© 2024 Storyberries

LET’S DISCUSS THE STORIES ~ IDEAS FOR TALKING WITH KIDS

Empathy, Kindness

1. The villagers in this story were frightened of the bear. But Breeze was not. Why wasn’t she frightened of the bear?

2. In this story, Breeze imagines how the bear must feel. This is called “empathy”. How do you think having empathy might help us live together?

Independent Thinking

1. Do you think it is always a good idea to trust wild animals? Why or why not?

2. Why was Breeze not frightened of this particular bear?

3. Do you think she took enough care for her safety when she approached the bear? Why or why not?

Credits:

Bedtime Story written by Lale Sanem Şekercioğlu

Illustrated by Halina Prakapenka

Music Video by “Morning” Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com), “Thinking Music” Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com), “Casa Bossa Nova” Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com), “Hidden Agenda” Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com), “Dreamy Flashback” Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com), “Goblin Tinker Soldier Spy” Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com), “Scheming Weasel (slower version)” Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com), “Fireflies and Stardust” Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com), “Bushwick Tarantella” Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com) Licensed under Creative Commons: By Attribution 4.0 License http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/

The post Bear of the Woods first appeared on Bedtime Stories.

© Aaron Zerah and Della Burford 2012

Let’s Chat About The Stories ~ Ideas for Talking With Kids

Conversation

1. Which is your favourite story in this collection? Why?

2. What important thing do you think your favourite story tells you?

Short story for kids written by Aaron Zerah

Illustrated by Della Burford

Music from zapsplat.com and “Dhaka” Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com), “Suonatore di Liuto” Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com) Licensed under Creative Commons: By Attribution 4.0 License, http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/

Spirit Storybooks | Traditional World Tales | Bedtime Stories

Three traditional stories about Spirit from around the world.

URL: https://www.storyberries.com/bedtime-stories-spirit-storybooks-3-traditional-world-tales-free-kids-books-online/

Author: Aaron Zerah

Editor's Rating:
4

The post Spirit Storybooks: Three Traditional Tales from Around the World first appeared on Bedtime Stories.

Once a year, Frank and his family travelled to San Francisco. They visited a house where an old man named Rupert and his wife Elaine lived.

His family had been doing this since even before Frank was born. He didn’t mind it, though. He loved visiting Rupert and Elaine. He enjoyed being there.

After his first time visiting, he couldn’t wait to visit them again. He could tell that his mom and dad enjoyed it too. When they arrived, Rupert sat by the porch, rocking back and forth in his chair. Frank ran full-speed to where Mr. Rupert was. He made a full stop when he got to the porch. Then he walked slowly and hugged Rupert.

He went inside and greeted Elaine with a hug as well. She patted his head gently. She would always do this every time, which Frank had come to expect. He liked how gentle it felt every time she did this.

Elaine asked him how old he was and he told her he was ten. Frank’s parents came in the house and greeted Elaine. That was his cue to go outside and join Rupert.

One of the things that made him excited to visit was that Rupert would always have a story ready for him. He loved listening to Rupert’s stories. He had read a few books back home, but there was just something special about sitting down and listening to a good story by Rupert.

Frank went out the door and stood beside Rupert, who was admiring the view of their neighborhood.

Rupert asked him “Are you ready, son?” He smiled from ear to ear and eagerly nodded. “Then pull up a chair,” he said.

Frank grabbed the little stool next to Rupert’s rocking chair. Rupert tilted his chair so that he could look at Frank as he was telling the story. Frank sat in the stool as he eagerly waited for Rupert to start. He could feel his excitement wanting to burst out.

Rupert took a deep breath, then started.

“Once upon a time, there lived a knight. He was one of the fiercest warriors in the kingdom of Magon. He had been part of countless battles with his fellow knights, and all of them emerged victorious. Their kingdom remained peaceful for many years. But one day, that peace was threatened. The people of the kingdom became restless once they heard that one of the villages had been attacked by a griffin. In order for his royal subjects to feel safe again, the king ordered his knights to find the griffin in every corner of the kingdom and slay it. And so, the knight did as his king ordered and travelled to find the griffin.

“The knight knew that slaying the griffin would bring great honor for his family. He travelled far into the mountains. He had heard from an old wise man that griffins are hidden deep within the mountains, where no living soul would dare enter. He travelled day and night. He slept on the ground. Sometimes, the cold wind would make him shiver. He would hear strange noises moving through the forest. His grip on his sword would then tighten.

“Along the way, he stopped by a small village. The people were kind enough to offer him food and shelter for the night before he continued on his travels. He asked one of the villagers if they had been terrorized by a griffin recently. The villager told him that they hadn’t, and that their village was always peaceful. But they would hear strange noises coming from the mountain. They didn’t know what it was and no one was brave enough to travel up the mountain. They believed that there were monsters lurking there.

“After hearing what the villager said, the knight was eager to go up the mountain. He ate to his heart’s content that night and rested. The next morning, he thanked the villagers and bid them farewell. He started his journey up the mountain, hoping to find the griffin.”

Their storytelling was briefly interrupted by Elaine, who brought juice and cookies for Frank and a cup of coffee for Rupert. Elaine left the tray on the table and went back inside.

Frank took a bite of Elaine’s delicious cookies and wished that he could eat them every day for the rest of his life. Rupert took a sip of his coffee then continued with the story.

“The knight made his way up the mountain. He carefully walked through the trees. He listened to every noise he heard. He kept his hand on his sword, tightly gripping its handle, ready to unsheathe it should the need arise. He stopped just short of the mountaintop when he saw a cave. He approached the cave with caution. He heard noises inside. He unsheathed his sword and steadied his heart. He knew the griffin had to be inside.

“And it was. The griffin saw him and charged toward him. He swung his sword but the griffin managed to avoid his blade. The griffin towered over him. It stood on its hind legs with its wings spread out. It tried to pierce his armor with its claws. Luckily, his armor was made by the best blacksmith in the kingdom.

“But the griffin was strong. He may have avoided its claws with the armor on his arm but the strength of the blow almost broke him. He had to take a few paces backward. He was breathing heavily now. He centered himself, ready to take another swing.

“The griffin came charging towards him again. He waited for the right moment to swing his sword. Once the griffin was just a few inches from him, he swung his sword with all his might. At the last second, the griffin managed to dodge, but the knight still managed to cut it on the arm. The cut on its arm was deep. The griffin fell back and hit the side of the cave. The knight saw this as an opening for him to slay the beast.

“He ran towards the griffin with his sword in his hand, ready to make the final blow. But then, he heard a noise from deeper within the cave. It made him stop abruptly.

“He turned towards where the noise was and steadied himself again. There might be another griffin. He was shocked to learn that the noise came from younglings hiding behind a rock. The griffin’s younglings looked terrified. One of the younglings ran to the griffin’s side. The griffin shielded the youngling with its wing. He looked at the griffin. It looked tired and in pain. He realized that the griffin was merely protecting its young. There was no monster here, just a parent trying to protect its young.

“He sheathed his sword and left the cave. He came back to the cave the next day with three wild boars and some medicine he bought from the village below the mountain. The griffin had moved further inside the cave, still in pain from its wound. He took off his armor and dropped his sword. He wanted the griffin to know that he meant no harm. He fed the griffin and its young with the boars he brought. He used the medicine he bought to heal the griffin’s wounds. He stayed in the cave for a few nights and when the griffin finally recovered, he left. He returned to the king’s castle empty-handed, but he didn’t care. He decided that his days as a knight were over. He bid farewell to the king.

“The knight spent his days living peacefully with his wife. They lived in a house on top of a mountain. One day, while he was outside admiring the horizon, he saw a winged creature flying in the sky. It came closer and closer until it landed beside their house. It was the griffin and its young. Its young had gotten bigger since the last time he saw them. He didn’t know how the griffin found him. Maybe it spent its days looking for him. He welcomed the griffin with open arms. He even introduced it to his wife.

