WEEK 27 |
 IN the days before the Revolution, the high seas surrounding America were infested with robbers, called pirates. Their ships, manned by desperate men, and carrying cannon and arms for fighting, scoured the ocean highways, and attacked peaceable and slow sailing vessels, which they robbed of merchandise; often they killed the sailors and sank the ships.
These pirates had hiding-places along the coast, especially the inlets, where they landed for supplies, sold their prizes, or buried their treasures in secret. A pirate's life was full of adventure. So terrible was the menace from these robbers that every sailing vessel dreaded to meet them on their way across the ocean, or up and down the coast.
Among these pirates was a Captain whose real name was Thatch, but who was known as "Black-beard." He wore a long black beard, of which he was very careful and proud, but which gave him a frightful look. Around his shoulders was a strap from which huge pistols hung, ready for use in case of battle. About his waist was a belt, holding his cutlass, which was so large and strong that, with one blow, he could cut off a man's head.
 He was very cruel and wicked. He never hesitated to kill all the sailors on board a captured vessel, sometimes hanging them to the rigging, and often tying them securely and leaving them on their ship as it went to the bottom. Once he shot several of his own crew when they disobeyed him about a small matter.
The scene of his operations was around the shores of Virginia and North Carolina, and even as far south as the coast of Georgia. He had accomplices on shore, who bought his ill-gotten cargoes, supplied his ships with provisions, and his men with arms. He became so bold and terrible that the people of Virginia fitted out two ships to go after him and to destroy him, if they could.
Only vessels that could sail in shallow water near the coast were sent out, and these, under the command of Lieutenant Maynard. For many days the ships sailed around, looking for Blackbeard and his crew. After a while the pirate ship came into view, and hoisted her flag with the skull and cross bones, calling on Maynard to surrender. But instead, Maynard hung out his flag and dared the pirate to come on. Blackbeard drew near, and called out, "Give up your ship at once, I take no prisoners."
Maynard replied, "I shall not surrender, and I  shall not show you any mercy." With that the battle began.
Maynard, after sending most of his men into the hold of his ship for safety, ran alongside the pirate. Blackbeard fired a broadside into Maynard's vessel, and, seeing no men aboard, thought that every one was killed. He therefore ordered his own crew to take possession. When the pirates came aboard, swords in hand, Maynard's men sprang from the hold of their vessel, and desperate fighting began on the deck.
Blackbeard was shot five times, besides being wounded with sword cuts. He fought bravely, calling so loudly to his men, that his voice was heard above the roar of the battle. His pistol was soon emptied, and, seizing another, he leveled it at one of Maynard's men. Just then, however, he received a wound through the head and was instantly killed. His men were taken prisoners and the battle was ended.
Maynard hung the pirate's head before the bow of his ship, and sailed back to Virginia, where the people made a great celebration in honor of his victory.
 RUNNING over to the Old Orchard very early in the morning for a little gossip with Jenny Wren and his other friends there had become a regular thing with Peter Rabbit. He was learning a great many things, and some of them were most surprising.
Now two of Peter's oldest and best friends in the Old Orchard were Winsome Bluebird and Welcome Robin. Every spring they arrived pretty nearly together, though Winsome Bluebird usually was a few days ahead of Welcome Robin. This year Winsome had arrived while the snow still lingered in patches. He was, as he always is, the herald of sweet Mistress Spring. And when Peter had heard for the first time Winsome's soft, sweet whistle, which seemed to come from nowhere in particular and from everywhere in general, he had kicked up his long hind legs from pure joy. Then, when a few days later he had heard Welcome Robin's joyous message of "Cheer-up! Cheer-up! Cheer-up! Cheer-up! Cheer!"  from the tiptop of a tall tree, he had known that Mistress Spring really had arrived.
Peter loves Winsome Bluebird and Welcome Robin, just as everybody else does, and he had known them so long and so well that he thought he knew all there was to know about them. He would have been very indignant had anybody told him he didn't.
"Those cousins don't look much alike, do they?" remarked Jenny Wren, as she poked her head out of her house to gossip with Peter.
"What cousins?" demanded Peter, staring very hard in the direction in which Jenny Wren was looking.
"Those two sitting on the fence over there. Where are your eyes, Peter?" replied Jenny rather sharply.
Peter stared harder than ever. On one post sat Winsome Bluebird, and on another post sat Welcome Robin. "I don't see anybody but Winsome and Welcome, and they are not even related," replied Peter with a little puzzled frown.
"Tut, tut, tut, tut, tut, Peter!" exclaimed Jenny Wren. "Tut, tut, tut, tut, tut! Who told you any such nonsense as that? Of course they are related. They are cousins. I thought everybody knew that. They belong to the same family that Melody the Thrush and all the other  Thrushes belong to. That makes them all cousins."
"What?" exclaimed Peter, looking as if he didn't believe a word of what Jenny Wren had said. Jenny repeated, and still Peter looked doubtful.
Then Jenny lost her temper, a thing she does very easily. "If you don't believe me, go ask one of them," she snapped, and disappeared inside her house, where Peter could hear her scolding away to herself.
The more he thought of it, the more this struck Peter as good advice. So he hopped over to the foot of the fence post on which Winsome Bluebird was sitting. "Jenny Wren says that you and Welcome Robin are cousins. She doesn't know what she is talking about, does she?" asked Peter.
Winsome chuckled. It was a soft, gentle chuckle. "Yes," said he, nodding his head, "we are. You can trust that little busybody to know what she is talking about, every time. I sometimes think she knows more about other people's affairs than about her own. Welcome and I may not look much alike, but we are cousins just the same. Don't you think Welcome is looking unusually fine this spring?"
"Not a bit finer than you are yourself, Win-  some," replied Peter politely. "I just love that sky-blue coat of yours. What is the reason that Mrs. Bluebird doesn't wear as bright a coat as you do?"
"Go ask Jenny Wren," chuckled Winsome Bluebird, and before Peter could say another word he flew over to the roof of Farmer Brown's house.
Back scampered Peter to tell Jenny Wren that he was sorry he had doubted her and that he never would again. Then he begged Jenny to tell him why it was that Mrs. Bluebird was not as brightly dressed as was Winsome.
"Mrs. Bluebird, like most mothers, is altogether too busy to spend much time taking care of her clothes; and fine clothes need a lot of care," replied Jenny. "Besides, when Winsome is about he attracts all the attention and that gives her a chance to slip in and out of her nest without being noticed. I don't believe you know, Peter Rabbit, where Winsome's nest is."
