge best how the stuff looks, for he is intelligent, and

nobody understands his office better than he.‖

The good old minister went into the room where the swindlers sat

before the empty looms. ―Heaven preserve us!‖ he thought, and opened

his eyes wide, ―I cannot see anything at all,‖ but he did not say so. Both

swindlers requested him to come near, and asked him if he did not

admire the exquisite pattern and the beautiful colours, pointing to the

empty looms. The poor old minister tried his very best, but he could see

nothing, for there was nothing to be seen. ―Oh dear,‖ he thought, ―can I

be so stupid? I should never have thought so, and nobody must know it!

Is it possible that I am not fit for my office? No, no, I cannot say that I

was unable to see the cloth.‖

―Now, have you got nothing to say?‖ said one of the swindlers,

while he pretended to be busily weaving.

―Oh, it is very pretty, exceedingly beautiful,‖ replied the old minister

looking through his glasses. ―What a beautiful pattern, what brilliant

colours! I shall tell the emperor that I like the cloth very much.‖

―We are pleased to hear that,‖ said the two weavers, and described to

him the colours and explained the curious pattern. The old minister

listened attentively, that he might relate to the emperor what they said;

and so he did.

Now the swindlers asked for more money, silk and gold-cloth, which

they required for weaving. They kept everything for themselves, and not

a thread came near the loom, but they continued, as hitherto, to work at

the empty looms.

Soon afterwards the emperor sent another honest courtier to the

weavers to see how they were getting on, and if the cloth was nearly

finished. Like the old minister, he looked and looked but could see

nothing, as there was nothing to be seen.

―Is it not a beautiful piece of cloth?‖ asked the two swindlers,

showing and explaining the magnificent pattern, which, however, did not

exist.

―I am not stupid,‖ said the man. ―It is therefore my good

appointment for which I am not fit. It is very strange, but I must not let

any one know it;‖ and he praised the cloth, which he did not see, and

expressed his joy at the beautiful colours and the fine pattern. ―It is very

excellent,‖ he said to the emperor.

Everybody in the whole town talked about the precious cloth. At last

the emperor wished to see it himself, while it was still on the loom. With

a number of courtiers, including the two who had already been there, he

went to the two clever swindlers, who now worked as hard as they could,

but without using any thread.

―Is it not magnificent?‖ said the two old statesmen who had been

there before. ―Your Majesty must admire the colours and the pattern.‖

And then they pointed to the empty looms, for they imagined the others

could see the cloth.

―What is this?‖ thought the emperor, ―I do not see anything at all.

That is terrible! Am I stupid? Am I unfit to be emperor? That would

indeed be the most dreadful thing that could happen to me.‖

―Really,‖ he said, turning to the weavers, ―your cloth has our most

gracious approval;‖ and nodding contentedly he looked at the empty

loom, for he did not like to say that he saw nothing. All his attendants,

who were with him, looked and looked, and although they could not see

anything more than the others, they said, like the emperor, ―It is very

beautiful.‖ And all advised him to wear the new magnificent clothes at a

great procession which was soon to take place. ―It is magnificent,

beautiful, excellent,‖ one heard them say; everybody seemed to be

delighted, and the emperor appointed the two swindlers ―Imperial Court

weavers.‖

The whole night previous to the day on which the procession was to

take place, the swindlers pretended to work, and burned more than

sixteen candles. People should see that they were busy to finish the

emperor‘s new suit. They pretended to take the cloth from the loom, and

worked about in the air with big scissors, and sewed with needles without

thread, and said at last: ―The emperor‘s new suit is ready now.‖

The emperor and all his barons then came to the hall; the swindlers

held their arms up as if they held something in their hands and said:

―These are the trousers!‖ ―This is the coat!‖ and ―Here is the cloak!‖ and

so on. ―They are all as light as a cobweb, and one must feel as if one had

nothing at all upon the body; but that is just the beauty of them.‖

―Indeed!‖ said all the courtiers; but

they could not see anything, for there was

nothing to be seen.

―Does it please your Majesty now to

graciously undress,‖ said the swindlers,

―that we may assist your Majesty in

putting on the new suit before the large

looking-glass?‖

The emperor undressed, and the

swindlers pretended to put the new suit

upon him, one piece after another; and the

emperor looked at himself in the glass

from every side.

―How well they look! How well they

fit!‖ said all. ―What a beautiful pattern! What fine colours! That is a

magnificent suit of clothes!‖

The master of the ceremonies announced that the bearers of the

canopy, which was to be carried in the procession, were ready.

―I am ready,‖ said the emperor. ―Does not my suit fit me

marvellously?‖ Then he turned once more to the looking-glass, that

people should think he admired his garments.