“He picked up his sword and went into the forest. He came back with four wild boars this time. They dined with the griffin and its young that day. From that moment on, the griffin and its young would come to visit the knight and his wife every year. The knight would wait patiently until his friend came to visit him again.”

“The End” Rupert said. Frank, with a big smile on his face, clapped his hands when Rupert finished. It was one of Rupert’s best stories yet.

They eventually said their goodbyes and Frank and his family returned home. On their way home, Frank asked his father why his grandfather wanted them to keep visiting Rupert and Elaine once a year. He enjoyed visiting them so much that he never bothered to ask his father why. His father smiled at him and said,

“Rupert was an old friend of your grandfather. Your grandfather promised him that he would always come and visit, even if it was just once a year. And I’d like to keep that promise. I’m hoping one day, you’ll keep that promise too.”

“Of course, I will. I will never get tired of visiting Rupert and Elaine,” Frank said. He asked his father how his grandfather became friends with Rupert, but his father said that it was a story for another time. Frank thought that he would ask Rupert the next time they came to visit.

He also promised himself that when they came back to visit Rupert and Elaine, he would be their storyteller.

© Storyberries/ Glenn Francis Faelnar 2021

Short bedtime story written by Glenn Francis F. Faelnar

LET’S CHAT ABOUT THE STORY ~ IDEAS FOR TALKING WITH KIDS

Family, Tradition

1. Why do you think Frank’s father hoped that Frank would continue to visit Rupert as he grew older?

2. What do you think this story says about family traditions?

The Knight and the Griffin | Fairy Tales | Bedtime Stories

Every year Frank visits his grandfather's friend Rupert, who tells him magical stories.

URL: https://www.storyberries.com/bedtime-stories-the-knight-and-the-griffin-short-stories-for-kids/

Author: Aaron Zerah

Editor's Rating:
5

The post The Knight and the Griffin first appeared on Bedtime Stories.

But one day, Luke noticed something that got him sort of worried. Whenever he looked through his books of animals or went to the zoo or learned about animals in school, there was one kind of animal no one ever mentioned. One animal that he’d never seen so much as a photograph of:

A unicorn!

Luke was worried. Why wasn’t the unicorn in any of these books? Why did his teacher never mention unicorns? Why, when he asked the zookeeper which way to the unicorns, did she just look at him all mean and walk away, muttering under her breath about “smart aleck kids?”

When he asked his dad about it, his dad said that it was because there weren’t any unicorns. That they were just made up. But that didn’t make any sense to Luke. With all the amazing animals in the world, why would someone make one up? It just seemed silly. Besides, if you were gonna make up an animal, why make up something as simple as “a horse with a horn?” Nope. It didn’t add up.

Now, in Luke’s whole, entire life (and that’s a whole six years) he had never asked his dad a question he couldn’t answer, because Luke had one of those smart-type dads. So if his dad didn’t know, he reasoned that probably nobody knew about unicorns. So, he decided it was up to him to solve this mystery.

Luke’s Grammy and Pop-Pop lived on a farm and Luke would visit them sometimes. He was particularly looking forward to it this time, because he had some investigating to do. As soon as he arrived, he began interrogating all the animals to find out what they knew about unicorns. None of them told him anything, which didn’t really surprise Luke, since they were animals. It was about this point that he began to feel he hadn’t thought this plan through very well.

But, c’mon. He’s only six!

“Why were you talking to those pigs earlier?” asked Luke’s Pop-Pop that evening.

“I wanted to find out if they knew anything about unicorns.”

“Unicorns, eh?” Luke told Pop-Pop all about his investigation. Pop-Pop was one of those neat old people who likes to play games and go on adventures, so he said, “I’ve got an idea how we can bust this case wide open!” So he took Luke into his home office and they went onto the internet and searched for “unicorn.”

According to the information Pop-Pop found on the web, unicorns were first written about in Greece before being mentioned throughout Europe and Asia. They appear in Arthurian legend and even in the Bible. Though the creature changes in appearance depending on the culture, his basic shape is always the same: A horse, or horse-like beast with at least one long, pointy horn on his forehead. Even the British Royal Family uses a unicorn on its family crest. But, fascinating though all this was, it didn’t tell Luke why he couldn’t find any unicorns!

By bedtime, Luke had learned a lot about the mythology of unicorns, but nothing to help him find a real one. He was very disappointed as Grammy tucked him in. He was beginning to think unicorns really were made up as he closed his eyes and fell asleep…

“Luke? Oh Luke? Are you awake?”

Luke opened his eyes and there, standing next to his bed, was a unicorn! With fur so white it seemed to glow. It had a long, shiny tail with a tuft at the end, like a lion’s, a little beard on its chin like a goat’s, eyes that twinkled and, of course, a shimmering golden horn in its forehead.

“I hear you’ve been looking for me,” said the unicorn.

“I thought you were pretend!” said Luke in an awestruck whisper.

“Oh, no, not at all. The truth, Luke, is that we unicorns prefer to be left alone. So, when the Ancient Greeks discovered us and started telling the world about us, we tried to leave and find another secret place to live. But everywhere we went, people had heard of unicorns and were hunting us. We ran through Europe, India, China, all across the world just trying to find someplace where we could be by ourselves.”

“But why do you want to be alone?”

“It’s just our way, Luke. Everyone is different and likes different things. Some animals, like humans, like to mix with lots of different animals. Some, like we unicorns, prefer a quiet, peaceful life of solitary reflection among our own people. Do you understand?”

“I think so.”

“Anyway, after all these centuries, we finally found a place where we can live safely and peacefully, without being disturbed by humans or another animal.”

“Where?”

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you. It’s been a secret all these years, and I can’t tell anyone for fear of it getting out.”

Luke begged and pleaded with the unicorn to tell and even made the biggest promise in the world, saying he’d never tell any man, woman, child or animal ever as long as he lived.

“Very well, then,” said the unicorn and he leaned in and whispered into Luke’s ear.

“Ohhh!” said Luke. In hindsight, it made perfect sense.

“But you must never try to find us, Luke. You must respect our wishes and leave us alone. You promise?”

“Cross my heart. Thank you for coming to see me, Mr. Unicorn. I feel better now that I know you guys are okay.”

“Thank you, Luke. For caring so much about us. Now you had better get back to sleep, and I had better get home. Good night, my friend.” And Luke closed his eyes and fell back to sleep.

Luke kept his promise, and never told anyone about the unicorns as long as he lived. And even though he now knew exactly where to find them, he never tried to go there and see for himself. He was the only human being in a hundred years to see a real-live unicorn, and that was enough for him. And even when he grew to be very, very old, he remembered his promise to the unicorns.

Which is why they are safe to this day in their secret hiding place in—ah! Sorry. No telling!

© Templeton Moss 2020

Bedtime story written by Templeton Moss

Illustration by Templeton Moss

LET’S CHAT ABOUT THE POEM ~ IDEAS FOR TALKING WITH KIDS

Creativity

1. Where do you think unicorns hide? Why would this be the best hiding place for them?

The post The Missing Unicorn first appeared on Bedtime Stories.

This is a vintage fairy tale, and contains violence. We would encourage parents to read beforehand  if your child is sensitive to such themes.

Long, long ago, when all the animals could talk, there lived in the province of Inaba in Japan a little white hare. His home was on the island of Oki, and just across the sea was the mainland of Inaba.

Now the hare wanted very much to cross over to Inaba. Day after day he would go out and sit on the shore and look longingly over the water in the direction of Inaba, and day after day he hoped to find some way of getting across.