Peter had to admit that he didn't, although he had tried his best to find out by watching Winsome. "I think it's over in that little house put up by Farmer Brown's boy," he ventured. "I saw both Mr. and Mrs. Bluebird go in it when they first came, and I've seen Winsome around it a great deal since, so I guess it is there."
 "So you guess it is there!" mimicked Jenny Wren. "Well, your guess is quite wrong, Peter; quite wrong. As a matter of fact, it is in one of those old fence posts. But just which one I am not going to tell you. I will leave that for you to find out. Mrs. Bluebird certainly shows good sense. She knows a good house when she sees it. The hole in that post is one of the best holes anywhere around here. If I had arrived here early enough I would have taken it myself. But Mrs. Bluebird already had her nest built in it and four eggs there, so there was nothing for me to do but come here. Just between you and me, Peter, I think the Bluebirds show more sense in nest building than do their cousins the Robins. There is nothing like a house with stout walls and a doorway just big enough to get in and out of comfortably."
Peter nodded quite as if he understood all about the advantages of a house with walls. "That reminds me," said he. "The other day I saw Welcome Robin getting mud and carrying it away. Pretty soon he was joined by Mrs. Robin, and she did the same thing. They kept it up till I got tired of watching them. What were they doing with that mud?"
"Building their nest, of course, stupid," retorted Jenny. "Welcome Robin, with that black  head, beautiful russet breast, black and white throat and yellow bill, not to mention the proud way in which he carries himself, certainly is a handsome fellow, and Mrs. Robin is only a little less handsome. How they can be content to build the kind of a home they do is more than I can understand. People think that Mr. Wren and I use a lot of trash in our nest. Perhaps we do, but I can tell you one thing, and that is it is clean trash. It is just sticks and clean straws, and before I lay my eggs I see to it that my nest is lined with feathers. More than this, there isn't any cleaner housekeeper than I am, if I do say it.
No other bird has a russet breast like his.
His blue back, wings and tail leave no doubt as to who he is.
"Welcome Robin is a fine looker and a fine singer, and everybody loves him. But when it comes to housekeeping, he and Mrs. Robin are just plain dirty. They make the foundation of their nest of mud,—plain, common, ordinary mud. They cover this with dead grass, and sometimes there is mighty little of this over the inside walls of mud. I know because I've seen the inside of their nest often. Anybody with any eyes at all can find their nest. More than once I've known them to have their nest washed away in a heavy rain, or have it blown down in a high wind. Nothing like that ever happens to Winsome Bluebird or to me."
Jenny disappeared inside her house, and Peter  waited for her to come out again. Welcome Robin flew down on the ground, ran a few steps, and then stood still with his head on one side as if listening. Then he reached down and tugged at something, and presently out of the ground came a long, wriggling angleworm. Welcome gulped it down and ran on a few steps, then once more paused to listen. This time he turned and ran three or four steps to the right, where he pulled another worm out of the ground.
"He acts as if he heard those worms in the ground," said Peter, speaking aloud without thinking.
"He does," said Jenny Wren, poking her head out of her doorway just as Peter spoke. "How do you suppose he would find them when they are in the ground if he didn't hear them?"
"Can you hear them?" asked Peter.
"I've never tried, and I don't intend to waste my time trying," retorted Jenny. "Welcome Robin may enjoy eating them, but for my part I want something smaller and daintier, young grasshoppers, tender young beetles, small caterpillars, bugs and spiders."
Peter had to turn his head aside to hide the wry face he just had to make at the mention of such things as food. "Is that all Welcome Robin eats?" he asked innocently.
 "I should say not," laughed Jenny. "He eats a lot of other kinds of worms, and he just dearly loves fruit like strawberries and cherries and all sorts of small berries. Well, I can't stop here talking any longer. I'm going to tell you a secret, Peter, if you'll promise not to tell."
Of course Peter promised, and Jenny leaned so far down that Peter wondered how she could keep from falling as she whispered, "I've got seven eggs in my nest, so if you don't see much of me for the next week or more, you'll know why. I've just got to sit on those eggs and keep them warm."
I once had a sweet little doll, dears,
The prettiest doll in the world;
Her cheeks were so red and so white, dears,
And her hair was so charmingly curled;
But I lost my poor little doll, dears,
As I played in the heath one day;
And I cried for her more than a week, dears,
But I never could find where she lay.
I found my poor little doll, dears,
As I played in the heath one day;
Folks say she's terribly changed, dears,
For her paint is all washed away,
And her arm's trodden off by the cows, dears,
And her hair's not the least bit curled;
Yet for old sake's sake she is still, dears,
The prettiest doll in the world.
WEEK 27 |
 IT was in the days when cruel men killed and tortured those who loved our Blessed Lord that in the city of Rome, a little maid was born. Her father and mother were amongst the richest and noblest of the Roman people, and their little daughter, whom they called Cecilia, had everything she could possibly want. She lived in a splendid palace, with everything most beautiful around her, and she had a garden to play in, where the loveliest flowers grew. Her little white dress was embroidered with the finest gold, and her face was as fair as the flowers she loved.
But it was not only the outside that was beautiful, for the little maiden's heart was fairer than the fairest flowers, and whiter than her spotless robe.
There were not many people who loved our Lord in those dark days. Any one who was known to be a Christian was made to suffer terrible tortures, and was even put to death.
But though Cecilia's father and mother knew this they still taught their little daughter to be a servant of Christ and to love Him above all things. For they knew that the love of Christ was better than life, and worth all the suffering that might come.
And as Cecilia grew into a stately maiden every  one wondered at the grace and beauty that shone out of her face. And every one loved her because she loved every one. She was always ready and willing to help others, and she specially cared to be kind to the poor. In the folds of her gold embroidered dress she always carried a little book which she loved to read. It was the book of the Gospels, and the more she read and heard of Christ, the more she longed to grow like Him. She could not bear to think that she wore fine dresses, while He had been so poor and suffered so much. And so, underneath her soft, white robe she wore a harsh, coarse garment made of hair. And when it hurt and rubbed her sorely, the pain only made her glad, because she wore it for Christ's sake.
Some say the meaning of her name Cecilia is "Heaven's Lily." And that name certainly suited this little Roman maiden. For as God plants the lilies in the dark earth, and presently they grow up and lift their pure white cups to heaven, so Cecilia seemed to lift her heart above the sins and sorrows of the world, where God had planted her, and to turn her face ever heavenwards.