The chamberlains, who were to carry the train, stretched their hands

to the ground as if they lifted up a train, and pretended to hold something

in their hands; they did not like people to know that they could not see

anything.

The emperor marched in the procession under the beautiful canopy,

and all who saw him in the street and out of the windows exclaimed:

―Indeed, the emperor‘s new suit is incomparable! What a long train he

has! How well it fits him!‖ Nobody wished to let others know he saw

nothing, for then he would have been unfit for his office or too stupid.

Never emperor‘s clothes were more admired.

―But he has nothing on at all,‖ said a little child at last. ―Good

heavens! listen to the voice of an innocent child,‖ said the father, and one

whispered to the other what the child had said. ―But he has nothing on at

all,‖ cried at last the whole people. That made a deep impression upon

the emperor, for it seemed to him that they were right; but he thought to

himself, ―Now I must bear up to the end.‖ And the chamberlains walked

with still greater dignity, as if they carried the train which did not exist.

Jack and the Beanstalk

Click to enlarge

THERE was once upon a time a poor widow who had an only son named

Jack, and a cow named Milky-white. And all they had to live on was the

milk the cow gave every morning, which they carried to the market and

sold. But one morning Milky-white gave no milk, and they didn't know

what to do.

'What shall we do, what shall we do?' said the widow, wringing her

hands.

'Cheer up, mother, I'll go and get work somewhere,' said Jack.

'We've tried that before, and nobody would take you,' said his mother;

'we must sell Milky-white and with the money start a shop, or

something.'

'All right, mother,' says Jack; 'it's market-day today, and I'll soon sell

Milky-white, and then we'll see what we can do.'

So he took the cow's halter in his hand, and off he started. He hadn' t

gone far when he met a funny-looking old man, who said to him: 'Good

morning, Jack.'

'Good morning to you,' said Jack, and wondered how he knew his name.

'Well, Jack, and where are you off to?' said the man.

'I'm going to market to sell our cow there.'

'Oh, you look the proper sort of chap to sell cows,' said the man; 'I

wonder if you know how many beans make five.'

'Two in each hand and one in your mouth,' says Jack, as sharp as a

needle.

'Right you are,' says the man, 'and here they are, the very beans

themselves,' he went on, pulling out of his pocket a number of strange-

looking beans. 'As you are so sharp,' says he, 'I don't mind doing a swop

with you--your cow for these beans.'

'Go along,' says Jack; 'wouldn't you like it?'

'Ah! you don't know what these beans are,' said the man; 'if you plant

them overnight, by morning they grow right up to the sky.'

'Really?' said Jack; 'you don't say so.'

'Yes, that is so, and if it doesn't turn out to be true you can have your cow

back.'

'Right,' says Jack, and hands him over Milky-white's halter and pockets

the beans.

Back goes Jack home, and as he hadn't gone very far it wasn't dusk by

the time he got to his door.

'Back already, Jack?' said his mother; 'I see you haven't got Milky-white,

so you've sold her. How much did you get for her?'

'You'll never guess, mother,' says Jack.

'No, you don't say so. Good boy! Five pounds, ten, fifteen, no, it can't be

twenty.'

'I told you you couldn't guess. What do you say to these beans; they're

magical, plant them overnight and --'

'What!' says Jack's mother, 'have you been such a fool, such a dolt, such

an idiot, as to give away my Milky-white, the best milker in the parish,

and prime beef to boot, for a set of paltry beans? Take that! Take that!

Take that! And as for your precious beans here they go out of the

window. And now off with you to bed. Not a sup shall you drink, and not

a bit shall you swallow this very night.'

So Jack went upstairs to his little room in the attic, and sad and sorry he

was, to be sure, as much for his mother's sake, as for the loss of his

supper.

At last he dropped off to sleep.

When he woke up, the room looked so funny. The sun was shining into

part of it, and yet all the rest was quite dark and shady. So Jack jumped

up and dressed himself and went to the window. And what do you think

he saw? Why, the beans his mother had thrown out of the window into

the garden had sprung up into a big beanstalk which went up and up and

up till it reached the sky. So the man spoke truth after all.

The beanstalk grew up quite close past Jack's window, so all he had to do

was to open it and give a jump on to the beanstalk which ran up just like

a big ladder. So Jack climbed, and he climbed and he climbed and he

climbed and he climbed and he climbed and he climbed till at last he

reached the sky. And when he got there he found a long broad road going

as straight as a dart. So he walked along and he walked along and he

walked along till he came to a great big tall house, and on the doorstep

there was a great big tall woman.

'Good morning, mum,' says Jack, quite polite-like. 'Could you be so kind

as to give me some breakfast?' For he hadn't had anything to eat, you

know, the night before and was as hungry as a hunter.