One day as usual, the hare was standing on the beach, looking towards the mainland across the water, when he saw a great crocodile swimming near the island.

“This is very lucky!” thought the hare. “Now I shall be able to get my wish. I will ask the crocodile to carry me across the sea!”

But he was doubtful whether the crocodile would consent to do what wanted. So he thought instead of asking a favor he would try to get what he wanted by a trick.

So with a loud voice he called to the crocodile, and said:

“Oh, Mr. Crocodile, isn’t it a lovely day?”

The crocodile, who had come out all by itself that day to enjoy the bright sunshine, was just beginning to feel a bit lonely when the hare’s cheerful greeting broke the silence. The crocodile swam nearer the shore, very pleased to hear some one speak.

“I wonder who it was that spoke to me just now! Was it you, Mr. Hare? You must be very lonely all by yourself!”

“Oh, no, I am not at all lonely,” said the hare, “but as it was such a fine day I came out here to enjoy myself. Won’t you stop and play with me a little while?”

The crocodile came out of the sea and sat on the shore, and the two played together for some time. Then the hare said:

“Mr. Crocodile, you live in the sea and I live on this island, and we do not often meet, so I know very little about you. Tell me, do you think the number of your company is greater than mine?”

“Of course, there are more crocodiles than hares,” answered the crocodile. “Can you not see that for yourself? You live on this small island, while I live in the sea, which spreads through all parts of the world, so if I call together all the crocodiles who dwell in the sea you hares will be as nothing compared to us!” The crocodile was very conceited.

The hare, who meant to play a trick on the crocodile, said:

“Do you think it possible for you to call up enough crocodiles to form a line from this island across the sea to Inaba?”

The crocodile thought for a moment and then answered:

“Of course, it is possible.”

“Then do try,” said the artful hare, “and I will count the number from here!”

The crocodile, who was very simple-minded, and who hadn’t the least idea that the hare intended to play a trick on him, agreed to do what the hare asked, and said:

“Wait a little while I go back into the sea and call my company together!”

The crocodile plunged into the sea and was gone for some time. The hare, meanwhile, waited patiently on the shore. At last the crocodile appeared, bringing with him a large number of other crocodiles.

“Look, Mr. Hare!” said the crocodile, “it is nothing for my friends to form a line between here and Inaba. There are enough crocodiles to stretch from here even as far as China or India. Did you ever see so many crocodiles?”

Then the whole company of crocodiles arranged themselves in the water so as to form a bridge between the Island of Oki and the mainland of Inaba. When the hare saw the bridge of crocodiles, he said:

“How splendid! I did not believe this was possible. Now let me count you all! To do this, however, with your permission, I must walk over on your backs to the other side, so please be so good as not to move, or else I shall fall into the sea and be drowned!”

So the hare hopped off the island on to the strange bridge of crocodiles, counting as he jumped from one crocodile’s back to the other:

“Please keep quite still, or I shall not be able to count. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine—”

Thus the cunning hare walked right across to the mainland of Inaba. Not content with getting his wish, he began to jeer at the crocodiles instead of thanking them, and said, as he leapt off the last one’s back:

“Oh! you stupid crocodiles, now I have done with you!”

And he was just about to run away as fast as he could. But he did not escape so easily, for so soon as the crocodiles understood that this was a trick played upon them by the hare so as to enable him to cross the sea, and that the hare was now laughing at them for their stupidity, they became furiously angry and made up their minds to take revenge. So some of them ran after the hare and caught him. Then they all surrounded the poor little animal and pulled out all his fur. He cried out loudly and entreated them to spare him, but with each tuft of fur they pulled out they said:

“Serve you right!”

When the crocodiles had pulled out the last bit of fur, they threw the poor hare on the beach, and all swam away laughing at what they had done.

The hare was now in a pitiful plight, all his beautiful white fur had been pulled out, and his bare little body was quivering with pain and bleeding all over. He could hardly move, and all he could do was to lie on the beach quite helpless and weep over the misfortune that had befallen him. Notwithstanding that it was his own fault that had brought all this misery and suffering upon the white hare of Inaba, any one seeing the poor little creature could not help feeling sorry for him in his sad condition, for the crocodiles had been very cruel in their revenge.

Just at this time a number of men, who looked like King’s sons, happened to pass by, and seeing the hare lying on the beach crying, stopped and asked what was the matter.

The hare lifted up his head from between his paws, and answered them, saying:

“I had a fight with some crocodiles, but I was beaten, and they pulled out all my fur and left me to suffer here—that is why I am crying.”

Now one of these young men had a bad and spiteful disposition. But he feigned kindness, and said to the hare:

“I feel very sorry for you. If you will only try it, I know of a remedy which will cure your sore body. Go and bathe yourself in the sea, and then come and sit in the wind. This will make your fur grow again, and you will be just as you were before.”

Then all the young men passed on. The hare was very pleased, thinking that he had found a cure. He went and bathed in the sea and then came out and sat where the wind could blow upon him.

But as the wind blew and dried him, his skin became drawn and hardened, and the salt increased the pain so much that he rolled on the sand in his agony and cried aloud.

Just then another King’s son passed by, carrying a great bag on his back. He saw the hare, and stopped and asked why he was crying so loudly.

But the poor hare, remembering that he had been deceived by one very like the man who now spoke to him, did not answer, but continued to cry.

But this man had a kind heart, and looked at the hare very pityingly, and said:

“You poor thing! I see that your fur is all pulled out and that your skin is quite bare. Who can have treated you so cruelly?”

When the hare heard these kind words he felt very grateful to the man, and encouraged by his gentle manner the hare told him all that had befallen him. The little animal hid nothing from his friend, but told him frankly how he had played a trick on the crocodiles and how he had come across the bridge they had made, thinking that he wished to count their number: how he had jeered at them for their stupidity, and then how the crocodiles had revenged themselves on him. Then he went on to say how he had been deceived by a party of men who looked very like his kind friend: and the hare ended his long tale of woe by begging the man to give him some medicine that would cure him and make his fur grow again.

When the hare had finished his story, the man was full of pity towards him, and said:

“I am very sorry for all you have suffered, but remember, it was only the consequence of the deceit you practiced on the crocodiles.”

“I know,” answered the sorrowful hare, “but I have repented and made up my mind never to use deceit again, so I beg you to show me how I may cure my sore body and make the fur grow again.”

“Then I will tell you of a good remedy,” said the man. “First go and bathe well in that pond over there and try to wash all the salt from your body. Then pick some of those kaba flowers that are growing near the edge of the water, spread them on the ground and roll yourself on them. If you do this the pollen will cause your fur to grow again, and you will be quite well in a little while.”

The hare was very glad to be told what to do, so kindly. He crawled to the pond pointed out to him, bathed well in it, and then picked the kaba flowers growing near the water, and rolled himself on them.

To his amazement, even while he was doing this, he saw his nice white fur growing again, the pain ceased, and he felt just as he had done before all his misfortunes.

The hare was overjoyed at his quick recovery, and went hopping joyfully towards the young man who had so helped him, and kneeling down at his feet, said:

“I cannot express my thanks for all you have done for me! It is my earnest wish to do something for you in return. Please tell me who you are?”

“I am no King’s son as you think me. I am a fairy, and my name is Okuni-nushi-no-Mikoto,” answered the man, “and those beings who passed here before me are my brothers. They have heard of a beautiful Princess called Yakami who lives in this province of Inaba, and they are on their way to find her and to ask her to marry one of them. But on this expedition I am only an attendant, so I am walking behind them with this great big bag on my back.”

The hare humbled himself before this great fairy Okuni-nushi-no-Mikoto, whom many in that part of the land worshiped as a god.