And the poor people whom she helped and cheered with her kind sympathy loved to look at her, for the peace of paradise shone in her eyes, and it seemed to bring heaven nearer to the poor souls.
As soon as Cecilia was old enough, it was arranged that she should marry a young Roman noble called Valerian, and this made her very unhappy. She had so hoped to belong only to Christ, and this Valerian was a pagan who knew nothing of the  Lord whom she served. But she knew that her guardian angel would watch over her and keep her from all harm, and so she obeyed her father's and mother's wishes, and was married to the young Roman noble.
When Valerian had taken Cecilia home and all the guests had gone, and they were left alone together, she told him that, though she was married, she belonged first of all to Christ, and that her guardian angel, who never left her, would guard and protect her from all danger.
"Wilt thou not show me this angel, so that I may know that what thou sayest is true?" asked Valerian.
"Thou canst not see the heavenly messenger until thou hast learnt to know my Lord," answered Cecilia.
And as Valerian eagerly asked how he should learn to know this Christ, Cecilia told him to go along the great Appian Way, outside the walls of Rome, until he should meet some poor people who lived in the Campagna. And to them he should say:
"Cecilia bids you show me the way that I may find the old man, Urban the Good."
So Valerian started off and went the way Cecilia directed. And the people guided him as she had promised, until they came to a curious opening in the ground, down which they told him he must go if he wished to find Pope Urban.
This opening was the entrance to a strange underground place called the Catacombs.
There were miles and miles of dark passages cut out of the rock, with here and there a little dark room, and curious shelves hollowed out of the walls.  It was here that many poor Christians lived, hiding themselves from those who would have put them to death. And the little shelves were where they buried the bodies of poor Christians who had died for Christ.
It was here that the old Pope, Urban the Good, lived, and he welcomed Valerian most gladly, knowing why he had come. He began at once to teach him all that he should know—how God was our Father, and Jesus Christ His Son, our Saviour. And as Valerian listened to the strange, wonderful words, the love of God shone into his heart, so that when the old man asked:
"Believest thou this?"
He answered with all his heart:
"All this I steadfastly believe."
Then Urban baptized Valerian, and by that sign the young Roman knew that he was indeed a Christian, a servant of Christ.
All the world looked different to Valerian as he walked back along the Appian Way to Rome. The flat, low fields of the Campagna, fading away into the ridges of the purple Apennines, seemed almost like the fields of paradise, and the song of the birds was like the voice of angels. He scarcely thought of the dangers and difficulties that were before him, or if he did it was only to feel glad that he might have anything to bear for his new Master.
And when he reached home, and went back to the room where he had left Cecilia, he found her there waiting for him, with a glad welcome in her eyes. And as they knelt together they heard a  rustle of wings, and looking up they saw an angel bending over them, with a crown of lilies and roses in each hand. These he placed upon their heads, and to Valerian he said:
"Thou hast done well in allowing Cecilia to serve her Master, therefore ask what thou wilt and thy request shall be granted."
Then Valerian asked that his brother, whom he dearly loved, might also learn to know Christ.
And just then the door opened, and the brother whom Valerian loved so much came in. He, of course, only saw Valerian and Cecilia, and could not see the angel, or even the wreaths of heavenly roses. But he looked round in astonishment and said:
"I see no flowers here, and yet the fragrance of roses and lilies is so sweet and strange, that it makes my very heart glad."
Then Valerian answered:
"We have two crowns here, which thou canst not see, because thou knowest not the Lord who sent them to us. But if thou wilt listen, and learn to know Him, then shalt thou see the heavenly flowers, whose fragrance has filled thy heart."
So Valerian and Cecilia told their brother what it meant to be a Christian. And after the good Urban had taught him also, he was baptized and became God's knight. Then he, too, saw the heavenly crowns and the face of the angel who guarded Heaven's Lily.
For a while the home of Valerian and Cecilia was like a paradise on earth. There was nothing but  happiness there. Cecilia loved music above everything. Her voice was like a bird's, and she sang her hymns of praise and played so exquisitely, that it is said that even the angels came down to listen.
But before long it began to be known that Valerian and his brother helped the poor Christians, and the wicked governor of the city ordered them both to be seized and brought before him. He told them that there were but two ways before them: either they must deny that they were Christians, or they must be put to death.
But God's knights did not fear death, and they went out to meet it as if they were on their way to a great victory. And when the soldiers wondered, and asked them if it was not sad that they should lose their lives while they were still so young, they answered that what looked like loss on earth was gain in heaven—that they were but laying down their bodies as one puts off one's clothes to sleep at night. For the immortal soul could never die, but would live for ever.
So they knelt down, and the cruel blows were struck. But, looking up, the soldiers saw a great pathway of light shining down from heaven. And the souls of Valerian and his brother were led up by angel hands to the throne of God, there to receive the crowns of everlasting glory which they had won on earth.
And so Cecilia was left alone. But she did not spend her time grieving. Gathering the people and soldiers around her, she taught them about the Lord of Heaven, for whose sake Valerian and his brother  had so gladly suffered death. And it was not long before she also trod the shining pathway up to heaven and met the ones she loved.
For the governor was not satisfied with the death of Valerian and his brother, but ordered Cecilia to be brought before him.
"What sort of a woman art thou, and what is thy name?" he asked.
"I am a Roman lady," she answered with grave dignity, "and among men I am known by the name of Cecilia. But"—and her voice rang out proudly as she looked fearlessly into those angry eyes—"my noblest name is Christian."
Then the enraged governor ordered that she should be taken to her house, and put to death in her bath. But the boiling water could not hurt her, and she was as cool as if she had bathed in a fresh spring.
This made the governor more furious than ever, and he ordered that her head should be cut off.
But even after she had received three strokes from the sword she did not die, but lived for three days. And these days she spent in quietly putting her house in order and dividing her money among the poor, ever singing in her sweet voice the praises of God.
And so at the end of three days God's angel came and led Cecilia home, and all that was left of her on earth was her fair body, lying like a tired child asleep, with hands clasped, gently resting now that her work on earth was done.
And in Rome to-day there is a splendid church  built over the place where Cecilia's house stood. Some day if you go there, you will see her little room and the bath in which the boiling water could not hurt her. You will see, too, a beautiful marble figure lying under the altar, and you will know exactly how Cecilia looked when she left her tired body lying there, and went up the shining path to God.
Once upon a time an old hen had
a large brood of chickens.
They were fine chickens.
But one little chick was very odd.
He had but one leg, and one wing,
and one eye.
So his mother called him "Half Chick."
Half Chick did not mind his mother.