'It's breakfast you want, is it?' says the great big tall woman, 'it's

breakfast you'll be if you don't move off from here. My man is an ogre

and there's nothing he likes better than boys broiled on toast. You'd better

be moving on or he'll be coming.'

'Oh! please, mum, do give me something to eat, mum. I've had nothing to

eat since yesterday morning, really and truly, mum,' says Jack. 'I may as

well be broiled as die of hunger.'

Well, the ogre's wife was not half so bad after all. So she took Jack into

the kitchen, and gave him a hunk of bread and cheese and a jug of milk.

But Jack hadn't half finished these when thump! thump! thump! the

whole house began to tremble with the noise of someone coming.

'Goodness gracious me! It's my old man,' said the ogre's wife, 'what on

earth shall I do? Come along quick and jump in here.' And she bundled

Jack into the oven just as the ogre came in.

He was a big one, to be sure. At his belt he had three calves strung up by

the heels, and he unhooked them and threw them down on the table and

said: 'Here, wife, broil me a couple of these for breakfast. Ah! what's this

I smell?

'Fee-fi-fo-fum,

I smell the blood of an Englishman,

Be he alive, or be he dead,

I'll have his bones to grind my bread.'

'Nonsense, dear,' said his wife, 'you' re dreaming. Or perhaps you smell

the scraps of that little boy you liked so much for yesterday's dinner.

Here, you go and have a wash and tidy up, and by the time you come

back your breakfast'll be ready for you.'

So off the ogre went, and Jack was just going to jump out of the oven and

run away when the woman told him not. 'Wait till he's asleep,' says she;

'he always has a doze after breakfast.'

Well, the ogre had his breakfast, and after that he goes to a big chest and

takes out a couple of bags of gold, and down he sits and counts till at last

his head began to nod and he began to snore till the whole house shook

again.

Then Jack crept out on tiptoe from his oven, and as he was passing the

ogre he took one of the bags of gold under his arm, and off he pelters till

he came to the beanstalk, and then he threw down the bag of gold, which,

of course, fell into his mother's garden, and then he climbed down and

climbed down till at last he got home and told his mother and showed her

the gold and said: 'Welt, mother, wasn't I right about the beans? They are

really magical, you see.'

So they lived on the bag of gold for some time, but at last they came to

the end of it, and Jack made up his mind to try his tuck once more at the

top of the beanstalk. So one fine morning he rose up early, and got on to

the beanstalk, and he climbed and he climbed and he climbed and he

climbed and he climbed and he climbed till at last he came out on to the

road again and up to the great tall house he had been to before. There,

sure enough, was the great tall woman a-standing on the doorstep.

'Good morning, mum,' says Jack, as bold as brass, 'could you be so good

as to give me something to eat?'

'Go away, my boy,' said the big tall woman, 'or else my man will eat you

up for breakfast. But aren't you the youngster who came here once

before? Do you know, that very day my man missed one of his bags of

gold.'

'That's strange, mum,' said Jack, 'I dare say I could tell you something

about that, but I'm so hungry I can't speak till I've had something to eat.'

Well, the big tall woman was so curious that she took him in and gave

him something to eat. But he had scarcely begun munching it as slowly

as he could when thump! thump! they heard the giant's footstep, and his

wife hid Jack away in the oven.

All happened as it did before. In came the ogre as he did before, said:

'Fee-fi-fo-fum', and had his breakfast off three broiled oxen. Then he

said: 'Wife, bring me the hen that lays the golden eggs.' So she brought it,

and the ogre said: 'Lay,' and it laid an egg all of gold. And then the ogre

began to nod his head, and to snore till the house shook.

Then Jack crept out of the oven on tiptoe and caught hold of the golden

hen, and was off before you could say 'Jack Robinson'. But this time the

hen gave a cackle which woke the ogre, and just as Jack got out of the

house he heard him calling:

'Wife, wife, what have you done with my golden hen?' And the wife said:

'Why, my dear?'

But that was all Jack heard, for he rushed off to the beanstalk and

climbed down like a house on fire. And when he got home he showed his

mother the wonderful hen, and said 'Lay' to it; and it laid a golden egg

every time he said 'Lay.'

Well, Jack was not content, and it wasn't long before he determined to

have another try at his luck up there at the top of the beanstalk. So one

fine morning, he rose up early, and got to the beanstalk, and he climbed

and he climbed and he climbed and he climbed till he got to the top. But

this time he knew better than to go straight to the ogre's house. And when

he got near it, he waited behind a bush till he saw the ogre's wife come

out with a pail to get some water, and then he crept into the house and

got into the copper. He hadn't been there long when he heard thump!

thump! thump! as before, and in came the ogre and his wife.