“Oh, I did not know that you were Okuni-nushi-no-Mikoto. How kind you have been to me! It is impossible to believe that that unkind fellow who sent me to bathe in the sea is one of your brothers. I am quite sure that the Princess, whom your brothers have gone to seek, will refuse to be the bride of any of them, and will prefer you for your goodness of heart. I am quite sure that you will win her heart without intending to do so, and she will ask to be your bride.”

Okuni-nushi-no-Mikoto took no notice of what the hare said, but bidding the little animal goodby, went on his way quickly and soon overtook his brothers. He found them just entering the Princess’s gate.

Just as the hare had said, the Princess could not be persuaded to become the bride of any of the brothers, but when she looked at the kind brother’s face she went straight up to him and said:

“To you I give myself,” and so they were married.

This is the end of the story. Okuni-nushi-no-Mikoto is worshiped by the people in some parts of Japan, as a god, and the hare has become famous as “The White Hare of Inaba.” But what became of the crocodiles nobody knows.

Japanese Fairy Tales compiled by Yei Theodora Ozaki

LET’S CHAT ABOUT THE STORIES ~ IDEAS FOR TALKING WITH KIDS

Honesty

1. In this tale, the white hare deceives the crocodiles, who punish him. He then tells the kind passing prince the truth about what he did, even though it is difficult to admit. Why do you think the white hare decided that telling the truth was better than lying?

2. Do you think it is better to always be honest, even if it is difficult? Why or why not?

The post The White Hare and the Crocodiles first appeared on Bedtime Stories.

This is a vintage fairy tale, and contains violence. We would encourage parents to read beforehand  if your child is sensitive to such themes.

Long, long ago in Kyoto, the people of the city were terrified by accounts of a dreadful ogre, who, it was said, haunted the Gate of Rashomon at twilight and seized whoever passed by. The missing victims were never seen again, so it was whispered that the ogre was a horrible cannibal, who not only killed the unhappy victims but ate them also. Now everybody in the town and neighborhood was in great fear, and no one durst venture out after sunset near the Gate of Rashomon.

Now at this time there lived in Kyoto a general named Raiko, who had made himself famous for his brave deeds. Some time before this he made the country ring with his name, for he had attacked Oeyama, where a band of ogres lived with their chief, who instead of wine drank the blood of human beings. He had routed them all and cut off the head of the chief monster.

This brave warrior was always followed by a band of faithful knights. In this band there were five knights of great valor. One evening as the five knights sat at a feast quaffing sake in their rice bowls and eating all kinds of fish, raw, and stewed, and broiled, and toasting each other’s healths and exploits, the first knight, Hojo, said to the others:

“Have you all heard the rumor that every evening after sunset there comes an ogre to the Gate of Rashomon, and that he seizes all who pass by?”

The second knight, Watanabe, answered him, saying:

“Do not talk such nonsense! All the ogres were killed by our chief Raiko at Oeyama! It cannot be true, because even if any ogres did escape from that great killing they would not dare to show themselves in this city, for they know that our brave master would at once attack them if he knew that any of them were still alive!”

“Then do you disbelieve what I say, and think that I am telling you a falsehood?”

“No, I do not think that you are telling a lie,” said Watanabe. “But you have heard some old woman’s story which is not worth believing.”

“Then the best plan is to prove what I say, by going there yourself and finding out yourself whether it is true or not,” said Hojo.

Watanabe, the second knight, could not bear the thought that his companion should believe he was afraid, so he answered quickly:

“Of course, I will go at once and find out for myself!”

So Watanabe at once got ready to go—he buckled on his long sword and put on a coat of armor, and tied on his large helmet. When he was ready to start he said to the others:

“Give me something so that I can prove I have been there!”

Then one of the men got a roll of writing paper and his box of Indian ink and brushes, and the four comrades wrote their names on a piece of paper.

“I will take this,” said Watanabe, “and put it on the Gate of Rashomon, so to-morrow morning will you all go and look at it? I may be able to catch an ogre or two by then!” and he mounted his horse and rode off gallantly.

It was a very dark night, and there was neither moon nor star to light Watanabe on his way. To make the darkness worse a storm came on, the rain fell heavily and the wind howled like wolves in the mountains. Any ordinary man would have trembled at the thought of going out of doors, but Watanabe was a brave warrior and dauntless, and his honor and word were at stake, so he sped on into the night, while his companions listened to the sound of his horse’s hoofs dying away in the distance, then shut the sliding shutters close and gathered round the charcoal fire and wondered what would happen—and whether their comrade would encounter one of those horrible Oni.

At last Watanabe reached the Gate of Rashomon, but peer as he might through the darkness he could see no sign of an ogre.

“It is just as I thought,” said Watanabe to himself. “There are certainly no ogres here; it is only an old woman’s story. I will stick this paper on the gate so that the others can see I have been here when they come to-morrow, and then I will take my way home and laugh at them all.”

He fastened the piece of paper, signed by all his four companions, on the gate, and then turned his horse’s head towards home.

As he did so he became aware that some one was behind him, and at the same time a voice called out to him to wait. Then his helmet was seized from the back. “Who are you?” said Watanabe fearlessly. He then put out his hand and groped around to find out who or what it was that held him by the helmet. As he did so he touched something that felt like an arm—it was covered with hair and as big round as the trunk of a tree!

Watanabe knew at once that this was the arm of an ogre, so he drew his sword and cut at it fiercely.

There was a loud yell of pain, and then the ogre dashed in front of the warrior.

Watanabe’s eyes grew large with wonder, for he saw that the ogre was taller than the great gate, his eyes were flashing like mirrors in the sunlight, and his huge mouth was wide open, and as the monster breathed, flames of fire shot out of his mouth.

The ogre thought to terrify his foe, but Watanabe never flinched. He attacked the ogre with all his strength, and thus they fought face to face for a long time. At last the ogre, finding that he could neither frighten nor beat Watanabe and that he might himself be beaten, took to flight. But Watanabe, determined not to let the monster escape, put spurs to his horse and gave chase.

But though the knight rode very fast the ogre ran faster, and to his disappointment he found himself unable to overtake the monster, who was gradually lost to sight.

Watanabe returned to the gate where the fierce fight had taken place, and got down from his horse. As he did so he stumbled upon something lying on the ground.

Stooping to pick it up he found that it was one of the ogre’s huge arms which he must have slashed off in the fight. His joy was great at having secured such a prize, for this was the best of all proofs of his adventure with the ogre. So he took it up carefully and carried it home as a trophy of his victory.

When he got back, he showed the arm to his comrades, who one and all called him the hero of their band and gave him a great feast. His wonderful deed was soon noised abroad in Kyoto, and people from far and near came to see the ogre’s arm.

Watanabe now began to grow uneasy as to how he should keep the arm in safety, for he knew that the ogre to whom it belonged was still alive. He felt sure that one day or other, as soon as the ogre got over his scare, he would come to try to get his arm back again. Watanabe therefore had a box made of the strongest wood and banded with iron. In this he placed the arm, and then he sealed down the heavy lid, refusing to open it for anyone. He kept the box in his own room and took charge of it himself, never allowing it out of his sight.

Now one night he heard some one knocking at the porch, asking for admittance.

When the servant went to the door to see who it was, there was only an old woman, very respectable in appearance. On being asked who she was and what was her business, the old woman replied with a smile that she had been nurse to the master of the house when he was a little baby. If the lord of the house were at home she begged to be allowed to see him.

The servant left the old woman at the door and went to tell his master that his old nurse had come to see him. Watanabe thought it strange that she should come at that time of night, but at the thought of his old nurse, who had been like a foster-mother to him and whom he had not seen for a long time, a very tender feeling sprang up for her in his heart. He ordered the servant to show her in.