She would call, "Cluck! Cluck!"
But Half Chick would run away and hide.
One day he said,
"Mother, I am tired of this farm yard.
I am going to see the King."
"It is a long way to the King's palace,"
said his mother.
"You are too little to go alone.
Do not go now,
and some day I will take you."
But Half Chick tossed his head and said,
"I shall go to-day."
And hippity-hop, away he went.
Soon Half Chick came to a brook.
The brook was full of weeds.
It said, "Please stop and help me,
Little Half Chick.
These weeds are choking me,
Please help me take them away."
But Half Chick tossed his head and said,
"I have no time to help you.
I am going to see the King."
And hippity-hop, away he went.
Soon Half Chick came to a fire.
The fire was nearly burned out.
It said, "Please stop and help me,
Little Half Chick.
Give me some sticks, or I shall die."
But Half Chick tossed his head, and said,
"I have no time to help you.
I am going to see the King."
And hippity-hop, away he went.
Soon Half Chick came to a large oak-tree.
The wind was caught in its branches.
"Stop and help me, Half Chick,"
said the wind.
"I can not get away from these branches.
They are holding me fast.
Please help me to get away."
But Half Chick tossed his head and said,
"I have no time to help you.
I am going to see the King."
And hippity-hop, away he went.
At last Half Chick came
to the King's palace.
"Now I shall see the King," said he.
But just then the King's cook saw him.
"This is just what I need," said the cook.
"The King wants chicken soup for dinner."
And the cook picked Half Chick up
and popped him into a pot of water.
"Water, water, please help me,"
cried Half Chick.
"I do not like to get wet."
But the water said,
"I was once the brook, Half Chick.
The weeds were choking me.
You would not help me then,
so I can not help you now."
Then the fire began to burn.
"Fire, fire, please help me.
Do not burn me," cried Half Chick.
And he hopped from one side of the pot
to the other.
But the fire said,
"I was dying once, Half Chick,
and you would not help me.
So I can not help you now."
Just then the wind came by.
He caught Half Chick up,
and carried him up into the air.
"Thank you, Wind," said Half Chick.
"Please let me down now."
But the wind said,
"Once I was caught in an oak-tree.
The branches held me fast.
I could not get away,
and you would not help me.
So I can not help you now."
Then the wind blew him up
to the top of a steeple.
There Half Chick stuck fast.
And there you can see him to this day.
He stands on his one leg,
and he looks at the wind
out of his one eye.
— Spanish Folk Tale
Little Indian, Sioux or Crow,
Little frosty Eskimo,
Little Turk or Japanee,
Oh! don't you wish that you were me?
You have seen the scarlet trees
And the lions over seas;
You have eaten ostrich eggs,
And turned the turtles off their legs.
Such a life is very fine,
But it's not so nice as mine:
You must often, as you trod,
Have wearied not to be abroad.
You have curious things to eat,
I am fed on proper meat;
You must dwell beyond the foam,
But I am safe and live at home.
Little Indian, Sioux or Crow,
Little frosty Eskimo,
Little Turk or Japanee,
Oh! don't you wish that you were me?
WEEK 27 |
THERE was once a rich old man who was called the Barmecide. He lived in a beautiful palace in the midst of flowery gardens. He had everything that heart could wish.
In the same land there was a poor man whose name was Schacabac. His clothing was rags, and his food was the scraps which other people had thrown away. But he had a light heart, and was as happy as a king.
Once when Schacabac had not had anything to eat for a long time, he thought that he would go and ask the Barmecide to help him.
 The servant at the door said, "Come in and talk with our master. He will not send you away hungry."
Schacabac went in, and passed through many beautiful rooms, looking for the Barmecide. At last he came to a grand hall where there were soft carpets on the floor, and fine pictures on the walls, and pleasant couches to lie down upon.
At the upper end of the room he saw a noble man with a long white beard. It was the Barmecide; and poor Schacabac bowed low before him, as was the custom in that country.
The Barmecide spoke very kindly, and asked what was wanted.
Schacabac told him about all his troubles, and said that it was now two days since he had tasted bread.
"Is it possible?" said the Barmecide. "You must be almost dead with hunger; and here I have plenty and to spare!"
Then he turned and called, "Ho, boy! Bring in the water to wash our hands, and then order the cook to hurry the supper."
Schacabac had not expected to be treated so kindly. He began to thank the rich man.
"Say not a word," said the Barmecide, "but let us get ready for the feast."
 Then the rich man began to rub his hands as though some one was pouring water on them. "Come and wash with me," he said.
Schacabac saw no boy, nor basin, nor water. But he thought that he ought to do as he was bidden; and so, like the Barmecide, he made a pretense of washing.
"Come now," said the Barmecide, "let us have supper."
He sat down, as if to a table, and pretended to be carving a roast. Then he said, "Help yourself, my good friend. You said you were hungry: so, now, don't be afraid of the food."
Schacabac thought that he understood the joke, and he made pretense of taking food, and passing it to his mouth. Then he began to chew, and said, "You see, sir, I lose no time."
"Boy," said the old man, "bring on the roast goose.—Now, my good friend, try this choice piece front the breast. And here are sweet sauce, honey, raisins, green peas, and dry figs. Help yourself, and remember that other good things are coming."
Schacabac was almost dead with hunger, but he was too polite not to do as he was bidden.
"Come," said the Barmecide, "have another piece of the roast lamb. Did you ever eat anything so delicious?"
 "Never in my life," said Schacabac. "Your table is full of good things."
"Then eat heartily," said the Barmecide. "You cannot please me better."
After this came the dessert. The Barmecide spoke of sweet-meats and fruits; and Schacabac made believe that he was eating them.
"Now is there anything else that you would like?" asked the host.
"Ah, no!" said poor Schacabac. "I have indeed had great plenty."
"Let us drink, then," said the Barmecide. "Boy, bring on the wine!"
"Excuse me, my lord," said Schacabac, "I will drink no wine, for it is forbidden."
The Barmecide seized him by the hand. "I have long wished to find a man like you," he said. "But come, now we will sup in earnest."
He clapped his hands. Servants came, and he ordered supper. Soon they sat down to a table loaded with the very dishes of which they had pretended to eat.
Poor Schacabac had never had so good a meal in all his life. When they had finished, and the table had been cleared away, the Barmecide said,—
"I have found you to be a man of good understanding. Your wits are quick, and you are ready  always to make the best of everything. Come and live with me, and manage my house."
And so Schacabac lived with the Barmecide many years, and never again knew what it was to be hungry.