'Fee-fi-fo-fum, I smell the blood of an Englishman,' cried out the ogre. 'I

smell him, wife, I smell him.'

'Do you, my dearie?' says the ogre's wife. 'Then, if it's that little rogue

that stole your gold and the hen that laid the golden eggs he's sure to

have got into the oven.' And they both rushed to the oven. But Jack

wasn't there, luckily, and the ogre' s wife said: 'There you are again with

your fee-fi-fo-fum. Why, of course, it's the boy you caught last night that

I've just broiled for your breakfast. How forgetful I am, and how careless

you are not to know the difference between live and dead after all these

years.'

So the ogre sat down to the breakfast and ate it, but every now and then

he would mutter: 'Well, I could have sworn --' and he'd get up and search

the larder and the cupboards and everything, only, luckily, he didn't think

of the copper.

After breakfast was over, the ogre called out: 'Wife, wife, bring me my

golden harp.' So she brought it and put it on the table before him. Then

he said: 'Sing!' and the golden harp sang most beautifully. And it went on

singing till the ogre fell asleep, and commenced to snore like thunder.

Then Jack lifted up the copper-lid very quietly and got down like a

mouse and crept on hands and knees till he came to the table, when up he

crawled, caught hold of the golden harp and dashed with it towards the

door. But the harp called out quite loud: 'Master! Master!' and the ogre

woke up just in time to see Jack running off with his harp.

Jack ran as fast as he could, and the ogre came rushing after, and would

soon have caught him only Jack had a start and dodged him a bit and

knew where he was going. When he got to the beanstalk the ogre was not

more than twenty yards away when suddenly he saw Jack disappear like,

and when he came to the end of the road he saw Jack underneath

climbing down for dear life. Well, the ogre didn't like trusting himself to

such a ladder, and he stood and waited, so Jack got another start. But just

then the harp cried out: 'Master! Master!' and the ogre swung himself

down on to the beanstalk, which shook with his weight. Down climbs

Jack, and after him climbed the ogre. By this time Jack had climbed

down and climbed down and climbed down till he was very nearly home.

So he called out: 'Mother! Mother! bring me an axe, bring me an axe.'

And his mother came rushing out with the axe in her hand, but when she

came to the beanstalk she stood stock still with fright, for there she saw

the ogre with his legs just through the clouds.

But Jack jumped down and got hold of the axe and gave a chop at the

beanstalk which cut it half in two. The ogre felt the beanstalk shake and

quiver, so he stopped to see what was the matter. Then Jack gave another

chop with the axe, and the beanstalk was cut in two and began to topple

over. Then the ogre fell down and broke his crown, and the beanstalk

came toppling after.

Then Jack showed his mother his golden harp, and what with showing

that and selling the golden eggs, Jack and his mother became very rich,

and he married a great princess, and they lived happy ever after.

Little Red Cap

Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm

Once upon a time there was a sweet little girl. Everyone who saw her liked her, but most

of all her grandmother, who did not know what to give the child next. Once she gave her

a little cap made of red velvet. Because it suited her so well, and she wanted to wear it

all the time, she came to be known as Little Red Cap.

One day her mother said to her, "Come Little Red Cap. Here is a piece of cake and a

bottle of wine. Take them to your grandmother. She is sick and weak, and they will do

her well. Mind your manners and give her my greetings. Behave yourself on the way, and

do not leave the path, or you might fall down and break the glass, and then there will be

nothing for your grandmother. And when you enter her parlor, don't forget to say 'Good

morning,' and don't peer into all the corners first."

"I'll do everything just right," said Little Red Cap, shaking her mother's hand.

The grandmother lived out in the woods, a half hour from the village. When Little Red

Cap entered the woods a wolf came up to her. She did not know what a wicked animal

he was, and was not afraid of him.

"Good day to you, Little Red Cap."

"Thank you, wolf."

"Where are you going so early, Little Red Cap?"

"To grandmother's."

"And what are you carrying under your apron?"

"Grandmother is sick and weak, and I am taking her some cake and wine. We baked

yesterday, and they should be good for her and give her strength."

"Little Red Cap, just where does your grandmother live?"

"Her house is good quarter hour from here in the woods, under the three large oak

trees. There's a hedge of hazel bushes there. You must know the place," said Little Red

Cap.

The wolf thought to himself, "Now that sweet young thing is a tasty bite for me. She will

taste even better than the old woman. You must be sly, and you can catch them both."

He walked along a little while with Little Red Cap, then he said, "Little Red Cap, just look

at the beautiful flowers that are all around us. Why don't you go and take a look? And I

don't believe you can hear how beautifully the birds are singing. You are walking along

as though you were on your way to school. It is very beautiful in the woods."