The old woman was ushered into the room, and after the customary bows and greetings were over, she said:

“Master, the report of your brave fight with the ogre at the Gate of Rashomon is so widely known that even your poor old nurse has heard of it. Is it really true, what every one says, that you cut off one of the ogre’s arms? If you did, your deed is highly to be praised!”

“I was very disappointed,” said Watanabe, “that I was not able take the monster captive, which was what I wished to do, instead of only cutting off an arm!”

“I am very proud to think,” answered the old woman, “that my master was so brave as to dare to cut off an ogre’s arm. There is nothing that can be compared to your courage. Before I die it is the great wish of my life to see this arm,” she added pleadingly.

“No,” said Watanabe, “I am sorry, but I cannot grant your request.”

“But why?” asked the old woman.

“Because,” replied Watanabe, “ogres are very revengeful creatures, and if I open the box there is no telling but that the ogre may suddenly appear and carry off his arm. I have had a box made on purpose with a very strong lid, and in this box I keep the ogre’s arm secure; and I never show it to any one, whatever happens.”

“Your precaution is very reasonable,” said the old woman. “But I am your old nurse, so surely you will not refuse to show ME the arm. I have only just heard of your brave act, and not being able to wait till the morning I came at once to ask you to show it to me.”

Watanabe was very troubled at the old woman’s pleading, but he still persisted in refusing. Then the old woman said:

“Do you suspect me of being a spy sent by the ogre?”

“No, of course I do not suspect you of being the ogre’s spy, for you are my old nurse,” answered Watanabe.

“Then you cannot surely refuse to show me the arm any longer,” entreated the old woman. “For it is the great wish of my heart to see for once in my life the arm of an ogre!”

Watanabe could not hold out in his refusal any longer, so he gave in at last, saying:

“Then I will show you the ogre’s arm, since you so earnestly wish to see it. Come, follow me!” and he led the way to his own room, the old woman following.

When they were both in the room Watanabe shut the door carefully, and then going towards a big box which stood in a corner of the room, he took off the heavy lid. He then called to the old woman to come near and look in, for he never took the arm out of the box.

“What is it like? Let me have a good look at it,” said the old nurse, with a joyful face.

She came nearer and nearer, as if she were afraid, till she stood right against the box. Suddenly she plunged her hand into the box and seized the arm, crying with a fearful voice which made the room shake:

“Oh, joy! I have got my arm back again!”

And from an old woman she was suddenly transformed into the towering figure of the frightful ogre!

Watanabe sprang back and was unable to move for a moment, so great was his astonishment; but recognizing the ogre who had attacked him at the Gate of Rashomon, he determined with his usual courage to put an end to him this time. He seized his sword, drew it out of its sheath in a flash, and tried to cut the ogre down.

So quick was Watanabe that the creature had a narrow escape. But the ogre sprang up to the ceiling, and bursting through the roof, disappeared in the mist and clouds.

In this way the ogre escaped with his arm. The knight gnashed his teeth with disappointment, but that was all he could do. He waited in patience for another opportunity to dispatch the ogre. But the latter was afraid of Watanabe’s great strength and daring, and never troubled Kyoto again. So once more the people of the city were able to go out without fear even at night time, and the brave deeds of Watanabe have never been forgotten!

JAPANESE FAIRY TALES COMPILED BY YEI THEODORA OZAKI

LET’S CHAT ABOUT THE STORIES ~ IDEAS FOR TALKING WITH KIDS

Courage

1. Why do you think the people of the city believed that Watanabe was courageous? Do you agree? Why or why not?

The post The Ogre of Rashomon first appeared on Bedtime Stories.

Long, long ago there lived an old man and his wife who supported themselves by cultivating a small plot of land. Their life had been a very happy and peaceful one save for one great sorrow, and this was they had no child.

Their only pet was a dog named Shiro, and on him they lavished all the affection of their old age. Indeed, they loved him so much that whenever they had anything nice to eat they denied themselves to give it to Shiro.

Now Shiro means “white,” and he was so called because of his color. He was a real Japanese dog, and very like a small wolf in appearance. The happiest hour of the day both for the old man and his dog was when the man returned from his work in the field, and having finished his frugal supper of rice and vegetables, would take what he had saved from the meal out to the little veranda that ran round the cottage.

Sure enough, Shiro was waiting for his master and the evening tit-bit. Then the old man said “Chin, chin!” and Shiro sat up and begged, and his master gave him the food.

Next door to this good old couple there lived another old man and his wife who were both wicked and cruel, and who hated their good neighbors and the dog Shiro with all their might. Whenever Shiro happened to look into their kitchen they at once kicked him or threw something at him, sometimes even wounding him.

One day Shiro was heard barking for a long time in the field at the back of his master’s house. The old man, thinking that perhaps some birds were attacking the corn, hurried out to see what was the matter. As soon as Shiro saw his master he ran to meet him, wagging his tail, and, seizing the end of his kimono, dragged him under a large yenoki tree. Here he began to dig very industriously with his paws, yelping with joy all the time. The old man, unable to understand what it all meant, stood looking on in bewilderment. But Shiro went on barking and digging with all his might.

The thought that something might be hidden beneath the tree, and that the dog had scented it, at last struck the old man. He ran back to the house, fetched his spade and began to dig the ground at that spot. What was his astonishment when, after digging for some time, he came upon a heap of old and valuable coins, and the deeper he dug the more gold coins did he find. So intent was the old man on his work that he never saw the cross face of his neighbor peering at him through the bamboo hedge.

At last all the gold coins lay shining on the ground. Shiro sat by erect with pride and looking fondly at his master as if to say, “You see, though only a dog, I can make some return for all the kindness you show me.”

The old man ran in to call his wife, and together they carried home the treasure. Thus in one day the poor old man became rich. His gratitude to the faithful dog knew no bounds, and he loved and petted him more than ever, if that were possible.

The cross old neighbor, attracted by Shiro’s barking, had been an unseen and envious witness of the finding of the treasure. He began to think that he, too, would like to find a fortune. So a few days later he called at the old man’s house and very ceremoniously asked permission to borrow Shiro for a short time.

Shiro’s master thought this a strange request, because he knew quite well that not only did his neighbor not love his pet dog, but that he never lost an opportunity of striking and tormenting him whenever the dog crossed his path. But the good old man was too kind-hearted to refuse his neighbor, so he consented to lend the dog on condition that he should be taken great care of.

The wicked old man returned to his home with an evil smile on his face, and told his wife how he had succeeded in his crafty intentions. He then took his spade and hastened to his own field, forcing the unwilling Shiro to follow him. As soon as he reached a yenoki tree, he said to the dog, threateningly:

“If there were gold coins under your master’s tree, there must also be gold coins under my tree. You must find them for me! Where are they? Where? Where?”

And catching hold of Shiro’s neck he held the dog’s head to the ground, so that Shiro began to scratch and dig in order to free himself from the horrid old man’s grasp.

The old man was very pleased when he saw the dog begin to scratch and dig, for he at once supposed that some gold coins lay buried under his tree as well as under his neighbor’s, and that the dog had scented them as before; so pushing Shiro away he began to dig himself, but there was nothing to be found. As he went on digging a foul smell was noticeable, and he at last came upon a refuse heap.

The old man’s disgust can be imagined. This soon gave way to anger. He had seen his neighbor’s good fortune, and hoping for the same luck himself, he had borrowed the dog Shiro; and now, just as he seemed on the point of finding what he sought, only a horrid smelling refuse heap had rewarded him for a morning’s digging. Instead of blaming his own greed for his disappointment, he blamed the poor dog. He seized his spade, and with all his strength struck Shiro and killed him on the spot. He then threw the dog’s body into the hole which he had dug in the hope of finding a treasure of gold coins, and covered it over with the earth. Then he returned to the house, telling no one, not even his wife, what he had done.