A WAY, away, ever so far away, near the western shores of the Ocean of Peace, lie the Happy Islands, the Paradise of Children.
Some people call this ocean the "Pacific" and they call the
Happy Islands "Japan," but the meaning is just the same. Those
are only their
They are truly Happy Islands, for the sun shines there so brightly that all the people go about with pleasant, smiling faces, and the children play out of doors the whole year through without ever quarreling. And they are never, never spanked! Of course, the reason for that is that they are so good they never, never need it! Or maybe their fathers and mothers do not believe in spanking.
I have even been told—though I don't know whether to think it's true or not—that Japanese  parents believe more in sugar-plums than in punishments to make children good!
Anyway, the children there are very good indeed.
In a little town near a large city on one of the Happy Islands,
there is a garden. In the garden stands a house, and in that
House there live Taro, who is a boy, and Take
They are twins. They are Japanese Twins and they are just five years old, both of them.
Of course, Taro and Take do not live alone in the house in the garden. Their Father and Mother live there too, and their Grandmother, who is very old, and the Baby, who is very young.
Taro and Take cannot remember when Grandmother and Father and Mother happened, because they were all there when the Twins came; and the Twins could not possibly imagine the world without Father and Mother and Grandmother.
But with the Baby it was different. One day there wasn't any Baby at all, and the next day after that, there he was, looking very new but quite at home already in the little house in the garden, where Taro and Take lived.
"Taro" means eldest son, and the Baby might have been called "Jiro," because "Jiro" means  "second," and he was the second boy in the family; but from the day he came they called him just "Bot'Chan." That is what they call boy babies in Japan.
"Take" means "bamboo," and the Twins' Father and Mother named their little daughter "Take" because they hoped she would grow up to be tall and slender and strong and graceful like the bamboo tree.
Now, can you think of anything nicer in this world than being Twins, and living with a Mother and Father and Grandmother and a Baby Brother, in a dear little house, in a dear little garden, in a dear little, queer little town in the middle of the Happy Islands that lie in the Ocean of Peace?
Taro and Take thought it was the nicest thing that could possibly have happened; though, as they hadn't ever lived anywhere else, or been anybody but themselves for a single minute, I don't see how they could be quite so sure about it.
This book is all about Taro and Take and the Baby, and what a nice time they had living. And if you want to know some of the things that happened on the very first day that the Twins and Bot'Chan ever saw each other you can turn over to the next page and read about the day the Baby came. That tells all about it, just exactly as it was.
Dark brown is the river,
Golden is the sand.
It flows along for ever,
With trees on either hand.
Green leaves a-floating,
Castles of the foam,
Boats of mine a-boating—
Where will all come home?
On goes the river
And out past the mill,
Away down the valley,
Away down the hill.
Away down the river,
A hundred miles or more,
Other little children
Shall bring my boats ashore.
WEEK 27 |
 The Emperor sat upon his throne with all his wise men around him, and into the hall came Aude, the fair sister of Oliver. At the foot of the throne she knelt. "Sire," she said, "where is Roland, whose bride I am?"
Full of grief the Emperor bent his head. Tears stood in his eyes, and at first he could not speak. Then gently taking Aude by the hand, "Dear sister," he said, "dear friend, thou askest news of a dead man. But grieve not. Thou art not left without a lover. Thou shalt be the bride of Louis, my son."
Then Aude stood up. Her face was very pale. With both hands she pushed back her golden hair from her face. "What strange words are these?" she said. "If  Roland be dead, what is any man to me? Please God and His saints and angels, I too may die." And so speaking she fell at the Emperor's feet.
Charlemagne thought that she had but fainted, and springing up, he lifted her in his arms. But her head fell back upon her shoulder, and he saw that she was dead. Then calling four countesses he bade them carry her to a convent near. And so tended by the greatest ladies in the land, fair Aude was laid to rest with chant, and hymn, and great state and pomp as befits a hero's bride.
He saw that she was dead
Then, with chains upon his hands and feet, Ganelon was brought into the hall of judgment. Sitting upon his throne, the Emperor spoke to his wise men who were gathered around him, and told them all the tale of Ganelon's treachery, and of how for gold he had betrayed his comrades.
Proud and haughty as ever, Ganelon stood before his judges. "It is true," he said; "I will never deny it. I hated Roland, for his riches made me wrathful against him. I  sought to bring him to shame and death. But I do not admit that it was treason."
"Of that we shall be the judges," said the Franks.
Tall and straight and proud, Ganelon stood before the Emperor. With haughty looks he eyed his judges, and then his thirty kinsmen who stood near him. "Hear me, barons," he cried, in a bold, loud voice. "When I was with the army of the Emperor, I served him in faith and love. But Roland his nephew hated me. He condemned me to death, yea, to a very miserable death, in sending me to the court of Marsil. That I escaped that death I owe to mine own skill. And I defied Roland, I defied Oliver and all his companions, before the face of Charlemagne and his barons. Well knew the Emperor of that defiance. It was just vengeance, then, that I took. Of no treason am I guilty."
"We shall judge of that," said the Franks. And so they passed into the council chamber.
Then when Ganelon saw that it was like  to go ill with him, he gathered his thirty kinsmen about him, and begged them to plead for him. But it was chiefly in Pinabel, his nephew, that he trusted, for he was wise and could plead well, and as a good soldier there was none like him. "In thee do I trust," said Ganelon, "thou art he who must save me from death and shame."
"I will be thy champion," replied Pinabel. "If any Frank say that thou art a traitor, I will give him the lie with the steel of my sword."
Then Ganelon fell upon his knees and kissed Pinabel's hand.
And when all the wise men and barons were gathered together, Pinabel pleaded so well for Ganelon that at last they said, "Let us pray the Emperor to pardon Ganelon this once. Henceforward he will serve him in love and faith. Roland is dead. Not all the gold or all the silver in the world can bring him to life again. To fight about it, that were folly."
Only one knight, called Thierry, would not  agree. "Ganelon is a traitor worthy of death," he said. But the others would not listen to him, and they all returned to Charlemagne, to tell him what they had decided. "Sire," they said, "we come to beg thee to set Ganelon free. He is a true knight, though this once he hath done ill. He repents him, and will henceforth serve thee in love and faith. Roland is dead, and not all the gold or silver in the world can bring him back again."
When the Emperor heard these words, his face grew dark with anger. "Ye are all felons," he cried. Then dropping his head upon his breast, "Unhappy man that I am," he moaned, "to be thus forsaken of all."