Little Red Cap opened her eyes and when she saw the sunbeams dancing to and fro

through the trees and how the ground was covered with beautiful flowers, she thought,

"If a take a fresh bouquet to grandmother, she will be very pleased. Anyway, it is still

early, and I'll be home on time." And she ran off the path into the woods looking for

flowers. Each time she picked one she thought that she could see an even more

beautiful one a little way off, and she ran after it, going further and further into the

woods. But the wolf ran straight to the grandmother's house and knocked on the door.

"Who's there?"

"Little Red Cap. I'm bringing you some cake and wine. Open the door."

"Just press the latch," called out the grandmother. "I'm too weak to get up."

The wolf pressed the latch, and the door opened. He stepped inside, went straight to the

grandmother's bed, and ate her up. Then he put on her clothes, put her cap on his head,

got into her bed, and pulled the curtains shut.

Little Red Cap had run after the flowers. After she had gathered so many that she could

not carry any more, she remembered her grandmother, and then continued on her way

to her house. She found, to her surprise, that the door was open. She walked into the

parlor, and everything looked so strange that she thought, "Oh, my God, why am I so

afraid? I usually like it at grandmother's."

She called out, "Good morning!" but received no answer.

Then she went to the bed and pulled back the curtains. Grandmother was lying there

with her cap pulled down over her face and looking very strange.

"Oh, grandmother, what big ears you have!"

"All the better to hear you with."

"Oh, grandmother, what big eyes you have!"

"All the better to see you with."

"Oh, grandmother, what big hands you have!"

"All the better to grab you with!"

"Oh, grandmother, what a horribly big mouth you have!"

"All the better to eat you with!"

The wolf had scarcely finished speaking when he jumped from the bed with a single leap

and ate up poor Little Red Cap. As soon as the wolf had satisfied his desires, he climbed

back into bed, fell asleep, and began to snore very loudly.

A huntsman was just passing by. He thought, "The old woman is snoring so loudly. You

had better see if something is wrong with her."

He stepped into the parlor, and when he approached the bed, he saw the wolf lying

there. "So here I find you, you old sinner," he said. "I have been hunting for you a long

time."

He was about to aim his rifle when it occurred to him that the wolf might have eaten the

grandmother, and that she still might be rescued. So instead of shooting, he took a pair

of scissors and began to cut open the wolf's belly. After a few cuts he saw the red cap

shining through., and after a few more cuts the girl jumped out, crying, "Oh, I was so

frightened! It was so dark inside the wolf's body!"

And then the grandmother came out as well, alive but hardly able to breathe. Then Little

Red Cap fetched some large stones. She filled the wolf's body with them, and when he

woke up and tried to run away, the stones were so heavy that he immediately fell down

dead.

The three of them were happy. The huntsman skinned the wolf and went home with the

pelt. The grandmother ate the cake and drank the wine that Little Red Cap had brought.

And Little Red Cap thought, "As long as I live, I will never leave the path and run off into

the woods by myself if mother tells me not to."

They also tell how Little Red Cap was taking some baked things to her grandmother

another time, when another wolf spoke to her and wanted her to leave the path. But

Little Red Cap took care and went straight to grandmother's. She told her that she had

seen the wolf, and that he had wished her a good day, but had stared at her in a wicked

manner. "If we hadn't been on a public road, he would have eaten me up," she said.

"Come," said the grandmother. "Let's lock the door, so he can't get in."

Soon afterward the wolf knocked on the door and called out, "Open up, grandmother.

It's Little Red Cap, and I'm bringing you some baked things."

They remained silent, and did not open the door. Gray-Head crept around the house

several times, and finally jumped onto the roof. He wanted to wait until Little Red Cap

went home that evening, then follow her and eat her up in the darkness. But the

grandmother saw what he was up to. There was a large stone trough in front of the

house.

"Fetch a bucket, Little Red Cap," she said to the child. "Yesterday I cooked some sausage.

Carry the water that I boiled them with to the trough." Little Red Cap carried water until

the large, large trough was clear full. The smell of sausage arose into the wolf's nose. He

sniffed and looked down, stretching his neck so long that he could no longer hold

himself, and he began to slide. He slid off the roof, fell into the trough, and drowned.

And Little Red Cap returned home happily, and no one harmed her.

THE BROWNIES

juliana horatia ewing

A little girl sat sewing and crying on a garden seat. She had fair floating

hair, which the breeze blew into her eyes, and between the cloud of hair,

and the mist of tears, she could not see her work very clearly. She neither

tied up her locks, nor dried her eyes, however; for when one is miserable,

one may as well be completely so.

"What is the matter?" said the Doctor, who was a friend of the Rector's,

and came into the garden whenever he pleased.