After waiting several days, as the dog Shiro did not return, his master began to grow anxious. Day after day went by and the good old man waited in vain. Then he went to his neighbor and asked him to give him back his dog. Without any shame or hesitation, the wicked neighbor answered that he had killed Shiro because of his bad behavior. At this dreadful news Shiro’s master wept many sad and bitter tears. Great indeed, was his woful surprise, but he was too good and gentle to reproach his bad neighbor. Learning that Shiro was buried under the yenoki tree in the field, he asked the old man to give him the tree, in remembrance of his poor dog Shiro.

Even the cross old neighbor could not refuse such a simple request, so he consented to give the old man the tree under which Shiro lay buried. Shiro’s master then cut the tree down and carried it home. Out of the trunk he made a mortar. In this his wife put some rice, and he began to pound it with the intention of making a festival to the memory of his dog Shiro.

A strange thing happened! His wife put the rice into the mortar, and no sooner had he begun to pound it to make the cakes, than it began to increase in quantity gradually till it was about five times the original amount, and the cakes were turned out of the mortar as if an invisible hand were at work.

When the old man and his wife saw this, they understood that it was a reward to them from Shiro for their faithful love to him. They tasted the cakes and found them nicer than any other food. So from this time they never troubled about food, for they lived upon the cakes with which the mortar never ceased to supply them.

The greedy neighbor, hearing of this new piece of good luck, was filled with envy as before, and called on the old man and asked leave to borrow the wonderful mortar for a short time, pretending that he, too, sorrowed for the death of Shiro, and wished to make cakes for a festival to the dog’s memory.

The old man did not in the least wish to lend it to his cruel neighbor, but he was too kind to refuse. So the envious man carried home the mortar, but he never brought it back.

Several days passed, and Shiro’s master waited in vain for the mortar, so he went to call on the borrower, and asked him to be good enough to return the mortar if he had finished with it. He found him sitting by a big fire made of pieces of wood. On the ground lay what looked very much like pieces of a broken mortar. In answer to the old man’s inquiry, the wicked neighbor answered haughtily:

“Have you come to ask me for your mortar? I broke it to pieces, and now I am making a fire of the wood, for when I tried to pound cakes in it only some horrid smelling stuff came out.”

The good old man said:

“I am very sorry for that. It is a great pity you did not ask me for the cakes if you wanted them. I would have given you as many as ever you wanted. Now please give me the ashes of the mortar, as I wish to keep them in remembrance of my dog.”

The neighbor consented at once, and the old man carried home a basket full of ashes.

Not long after this the old man accidentally scattered some of the ashes made by the burning of the mortar on the trees of his garden. A wonderful thing happened!

It was late in autumn and all the trees had shed their leaves, but no sooner did the ashes touch their branches than the cherry trees, the plum trees, and all other blossoming shrubs burst into bloom, so that the old man’s garden was suddenly transformed into a beautiful picture of spring. The old man’s delight knew no bounds, and he carefully preserved the remaining ashes. The story of the old man’s garden spread far and wide, and people from far and near came to see the wonderful sight.

One day, soon after this, the old man heard some one knocking at his door, and going to the porch to see who it was he was surprised to see a Knight standing there. This Knight told him that he was a retainer of a great Daimio; that one of the favorite cherry trees in this nobleman’s garden had withered, and that though every one in his service had tried all manner of means to revive it, none took effect. The Knight was sore perplexed when he saw what great displeasure the loss of his favorite cherry tree caused the Daimio. At this point, fortunately, they had heard that there was a wonderful old man who could make withered trees to blossom, and that his Lord had sent him to ask the old man to come to him.

“And,” added the Knight, “I shall be very much obliged if you will come at once.”

The good old man was greatly surprised at what he heard, but respectfully followed the Knight to the nobleman’s Palace.

The Daimio, who had been impatiently awaiting the old man’s coming, as soon as he saw him asked him at once:

“Are you the old man who can make withered trees flower even out of season?”

The old man made an obeisance, and replied:

“I am that old man!”

Then the Daimio said:

“You must make that dead cherry tree in my garden blossom again by means of your famous ashes. I shall look on.”

Then they all went into the garden—the Daimio and his retainers and the ladies-in waiting, who carried the Daimio’s sword.

The old man now tucked up his kimono and made ready to climb the tree. Saying “Excuse me,” he took the pot of ashes which he had brought with him, and began to climb the tree, every one watching his movements with great interest.

At last he climbed to the spot where the tree divided into two great branches, and taking up his position here, the old man sat down and scattered the ashes right and left all over the branches and twigs.

Wonderful, indeed, was the result! The withered tree at once burst into full bloom! The Daimio was so transported with joy that he looked as if he would go mad. He rose to his feet and spread out his fan, calling the old man down from the tree. He himself gave the old man a wine cup filled with the best sake, and rewarded him with much silver and gold and many other precious things. The Daimio ordered that henceforth the old man should call himself by the name of Hana-Saka-Jijii, or “The Old Man who makes the Trees to Blossom,” and that henceforth all were to recognize him by this name, and he sent him home with great honor.

The wicked neighbor, as before, heard of the good old man’s fortune, and of all that had so auspiciously befallen him, and he could not suppress all the envy and jealousy that filled his heart. He called to mind how he had failed in his attempt to find the gold coins, and then in making the magic cakes; this time surely he must succeed if he imitated the old man, who made withered trees to flower simply by sprinkling ashes on them. This would be the simplest task of all.

So he set to work and gathered together all the ashes which remained in the fire-place from the burning of the wonderful mortar. Then he set out in the hope of finding some great man to employ him, calling out loudly as he went along:

“Here comes the wonderful man who can make withered trees blossom! Here comes the old man who can make dead trees blossom!”

The Daimio in his Palace heard this cry, and said:

“That must be the Hana-Saka-Jijii passing. I have nothing to do to-day. Let him try his art again; it will amuse me to look on.”

So the retainers went out and brought in the impostor before their Lord. The satisfaction of false old man can now be imagined.

But the Daimio looking at him, thought it strange that he was not at all like the old man he had seen before, so he asked him:

“Are you the man whom I named Hana-Saka-Jijii?”

And the envious neighbor answered with a lie:

“Yes, my Lord!”

“That is strange!” said the Daimio. “I thought there was only one Hana-Saka-Jijii in the world! Has he now some disciples?”

“I am the true Hana-Saka-Jijii. The one who came to you before was only my disciple!” replied the old man again.

“Then you must be more skillful than the other. Try what you can do and let me see!”

The envious neighbor, with the Daimio and his Court following, then went into the garden, and approaching a dead tree, took out a handful of the ashes which he carried with him, and scattered them over the tree.

But not only did the tree not burst into flower, but not even a bud came forth. Thinking that he had not used enough ashes, the old man took handfuls and again sprinkled them over the withered tree. But all to no effect. After trying several times, the ashes were blown into the Daimio’s eyes. This made him very angry, and he ordered his retainers to arrest the false Hana-Saka-Jijii at once and put him in prison for an impostor. From this imprisonment the wicked old man was never freed. Thus did he meet with punishment at last for all his evil doings.

The good old man, however, with the treasure of gold coins which Shiro had found for him, and with all the gold and the silver which the Daimio had showered on him, became a rich and prosperous man in his old age, and lived a long and happy life, beloved and respected by all.

Japanese Fairy Tales compiled by Yei Theodora Ozaki

LET’S CHAT ABOUT THE STORIES ~ IDEAS FOR TALKING WITH KIDS

Kindness

1. The old man in this story was very kind, and gave his dog and his precious mortar to his neighbour, even though he suspected he would not look after them. What do you think about this kind of kindness? Do you think people must always be kind, even if they risk having our kindness abused? Why or why not?