Out of the crowd stepped Thierry. He was slim and slight, but very knightly to look upon. "Sire," he cried, "thou art not forsaken of all. By my forefathers I have a right to be among the judges in this cause. What quarrel lay between Roland and Ganelon hath nought to do with this. Ganelon, I say, is a felon. Ganelon is a traitor. Ganelon is a liar. Let him be  hanged and his body thrown to the dogs. Such is the punishment of traitors. And if any of his kin say I lie, I am ready to prove the truth of my words with my good sword which hangeth by my side."
"Well spoken! well spoken!" cried the Franks.
Then before the Emperor, Pinabel advanced. He was tall and strong, and with his sword most skilful. "Sire," he cried, "thine is the right to decide this cause. Thierry hath dared to judge in it. I say he lieth. Battle thereon will I do," and so speaking he flung his glove on the ground.
"Good," said Charlemagne, well pleased. "But I must have hostages. Thirty of Ganelon's kinsmen shall be held in ward until this jousting be done."
Then Thierry too drew off his glove and gave it to the Emperor. For him also thirty hostages were held in ward until it should be seen who should have right in this quarrel.
Beyond the walls of Aix there was a fair meadow, and there the champions met. All  around there were seats set so that the knights and barons might look on, and in the middle of them was Charlemagne's throne.
The champions were both clad in new and splendid armour, the trumpets sounded, and springing to horse they dashed upon each other. Fiercely they fought. Their shields were dinted by many a blow, their armour battered and broken, and at last they met with such a shock that both were unhorsed and fell to the ground.
"Oh, Heaven!" cried Charlemagne, "show me which hath right." Then he remembered his dream of the bear and his thirty brethren, and of how the hound from out his palace hall had grappled with the greatest of them.
Both knights sprang lightly from their fall and began to fight on foot. "Yield thee, Thierry," cried Pinabel, "and I will henceforth be thy man and serve thee in faith and love. All my treasure will I give to thee, if thou but pray the Emperor to forgive Ganelon."
"Never," cried Thierry, "shame be to me  should I think thereon. Let God decide between me and thee this day."
So they fought on.
"Pinabel," said Thierry presently, "thou art a true knight. Thou art tall and strong, and all men know of thy courage, so yield thee, and make thy peace with Charlemagne. As to Ganelon, let justice be done on him, and let us never more speak his name."
"Nay," replied Pinabel, "God forbid that I should so forsake my kinsman, and to mortal man I will never yield. Rather let me die than earn such disgrace."
So once again they closed in fight. Thicker and faster fell the blows. Their chain-mail was hacked to pieces. The jewels of their helmets sparkled on the grass. Thierry was wounded in the face. Blood blinded him, but raising his sword with all his remaining strength, he brought it crashing down on Pinabel's helmet.
For a moment the knight waved his sword wildly in the air. Then he fell to the ground dead. The fight was over.
 "Now by the judgment of God, is it proved that Ganelon is a traitor," cried the Franks. "He deserves to be hanged, both he and all his kindred who have answered for him."
And as all the people cheered the champion of Roland's cause, Charlemagne rose from his throne, and going to him took him in his arms and kissed him, and threw his royal mantle around his shoulders. Then very tenderly his squires disarmed the wounded knight, set him upon a gently pacing mule, and led him back in triumph to Aix.
Once again Charlemagne called all his wise men and barons together. "What shall be done with the hostages who pled for Ganelon?" he asked.
"Let them all die the death," replied the Franks.
Then the Emperor called an old provost to him. "Go," he said, "hang them all on the gallows there. And if one escape, by my long white beard, thou shalt die the death."
"None shall escape," replied the provost, "trust me." Then taking with him a hundred  sergeants he hanged the thirty high upon the gallows tree.
But a still more fearful death was to be the fate of the traitor Ganelon himself. Bound hand and foot, he was led through the town riding upon a common cart-horse, while the people cursed him as he passed. And beyond the walls, where his champion had fought and died for him, he was torn to pieces by wild horses.
The people cursed him as he passed
And thus in fearful wise was Ganelon repaid for his treachery, and thus was Roland avenged.
Now when the Emperor's anger was satisfied, he called all his bishops together. "In my house," he said, "there is a prisoner of noble race. 'Tis Bramimonde the Saracen Queen. She hath been taught in grace, and hath opened her heart to the true light. Let her now be baptized, so that her soul may be saved."
Then many noble ladies were gathered together to be sponsors for the Queen, and a great crowd of knights and nobles came too, and Bramimonde was baptized and became  Christian, and was no longer called Bramimonde, but Julienne.
Then at last had the Emperor rest. The long day was over, quiet night came, and Charlemagne lay down to sleep. But as he lay in his vaulted chamber the angel Gabriel stood beside him. "Charlemagne, Charlemagne," he called, "gather all the armies of thy kingdom. March quickly to the land of Bire to help the Christian King Vivien, for there the heathen besiege him in his city and the Christians cry aloud for help."
Then the Emperor turned upon his couch and wept. He longed for rest from his great labours, and yet he could not disobey the command.
"Alas," he cried, "what a life of toil is mine!"
 EVERY day brought newcomers to the Old Orchard, and early in the morning there were so many voices to be heard that perhaps it is no wonder if for some time Peter Rabbit failed to miss that of one of his very good friends. Most unexpectedly he was reminded of this as very early one morning he scampered, lipperty-lipperty-lip, across a little bridge over the Laughing Brook.
"Dear me! Dear me! Dear me!" cried rather a plaintive voice. Peter stopped so suddenly that he all but fell heels over head. Sitting on the top of a tall, dead, mullein stalk was a very soberly dressed but rather trim little fellow, a very little larger than Bully the English Sparrow. Above, his coat was of a dull olive-brown, while underneath he was of a grayish-white, with faint tinges of yellow in places. His head was dark, and his bill black. The feathers on his head were lifted just enough to make the tiniest kind of crest. His wings and tail were dusky, little bars of white showing very faintly on his wings, while the outer edges of his tail were distinctly  white. He sat with his tail hanging straight down, as if he hadn't strength enough to hold it up.
"Hello, Dear Me!" cried Peter joyously. "What are you doing way down here? I haven't seen you since you first arrived, just after Winsome Bluebird got here." Peter started to say that he had wondered what had become of Dear Me, but checked himself, for Peter is very honest and he realized now that in the excitement of greeting so many friends he hadn't missed Dear Me at all.
Dear Me the Phoebe did not reply at once, but darted out into the air, and Peter heard a sharp click of that little black bill. Making a short circle, Dear Me alighted on the mullein stalk again.