The Doctor was a tall stout man, with hair as black as crow's feathers on

the top, and grey underneath, and a bushy beard. When young, he had

been slim and handsome, with wonderful eyes, which were wonderful

still; but that was many years past. He had a great love for children, and

this one was a particular friend of his.

"What is the matter?" said he.

"I'm in a row," murmured the young lady through her veil; and the needle

went in damp, and came out with a jerk, which is apt to result in what

ladies called "puckering."

"You are like London in a yellow fog," said the Doctor, throwing himself

on to the grass, "and it is very depressing to my feelings. What is the row

about, and how came you to get into it?"

"We're all in it," was the reply; and apparently the fog was thickening,

for the voice grew less and less distinct—"the boys and everybody. It's

all about forgetting, and not putting away, and leaving about, and

borrowing, and breaking, and that sort of thing. I've had Father's new

pocket-handkerchiefs to hem, and I've been out climbing with the boys,

and kept forgetting and forgetting, and Mother says I always forget; and I

can't help it. I forget to tidy his newspapers for him, and I forget to feed

Puss, and I forgot these; besides, they're a great bore, and Mother gave

them to Nurse to do, and this one was lost, and we found it this morning

tossing about in the toy-cupboard."

"It looks as if it had been taking violent exercise," said the Doctor. "But

what have the boys to do with it?"

"Why, then there was a regular turn out of the toys," she explained, "and

they're all in a regular mess. You know, we always go on till the last

minute, and then things get crammed in anyhow. Mary and I did tidy

them once or twice; but the boys never put anything away, you know, so

what's the good?"

"What, indeed!" said the Doctor. "And so you have complained of

them?"

"Oh! no!" answered she. "We don't get them into rows, unless they are

very provoking; but some of the things were theirs, so everybody was

sent for, and I was sent out to finish this, and they are all tidying. I don't

know when it will be done, for I have all this side to hem; and the

soldiers' box is broken, and Noah is lost out of the Noah's Ark, and so is

one of the elephants and a guinea-pig, and so is the rocking-horse's nose;

and nobody knows what has become of Rutlandshire and the Wash, but

they're so small, I don't wonder; only North America and Europe are

gone too."

The Doctor started up in affected horror. "Europe gone, did you say?

Bless me! what will become of us!"

"Don't!" said the young lady, kicking petulantly with her dangling feet,

and trying not to laugh. "You know I mean the puzzles; and if they were

yours, you wouldn't like it."

"I don't half like it as it is," said the Doctor. "I am seriously alarmed. An

earthquake is one thing; you have a good shaking, and settle down again.

But Europe gone—lost—Why, here comes Deordie, I declare, looking

much more cheerful than we do; let us humbly hope that Europe has been

found. At present I feel like Aladdin when his palace had been

transported by the magician; I don't know where I am."

"You're here, Doctor; aren't you?" asked the slow curly-wigged brother,

squatting himself on the grass.

"Is Europe found?" said the Doctor tragically.

"Yes," laughed Deordie. "I found it."

"You will be a great man," said the Doctor. "And—it is only common

charity to ask—how about North America?"

"Found too," said Deordie. "But the Wash is completely lost."

"And my six shirts in it!" said the Doctor. "I sent them last Saturday as

ever was. What a world we live in! Any more news? Poor Tiny here has

been crying her eyes out."

"I'm so sorry, Tiny," said the brother. "But don't bother about it. It's all

square now, and we're going to have a new shelf put up."

"Have you found everything?" asked Tiny.

"Well, not the Wash, you know. And the elephant and the guinea-pig are

gone for good; so the other elephant and the other guinea-pig must walk

together as a pair now. Noah was among the soldiers, and we have put

the cavalry into a night-light box. Europe and North America were

behind the book-case; and, would you believe it? the rocking-horse's

nose has turned up in the nursery oven."

"I can't believe it," said the Doctor. "The rocking-horse's nose couldn't

turn up, it was the purest Grecian, modelled from the Elgin marbles.

Perhaps it was the heat that did it, though. However, you seem to have

got through your troubles very well, Master Deordie. I wish poor Tiny

were at the end of her task."

"So do I," said Deordie ruefully. "But I tell you what I've been thinking,

Doctor. Nurse is always nagging at us, and we're always in rows of one

sort or another, for doing this, and not doing that, and leaving our things

about. But, you know, it's a horrid shame, for there are plenty of servants,

and I don't see why we should be always bothering to do little things,

and—"

"Oh! come to the point, please," said the Doctor; "you do go round the

square so, in telling your stories, Deordie. What have you been thinking

of?"

"Well," said Deordie, who was as good-tempered as he was slow, "the

other day Nurse shut me up in the back nursery for borrowing her

scissors and losing them; but I'd got 'Grimm' inside one of my

knickerbockers, so when she locked the door, I sat down to read. And I

read the story of the Shoemaker and the little Elves who came and did his

work for him before he got up; and I thought it would be so jolly if we

had some little Elves to do things instead of us."