2. The old man becomes rich and lives a happy life when luck comes to him. Do you think luck comes to those who are kind? How might this happen?

The post The Story of the Old Man Who Made Withered Trees to Flower first appeared on Bedtime Stories.

One Hallowe’en a band of merry pixies were dancing round and round a bright green ring in the meadow. In the center stood the Little Fiddler, playing his gayest music, and keeping time with his head and one tiny foot. The faster he played, the merrier the little creatures danced. What sport it was to twirl and twist in time with the fairy music, which the jolly little elf brought out from his tiny instrument. No wonder the pixies laughed until their sides ached. And so, indeed, did their little musician. Sometimes he was obliged to stop playing for a few seconds in order to catch his breath.

Now there was one pixie named Twinkling Feet who was the best dancer in the ring, and he could cut such queer little capers that his companions fairly shrieked with laughter when they looked at him. Suddenly he thought what sport it would be to play a trick on all the little dancers. Very slyly he tripped his partner, and the two fell down in the grass, dragging with them one pixie after another until all in the circle were sprawling on the ground. There they lay for several seconds, a wriggling mass of green coats and red caps. It was some time before they could pick themselves up. Many of them laughed heartily at the mishap, but a few were so badly bruised that they were obliged to slip away and bathe their shins in the evening dew.

“Who tripped first in the ring?”

“Who made us fall on our stumjackets?”

“Who spoiled our Hallowe’en dance?” asked one little pixie after another.

“Twinkling Feet and I fell first,” said the best dancer’s partner. “I don’t know what made us tangle our feet, do you?” he asked, laughing and turning to his companion.

But Twinkling Feet’s little brown face was so drawn and sober that his partner asked quickly, “Why, what is the matter with you?”

“I don’t know,” said the little elf.

“Why, do look at him,” cried another pixie.

“Does anything hurt you?” asked several little creatures together.

“I feel very queer,” said Twinkling Feet.

“Have you what mortals call ‘pain?’” asked his partner.

“I don’t know what that is, but I feel very, very queer. Please ask the Little Fiddler if he knows what is the matter with me.”

The group of pixies that had gathered around Twinkling Feet moved away in order to let the elfin musician come close to the queer-looking pixie. The little Fiddler gazed steadily at him, shook his white head, and said slowly, “A frightful thing has happened. Twinkling Feet has lost his laugh!”

“Lost his laugh!” shrieked all the other little elves.

“He has lost his laugh!” repeated the Fiddler Pixie.

“Lost my laugh,” moaned Twinkling Feet. “Oh, please tell me what to do.”

“There is nothing to do but go and search for it. You can not dance in a pixie ring without your laugh, and mark what I say, you must find it before midnight.”

“But what if I can’t find it?” cried the frightened elf.

“Then you’ll be a pixie without a laugh—that is all,” declared the Little Fiddler.

At these awful words every pixie’s face grew sober. They looked at each other very solemnly and said, “A pixie without a laugh! How terrible!”

Then one after another they cried out. “Search for it, Twinkling Feet. Perhaps you’ll find it before midnight. Start now. Think how sad it will be if you are never able to dance in the ring again.”

“Where shall I go, Fiddler Pixie?” asked Twinkling Feet.

“Well, you might ask Jack-o’-Lantern,” said the musician. “He’s been flitting about in the meadow all the evening. See, there he goes over by the brook.”

Away ran the little pixie as fast as his legs could carry him. It was no easy matter to come close enough to Jack-o’-Lantern to make him hear. Twinkling Feet was almost ready to give up the chase when the little man stopped, poked his head out of his lantern, and called, “Do you wish to speak to me?”

“Don’t you know me?” cried the pixie. “I’m Twinkling Feet.”

“Why, what has happened to you?” asked Jack. “You’re the queerest looking chap I ever saw.”

“I’ve lost my laugh. Please tell me, Jack-o’-Lantern, have you seen it?”

“Lost your laugh!” repeated the lantern man, looking very serious. “No wonder I didn’t know you. I’m very sorry to say I’ve seen nothing of your laugh.”

“Do you know anyone who could help me, Jack?” asked Twinkling Feet. “Oh do help me find it.”

“Well, let me see. You might ask Jolly Little Witch. Her eyes are very sharp. She’s in the ragweed meadow, looking for a good riding stalk. As soon as she finds one I’m going to light her to the village where she will make plenty of merriment at the children’s party. It’s Hallowe’en, you know. Come, jump into my lantern, and I’ll take you to her.”

Twinkling Feet hopped into the little lantern, and away they went to the ragweed field. When they drew near the Jolly Little Witch called out, “I’ve found a good ragweed stalk, Jack, but I’ve lost my goggles. Come, perhaps you can help me find them. I can’t go to the village without my goggles. Why, who is that in the lantern with you?”

“A pixie who wants to ask you something,” said Jack-o’-Lantern, opening the door to let Twinkling Feet out. Then the lantern man hurried away to search for the witch’s goggles.

“Please, Jolly Little Witch, I’ve lost my laugh,” said Twinkling Feet.

“Lost your laugh! and on Hallowe’en! Well, no wonder I didn’t know you. You’re the queerest looking pixie I ever saw. Tell me how you happened to lose your laugh?”

But Twinkling Feet did not answer her question. He said meekly, “Have you seen it?”

“No, my little fellow. I’m sorry to say I’ve not seen your laugh,” said the Jolly Little Witch.

“A pixie can’t dance without his laugh,” sighed Twinkling Feet.

“No, of course he can’t. Dear, dear! How sorry I am for you,” said the little witch, shaking her head.

“And if a pixie loses anything on Hallowe’en, he must find it before midnight or give it up forever.”

“I could have helped you on any other night, but you see I always spend Hallowe’en in the village with the children. I shall be late to-night if I don’t find those goggles.” And again she began to search for them.

The pixie looked at her for a moment. Then he asked, “Do the children laugh a good deal on Hallowe’en?”

“Why, my little man, it’s the time in all the year when they laugh most. To-night there is to be a witch’s party. I shall secretly join the children, and play all sorts of tricks for their amusement. What a nuisance it is that I’ve lost those goggles.”

“I’ll help you search for them, Jolly Little Witch,” said the pixie. “I suppose I must give up my laugh, for I don’t know anyone else to ask about it. Please tell me what your goggles look like.”

“They are two round glass windows, which I wear over my eyes when I ride through the air,” said the little Witch.

Away started the pixie to search for them. He looked carefully around every ragweed stalk in the meadow, but he could see nothing which looked like “two round glass windows.”

“Perhaps one cannot find anything which has been lost on Hallowe’en,” he said to himself.

Slowly he walked back to the place where he had left the Jolly Little Witch. When he reached her he stared sharply at something on top of her head.

“Please tell me more about your goggles,” said Twinkling Feet. “Are they like the two glass windows across the front of your hat?”

“Across the front of my hat!” exclaimed the witch, putting her hands up to find out what the little elf meant. Then she burst out laughing, and said, “Well, well! What strange things do happen on Hallowe’en! Come, Jack-o’-Lantern! Come! The pixie has found my goggles. They were on top of my head all the time!”

And turning to Twinkling Feet she said, “You shall go with us to the village, and see the merriment if you like. I’m sure Jack will carry you in his lantern.”

“Of course I will,” said the lantern man. “And while you are playing tricks at the children’s party, I’ll carry him anywhere he wishes to go. It is a long while before midnight.”

“I want to see the children, and hear them laugh,” said Twinkling Feet.

The Jolly Little Witch pulled her goggles down on her nose, and mounted her ragweed stalk. The pixie hopped into the lantern, and away through the air the three sailed.