"Did you catch a fly then?" asked Peter.
"Dear me! Dear me! Of course I did," was the prompt reply. And with each word there was a jerk of that long hanging tail. Peter almost wondered if in some way Dear Me's tongue and tail were connected. "I suppose," said he, "that it is the habit of catching flies and bugs in the air that has given your family the name of Flycatchers."
Dear Me nodded and almost at once started into the air again. Once more Peter heard the click of that little black bill, then Dear Me was  back on his perch. Peter asked again what he was doing down there.
"Mrs. Phoebe and I are living down here," replied Dear Me. "We've made our home down here and we like it very much."
Peter looked all around, this way, that way, every way, with the funniest expression on his face. He didn't see anything of Mrs. Phoebe and he didn't see any place in which he could imagine Mr. and Mrs. Phoebe building a nest. "What are you looking for?" asked Dear Me.
"For Mrs. Phoebe and your home, declared Peter quite frankly. "I didn't suppose you and Mrs. Phoebe ever built a nest on the ground, and I don't see any other place around here for one."
Dear Me chuckled. "I wouldn't tell any one but you, Peter," said he, "but I've known you so long that I'm going to let you into a little secret. Mrs. Phoebe and our home are under the very bridge you are sitting on."
"I don't believe it!" cried Peter.
But Dear Me knew from the way Peter said it that he really didn't mean that. "Look and see for yourself," said Dear Me.
So Peter lay flat on his stomach and tried to stretch his head over the edge of the bridge so as to see under it. But his neck wasn't long enough, or else he was afraid to lean over as far as he might  have. Finally he gave up and at Mr. Phoebe's suggestion crept down the bank to the very edge of the Laughing Brook. Dear Me darted out to catch another fly, then flew right in under the bridge and alighted on a little ledge of stone just beneath the floor. There, sure enough, was a nest, and Peter could see Mrs. Phoebe's bill and the top of her head above the edge of it. It was a nest with a foundation of mud covered with moss and lined with feathers.
"That's perfectly splendid!" cried Peter, as Dear Me resumed his perch on the old mullein stalk. "How did you ever come to think of such a place? And why did you leave the shed up at Farmer Brown's where you have built your home for the last two or three years?"
"Oh," replied Dear Me, "we Phoebes always have been fond of building under bridges. You see a place like this is quite safe. Then, too, we like to be near water. Always there are many insects flying around where there is water, so it is an easy matter to get plenty to eat. I left the shed at Farmer Brown's because that pesky cat up there discovered our nest last year, and we had a dreadful time keeping our babies out of her clutches. She hasn't found us down here, and she wouldn't be able to trouble us if she should find us."
 "I suppose," said Peter, "that as usual you were the first of your family to arrive."
"Certainly. Of course," replied Dear Me. "We always are the first. Mrs. Phoebe and I don't go as far south in winter as the other members of the family do. They go clear down into the Tropics, but we manage to pick up a pretty good living without going as far as that. So we get back here before the rest of them, and usually have begun housekeeping by the time they arrive. My cousin, Chebec the Least Flycatcher, should be here by this time. Haven't you heard anything of him up in the Old Orchard?"
"No," replied Peter, "but to tell the truth I haven't looked for him. I'm on my way to the Old Orchard now, and I certainly shall keep my ears and eyes open for Chebec. I'll tell you if I find him. Good-by."
"Dear me! Dear me! Good-by Peter. Dear me!" replied Mr. Phoebe as Peter started off for the Old Orchard.
Perhaps it was because Peter was thinking of him that almost the first voice he heard when he reached the Old Orchard was that of Chebec, repeating his own name over and over as if he loved the sound of it. It didn't take Peter long to find him. He was sitting out on the tip of one of the upper branches of an apple-tree where he  could watch for flies and other winged insects. He looked so much like Mr. Phoebe, save that he was smaller, that any one would have know they were cousins. "Chebec! Chebec! Chebec!" he repeated over and over, and with every note jerked his tail. Now and then he would dart out into the air and snap up something so small that Peter, looking up from the ground, couldn't see it at all.
CHEBEC THE LEAST FLYCATCHER
He will tell you his name.
DEAR ME THE PHOEBE
Look for him around an old bridge or shed.
"Hello, Chebec!" cried Peter. "I'm glad to see you back again. Are you going to build in the Old Orchard this year?"
"Of course I am," replied Chebec promptly. "Mrs. Chebec and I have built here for the last two or three years, and we wouldn't think of going anywhere else. Mrs. Chebec is looking for a place now. I suppose I ought to be helping her, but I learned a long time ago, Peter Rabbit, that in matters of this kind it is just as well not to have any opinion at all. When Mrs. Chebec has picked out just the place she wants, I'll help her build the nest. It certainly is good to be back here in the Old Orchard and planning a home once more. We've made a terribly long journey, and I for one am glad it's over."
"I just saw your cousins, Mr. and Mrs. Phoebe, and they already have a nest and eggs," said Peter.
 "The Phoebes are a funny lot," replied Chebec. "They are the only members of the family that can stand cold weather. What pleasure they get out of it I don't understand. They are queer anyway, for they never build their nests in trees as the rest of us do."
"Are you the smallest in the family?" asked Peter, for it had suddenly struck him that Chebec was a very little fellow indeed.
Chebec nodded. "I'm the smallest," said he. "That's why they call me Least Flycatcher. I may be least in size, but I can tell you one thing, Peter Rabbit, and that is that I can catch just as many bugs and flies as any of them." Suiting action to the word, he darted out into the air. His little bill snapped and with a quick turn he was back on his former perch, jerking his tail and uttering his sharp little cry of, "Chebec! Chebec! Chebec!" until Peter began to wonder which he was the most fond of, catching flies, or the sound of his own voice.
Presently they both heard Mrs. Chebec calling from somewhere in the middle of the Old Orchard. "Excuse me, Peter," said Chebec, "I must go at once. Mrs. Chebec says she has found just the place for our nest, and now we've got a busy time ahead of us. We are very particular how we build a nest."
 "Do you start it with mud the way Welcome Robin and your cousins, the Phoebes, do?" asked Peter.
"Mud!" cried Chebec scornfully. "Mud! I should say not! I would have you understand, Peter, that we are very particular about what we use in our nest. We use only the finest of rootlets, strips of soft bark, fibers of plants, the brown cotton that grows on ferns, and perhaps a little hair when we can find it. We make a dainty nest, if I do say it, and we fasten it securely in the fork made by two or three upright little branches. Now I must go because Mrs. Chebec is getting impatient. Come see me when I'm not so busy, Peter."
Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall.
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.
All the king's horses and all the king's men
Couldn't put Humpty together again.
WEEK 27 |
 WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT was the first great poet in this country. He was a small man. When he was a baby, his head was too big for his body. His father used to send the baby to be dipped in a cold spring every day. The father thought that putting his head into cold water would keep it from growing.
Bryant knew his letters before he was a year and a half old. He began to write rhymes when he was a very little fellow. He wanted to be a poet. He used to pray that he might be a poet. His father printed some verses of his when he was only ten years old.
Bry-ant wrote many fine poems. Here are some lines of his about the bird we call a bobolink:—
"Robert of Lincoln is gayly dressed,
Wearing a bright black wedding coat,
White are his shoulders and white his crest.
Hear him call in his merry note:
Spink, spank, spink;
Look, what a nice new coat is mine,
Sure there was never a bird so fine.
Chee, chee, chee."
 Hawthorne was one of our greatest writers of stories. He was a pretty boy with golden curls. He was fond of all the great poets, and he read Shakespeare and Milton and many other poets as soon as he was old enough to understand them.
Hawthorne grew up a very handsome young fellow. One day he was walking in the woods. He met an old gypsy woman. She had never seen anybody so fine-looking.
"Are you a man, or an angel?" she asked him.
Some of Hawthorne's best books are written for girls and boys. One of these is called "The Wonder Book." Another of his books for young people is "Tanglewood Tales."
Prescott wrote beautiful histories. When Prescott was a boy, a schoolmate threw a crust of bread at him. It hit him in the eye. He became almost blind.
He had to do his writing with a machine. This machine was made for the use of the blind. There were no typewriters in those days.
It was hard work to write history without good eyes. But Prescott did not give up. He had a man to read to him. It took him ten years to write his first book.
When Prescott had finished his book, he was  afraid to print it. But his father said, "The man who writes a book, and is afraid to print it, is a coward."
Then Prescott printed his book. Everybody praised it. When you are older, you will like to read his histories.
Doctor Holmes, the poet, was a boy full of fancies. He lived in an old house. Soldiers had staid in the house at the time of the Revolution. The floor of one room was all battered by the butts of the soldiers' muskets.
Little Oliver Holmes used to think he could hear soldiers in the house. He thought he could hear their spurs rattling in the dark passages. Sometimes he thought he could hear their swords clanking.
The little boy was afraid of a sign that hung over the sidewalk. It was a great, big, wooden hand. It was the sign of a place where gloves were made. This big hand swung in the air. Little  Oliver Holmes had to walk under it on his way to school. He thought the great fingers would grab him some day. Then he thought he would never get home again. He even thought that his other pair of shoes would be put away till his little brother grew big enough to wear them.
But the big wooden hand never caught him.
Here are some verses that Doctor Holmes wrote about a very old
"My grand-mam-ma has
Poor old lady, she is dead
That he had a Roman nose,
And his cheek was like a rose
In the snow.
"But now his nose is thin,
And it rests upon his chin
Like a staff;
And a crook is in his back,
And a mel-an-chol-y crack
In his laugh.
"I know it is a sin
For me to sit and grin
At him here;
But the old three-cor-nered hat,
And the breeches, and all that,
Are so queer!
"And if I should live to be
The last leaf upon the tree
In the spring,
Let them smile, as I do now,
At the old for-sak-en bough
Where I cling."
A MANGO-TREE grew on the bank of a great river. The fruit fell from some of the branches of this tree into the river, and from other branches it fell on the ground.
Every night a troop of Monkeys gathered the fruit that lay on the ground and climbed up into the tree to get the mangoes, which were like large, juicy peaches.
One day the king of the country stood on the bank of this same river, but many miles below where the mango-tree grew. The king was watching the fishermen with their nets.
As they drew in their nets, the fishermen found not only fishes but a strange fruit. They went to the king with the strange fruit. "What is this?" asked the king.
"We do not know, O King," they said.
"Call the foresters," said the king, "They will know what it is."
 So they called the foresters and they said that it was a mango.
"Is it good to eat?" asked the king.
The foresters said it was very good. So the king cut the mango and giving some to the princes, he ate some of it himself. He liked it very much, and they all liked it.
Then the king said to the foresters, "Where does the mango-tree grow?"
 The foresters told him that it grew on the river bank many miles farther up the river.
"Let us go and see the tree and get some mangoes," said the king.
So he had many rafts joined together, and they went up the river until they came to the place where the mango-tree grew.
The foresters said, "O King, this is the mango-tree."
"We will land here," said the king, and they did so. The king and all the men with him gathered the mangoes that lay on the ground under the tree. They all liked them so well that the king said, "Let us stay here to-night, and gather more fruit in the morning." So they had their supper under the trees, and then lay down to sleep.
When all was quiet, the Chief of the Monkeys came with his troop. All the mangoes on the ground had been eaten, so the monkeys jumped from branch to branch, picking and eating mangoes, and chattering to one another. They made so much noise that they woke up the king. He called his archers saying: "Stand under the mango-tree and shoot the Monkeys as they come down to the ground to get away. Then in the morning we shall have Monkey's flesh as well as mangoes to eat."
The Monkeys saw the archers standing around with their  arrows ready to shoot. Fearing death, the Monkeys ran to their Chief, saying: "O Chief, the archers stand around the tree ready to shoot us! What shall we do?" They shook with fear.
The Chief said: "Do not fear; I will save you. Stay where you are until I call you."
The Monkeys were comforted, for he had always helped them whenever they had needed help.
Then the Chief of the Monkeys ran out on the branch of the mango-tree that hung out over the river. The long branches of the tree across the river did not quite meet the branch he stood on. The Chief said to himself: "If the Monkeys try to jump across from this tree to that, some of them will fall into the water and drown. I must save them, but how am I to do it? I know what I shall do. I shall make a bridge of my back."
So the Chief reached across and took hold of the longest branch of the tree across the river. He called, "Come, Monkeys; run out on this branch, step on my back, and then run along the branch of the other tree."
The Monkeys did as the Chief told them to do. They ran along the branch, stepped on his back, then ran along the branch of the other tree. They swung themselves down to the ground, and away they went back to their home.
 The king saw all that was done by the Chief and his troop. "That big Monkey," said the king to his archers, "saved the whole troop. I will see to it he is taken care of the rest of his life."
And the king kept his promise.