"That's what Tommy Trout said," observed the Doctor.

"Who's Tommy Trout?" asked Deordie.

"Don't you know, Deor?" said Tiny. "It's the good boy who pulled the cat

out of the what's-his-name.

'Who pulled her out?

Little Tommy Trout.'

Is it the same Tommy Trout, Doctor? I never heard anything else about

him except his pulling the cat out; and I can't think how he did that."

"Let down the bucket for her, of course," said the Doctor. "But listen to

me. If you will get that handkerchief done, and take it to your mother

with a kiss, and not keep me waiting, I'll have you all to tea, and tell you

the story of Tommy Trout."

"This very night?" shouted Deordie.

"This very night."

"Every one of us?" inquired the young gentleman with rapturous

incredulity.

"Every one of you.—Now, Tiny, how about that work?"

"It's just done," said Tiny.—"Oh! Deordie, climb up behind, and hold

back my hair, there's a darling, while I fasten off. Oh! Deor, you're

pulling my hair out. Don't."

"I want to make a pig-tail," said Deor.

"You can't," said Tiny, with feminine contempt. "You can't plait. What's

the good of asking boys to do anything? There! it's done at last. Now go

and ask Mother if we may go.—Will you let me come, Doctor," she

inquired, "if I do as you said?"

"To be sure I will," he answered. "Let me look at you. Your eyes are

swollen with crying. How can you be such a silly little goose?"

"Did you never cry?" asked Tiny.

"When I was your age? Well, perhaps so."

"You've never cried since, surely," said Tiny.

The Doctor absolutely blushed.

"What do you think?" said he.

"Oh, of course not," she answered. "You've nothing to cry about. You're

grown up, and you live all alone in a beautiful house, and you do as you

like, and never get into rows, or have anybody but yourself to think

about; and no nasty pocket-handkerchiefs to hem."

"Very nice; eh, Deordie?" said the Doctor.

"Awfully jolly," said Deordie.

"Nothing else to wish for, eh?"

"I should keep harriers, and not a poodle, if I were a man," said Deordie;

"but I suppose you could, if you wanted to."

"Nothing to cry about, at any rate?"

"I should think not!" said Deordie.—"There's Mother, though; let's go

and ask her about the tea;" and off they ran.

The Doctor stretched his six feet of length upon the sward, dropped his

grey head on a little heap of newly-mown grass, and looked up into the

sky.

"Awfully jolly—no nasty pocket-handkerchiefs to hem," said he,

laughing to himself. "Nothing else to wish for; nothing to cry about."

Nevertheless, he lay still, staring at the sky, till the smile died away, and

tears came into his eyes. Fortunately, no one was there to see.

What could this "awfully jolly" Doctor be thinking of to make him cry?

He was thinking of a grave-stone in the churchyard close by, and of a

story connected with this grave-stone which was known to everybody in

the place who was old enough to remember it. This story has nothing to

do with the present story, so it ought not to be told.

And yet it has to do with the Doctor, and is very short, so it shall be put

in, after all.

Goldilocks and the Three Bears

Goldilocks portrayed as a sweet little girl:

Little Goldilocks was a pretty girl who lived once upon a time in a far-off

country.

One day she was sitting on the hearthrug playing with her two kittens,

and you would have thought she was as happy as a queen, and quite

contented to stay where she was instead of wanting to run about the

world meddling with other people's property. But it happened that she

was rather a mischievous little maid, and could not resist teasing her pets,

so one of them scratched her, and then she would play with them no

longer.

She got up and trotted away into the wood behind her mother's house,

and it was such a warm, pleasant day that she wandered on and on until

she came into a part of the wood where she had never been before.

Now, in this wood there lived a family of three Bears. The first was a

GREAT BIG BEAR, the second was a MIDDLE SIZED BEAR and

the third was a little TEENY TINY BEAR, and they all lived together in

a funny little house, and very happy they were.

Goldilocks stopped when she came to the Bear's house, and began to

wonder who lived there.

"I'll just look in and see," she said, and so she did; but there was no one

there, for the Bears had all gone out for a morning walk, whilst the soup

they were going to have for dinner cooled upon the table.

Goldilocks was rather hungry after her walk, and the soup smelt so good

that she began to wish the people of the house would come home and

invite her to have some. But although she looked everywhere, under the

table and into the cupboards, she could find no one, and at last she could

resist no longer, but made up her mind to take just a little sip to see how

the soup tasted. The soup had been put into three bowls - A GREAT

BIG BOWL for the GREAT BIG BEAR, a MIDDLING-SIZED

BOWL for the MIDDLING-SIZED BEAR, and a TEENY TINY bowl

for the TEENY TINY BEAR; beside each bowl lay a spoon, and

Goldilocks took one and helped herself to a spoonful of soup from the

GREAT BIG BOWL.