When they drew near the village, the little Witch lowered herself to the ground.

“Meet me here before the party is over, Jack-o’-Lantern,” she said. “I shall leave before the children take off their masks. In the meantime, let Twinkling Feet see the fun the children will have on the way to the party.”

Away she ran up the village street to a corner where she joined a group of jolly little boys and girls on their way to the party. They wore black dresses, high, pointed hats with narrow brims, and funny little masks. Not a word did anyone speak, but the sound of their merry laughter reached Twinkling Feet’s ears.

He slipped out of the lantern, and ran toward the group of children as fast as he could go. Before he reached them, however, the tiniest bit of a creature, turning somersaults faster than anyone could count, came bounding to him. It climbed up the pixie’s little body, and disappeared into his mouth. Twinkling Feet burst into the merriest laugh, and ran back to Jack-o’-Lantern, crying out, “I’ve found it! I’ve found my laugh! My dear little laugh! Oh, how happy I am! Jack-o’-Lantern, please take me back to the pixie ring. I’ve found my dear little laugh!”

He hopped into the little man’s lantern, and away over the fields they flew. As they drew near the green ring where the pixies were still dancing, the delighted elf called out, “I’ve found my laugh! I’ve found my dear little laugh!”

“Welcome back, Twinkling Feet,” answered the dancers.

He hopped out of the lantern, and joined the other merry pixies. When they stopped dancing for a little while, the Fiddler Pixie slipped up to the Twinkling Feet, and whispered slyly, “Always watch your laugh carefully while you are dancing.”

Halloween short story for kids, adapted from a Cornish legend by Ada M. Skinner and Eleanor L. Skinner

LET’S CHAT ABOUT THE POEM ~ IDEAS FOR TALKING WITH KIDS

Co-operation

1. Twinkling Feet helps the Jolly Little Witch find her goggles. Why does he do this?

2. Do you think it’s better if we help each other do things, or if we do things all by ourselves? Why do you think this?

The post Twinkling Feet’s Halloween first appeared on Bedtime Stories.

Once upon a time a bonnie Prince fell in love with a lassie who was nobly born, but was not his equal in rank. The king was sorely vexed, because his son looked with favour on this maiden, and his majesty determined to part the lovers. He sent the high chancellor of the court to an old witch for advice. After thinking the matter over for nine days, the old woman muttered the following answer:

“The lassie will I charm away
’Till courtesy doth win the day.”

“I’m not quite sure what the old hag means,” said the king. “But if she’ll get this maiden out of the Prince’s sight, I can arrange for his marriage with some one of his own rank.”

In a few days the lassie disappeared, and the Prince could find no trace of her. He was very sad, indeed, and declared if he could not marry his own true love he would remain single all his life.

It happened one fine day near the end of October that the young Prince and a party of nobles went hunting. The hounds were soon on the track of a fine deer, which was so wily and fleet of foot that the nobles, one by one, lost track of the quarry, and dropped out of the chase. The young Prince, who was a famous rider, continued the hunt alone. Miles and miles over the low hills he galloped until at last in the depths of a wooded glen the exhausted deer was brought to bay by the hounds, and dispatched by the Prince.

Not until after the prize was won did the royal hunter realize how dusky it was in the glen, and how threatening the evening sky looked. He felt sure he was too far from the palace to retrace his journey; besides, he had lost all trace of direction. He threw the quarry over his steed’s back, whistled to his hounds, and rode slowly down the wooded valley, wondering where he could lodge for the night.

“Little sign of hospitality in this lonely place,” he mused. “Perhaps I’d better make the best of it, and find shelter in one of the rocky hollows.”

On he rode in the gathering darkness. A turn in the valley brought him to a stretch of moorland, and a little distance away he saw the dark outline of an old, deserted hunting hall.

“A cheerless looking inn,” thought the Prince. “No doubt one will have to play host as well as guest here. However, I have my trusty hounds and noble steed for company, and the quarry will furnish a good meal for all of us.”

He leaped from his horse and walked up to the old ruin. With very little effort he broke open the door. The creaking of its rusty hinges made strange echoings throughout the hall. The Prince led his horse into one of the small rooms, then with his hounds he went into the large dining hall, where he lit a fire on the great hearth, and proceeded to cook some venison for supper.

While he was waiting for the meat on the spit to roast, he listened to the rising wind, which moaned about the gloomy old ruin, and rattled the doors and windows unceasingly. The good steed, in the adjoining room, pawed the floor restlessly, and every few moments the hounds stretched their heads straight up into the air, and whined in a most uncanny way.

As he mused before the fire, the Prince thought, “This is All Hallowe’en, the night when ghosts and witches hold their revels. Nevertheless, I’d rather be in this deserted hall than on the storm-swept moorland.”

He took the roasted meat from the fire, and prepared to eat his supper. Suddenly a fierce blast of wind burst open a large door at the far end of the hall, and into the room stalked a tall, ghostly woman. Her lank figure was clothed in grey garments, which trailed for yards on the floor. Her long, grey hair hung loose down her back. By the light of the flickering fire the Prince could see her hollow eyes and wan features. He was a brave man, but this ghostly creature filled him with dread and horror. The hounds dropped their bones of venison, and crept close to their master, who was unable to utter a word.

Slowly down the hall the grey ghost glided to the Prince, and pointing a long, bony finger at him, she asked in a hollow voice, “Art thou a courteous knight?”

In a trembling voice the Prince answered, “I will serve thee. What dost thou wish?”

“Go ye to the moorland, and pluck enough heather to make a bed in the turret-room for me,” said the phantom-like figure.

It was a strange request to make, but the Prince was relieved to have any excuse to get out of her sight. He sprang quickly to his feet, and hurried out to face the stormy night in search of heather. He plucked as much as he could carry in his plaid, and returned to the hall where the ghostly visitor was waiting for him. She led the way down the room, and up a half-ruined staircase to the turret-room. Here the Prince spread a heather bed for her, and covered it with his plaid. When it was finished she pointed to the door, and dismissed him.

“May you sleep well,” said the Prince courteously. Then, cold and weary, he descended to the hall, and lay down to sleep in front of the dying embers of the fire.

When he awakened the bright sun was shining in the windows.

The Prince lost no time in making ready to depart, for he remembered quite well the ghostly visitor of the past night.

“No doubt she departed before the crowing of the cock,” he said. “I wonder if she left my bonnie plaid in the turret room. The autumn air is keen and biting. I’ll go and see.”

He ran quickly up the ruined staircase. To his surprise when he reached the top, the door of the chamber opened, and there before him stood his lost sweetheart.

“How camest thou here?” gasped the Prince. “And where is the grey ghost.”

“Last night I was the grey ghost,” she said.

“And thou wilt change thy form again to-night?” he asked in horror.

“Never again,” said the maiden. “In order to part us a wicked witch threw a spell over me—a spell which changed me into the awful shape thou sawest last night. But thou hast broken her wicked charm.”

“Tell me how,” said the Prince, whose face was beaming with happiness.

“The witch’s charm could not be broken until some knight should serve me, even though my form was horrible. By thy courtesy thou hast broken the spell,” said the maiden.

So the Prince and his true love rode away, and were happily married, and when the king heard of his son’s adventure in the hunting hall he said, “Now I know what that old witch meant by her prophecy.”

Fairy tale written by Eleanor L. Skinner

Let’s Chat About The Stories ~ Ideas for Talking With Kids

Kindness, Good Manners

1. The word courteous means a cross between kindness and good manners. How do you think the Prince was courteous in this story?

2. Why do you think it might be important to show courtesy towards others?

The post The Courteous Prince first appeared on Bedtime Stories.