Ugh! how it burnt her mouth; it was so hot with pepper that she did not

like it at all; still, she was very hungry, so she thought she would try

again.

This time she took a sip of the MIDDLING-SIZED BEAR'S soup, but

she liked that no better, for it was too salt. But when she tasted the

TEENY TINY BEAR'S soup, it was just as she liked it; so she ate it up

every drop, without thinking twice about it.

When she had finished her dinner she noticed three chairs standing by

the wall. One was a GREAT BIG CHAIR, and she climbed upon that

and sat down. Oh dear! how hard it was! She was sure she could not sit

there for long, so she climbed up on the next, which was a MIDDLING-

SIZED CHAIR, but that was too soft for her taste; so she went on to the

last, which was a TEENY TINY CHAIR and suited her exactly.

It was so comfortable that she sat on and on until, is you'll believe it, she

actually sat the bottom out. Then, of course, she was comfortable no

longer, so she got up and began to wonder what she should do next.

There was a staircase in the Bears' house, and Goldilocks thought she

would go up it and see where it led to. So up she went, and when she

reached the top she laughed outright, for the Bears' bedroom was the

funniest she had ever seen. In the middle of the room stood a GREAT

BIG BED, on one side of it there was a MIDDLING-SIZED BED, and

on the other side there was a TEENY TINY BED.

Goldilocks was sleepy, so she thought she would lie down and have a

little nap. First she got upon the GREAT BIG BED, but it was just as

hard as the GREAT BIG CHAIR had been; so she jumped off and tried

the MIDDLING-SIZED BED, but it was so soft that she sank right

down into the feather cushions and was nearly smothered.

"I will try the TEENY TINY BED," she said, and so she did, and it was

so comfortable that she soon fell fast asleep.

Whilst she lay there, dreaming of all sorts of pleasant things, the three

Bears came home from their walk very hungry and quite ready for their

dinners.

But oh! dear me! how cross the GREAT BIG BEAR looked when he

saw his spoon had been used and thrown under the table.

"WHO HAS BEEN TASTING MY SOUP?" he cried in a GREAT

BIG VOICE.

"AND WHO HAS BEEN TASTING MINE?" cried the MIDDLING-

SIZED BEAR, in a MIDDLING-SIZED VOICE.

"BUT WHO HAS BEEN TASTING MINE AND TASTED IT ALL

UP?" cried the poor little TEENY TINY BEAR in a TEENY TINY

VOICE, with tears running down his TEENY TINY FACE.

When the GREAT BIG BEAR went to sit down in his GREAT BIG

CHAIR, he cried out in his GREAT BIG VOICE:

"WHO HAS BEEN SITTING ON MY CHAIR?"

And the MIDDLING-SIZED BEAR cried, in a MIDDLING-SIZED

VOICE:

"WHO HAS BEEN SITTING ON MY CHAIR?"

But the TEENY TINY BEAR cried out in a TEENY TINY VOICE of

anger:

"WHO HAS BEEN SITTING ON MY CHAIR AND SAT THE

BOTTOM OUT?"

But this time the Bears were sure that someone had been in their house

quite lately; so they looked about to see if someone were not there still.

There was certainly no one downstairs, so they went up the staircase to

their bedroom.

As soon as the GREAT BIG BEAR looked at his bed, he cried out in his

GREAT BIG VOICE:

"WHO HAS BEEN LYING ON MY BED?"

And the MIDDDLING-SIZED BEAR cried out in a MIDDLING-

SIZED VOICE:

"WHO HAS BEEN LAYING ON MY BED?"

But the TEENY TINY BEAR cried out in a TEENY TINY VOICE of

anger:

"WHO HAS BEEN LAYING ON MY BED AND LIES THERE

STILL?"?"

Now, when the GREAT BIG BEAR began to speak, Goldilocks dreamt

that there was a bee buzzing in the room, and when the MIDDLING-

SIZED BEAR began to speak, she dreamt that it was flying out of the

window; but when the TEENY TINY BEAR began to speak, she dreamt

that the bee had come back and stung her on the ear, and up she jumped.

Oh! how frightened she was when she saw the three Bears standing

beside her.

She hopped out of bed and in a second was out through the open

window. Never stopping to wonder if the fall had hurt her, she got up and

ran and ran and ran until she could go no farther, always thinking that the

Bears were close behind her. And when at length she fell down in a heap

on the ground, because she was too tired to run any more, it was her own

mother who picked her up, because in her fright she had run straight

home without knowing it.