How To Tell Stories To Children [13]
he wanted to keep running away from the cow and the horse and the people.
"Jump on my tail, and I will take you across," said the fox.
So the little Gingerbread Boy jumped on the fox's tail, and the fox swam into the river. When he was a little way from shore he turned his head, and said, "You are too heavy on my tail, little Gingerbread Boy, I fear I shall let you get wet; jump on my back."
The little Gingerbread Boy jumped on his back.
A little farther out, the fox said, "I am afraid the water will cover you, there; jump on my shoulder."
The little Gingerbread Boy jumped on his shoulder.
In the middle of the stream the fox said, "Oh, dear! little Gingerbread Boy, my shoulder is sinking; jump on my nose, and I can hold you out of water."
So the little Gingerbread Boy jumped on his nose.
The minute the fox got on shore he threw back his head, and gave a snap!
"Dear me!" said the little Gingerbread Boy, "I am a quarter gone!" The next minute he said, "Why, I am half gone!" The next minute he said, "My goodness gracious, I am three quarters gone!"
And after that, the little Gingerbread Boy never said anything more at all.
THE LITTLE JACKALS AND THE LION[1]
[1] The four stories of the little Jackal, in this book, are adapted from stories in Old Deccan Days, a collection of orally transmitted Hindu folk tales, which every teacher would gain by knowing. In the Hindu animal legends the Jackal seems to play the role assigned in Germanic lore to Reynard the Fox, and to "Bre'r Rabbit" in the stories of our Southern negroes: he is the clever and humorous trickster who comes out of every encounter with a whole skin, and turns the laugh on every enemy, however mighty.
Once there was a great big jungle; and in the jungle there was a great big Lion; and the Lion was king of the jungle. Whenever he wanted anything to eat, all he had to do was to come up out of his cave in the stones and earth and ROAR. When he had roared a few times all the little people of the jungle were so frightened that they came out of their holes and hiding-places and ran, this way and that, to get away. Then, of course, the Lion could see where they were. And he pounced on them, killed them, and gobbled them up.
He did this so often that at last there was not a single thing left alive in the jungle besides the Lion, except two little Jackals, --a little father Jackal and a little mother Jackal.
They had run away so many times that they were quite thin and very tired, and they could not run so fast any more. And one day the Lion was so near that the little mother Jackal grew frightened; she said,--
"Oh, Father Jackal, Father Jackal! I b'lieve our time has come! the Lion will surely catch us this time!"
"Pooh! nonsense, mother!" said the little father Jackal. "Come, we'll run on a bit!"
And they ran, ran, ran very fast, and the Lion did not catch them that time.
But at last a day came when the Lion was nearer still and the little mother Jackal was frightened about to death.
"Oh, Father Jackal, Father Jackal!" she cried; "I'm sure our time has come! The Lion's going to eat us this time!"
"Now, mother, don't you fret," said the little father Jackal; "you do just as I tell you, and it will be all right."
Then what did those cunning little Jackals do but take hold of hands and run up towards the Lion, as if they had meant to come all the time. When he saw them coming he stood up, and roared in a terrible voice,--
"You miserable little wretches, come here and be eaten, at once! Why didn't you come before?"
The father Jackal bowed very low.
"Indeed, Father Lion," he said, "we meant to come before; we knew we ought to come before; and we wanted to come before; but every time we started to come, a dreadful great lion came out of the woods and roared at us, and frightened us so that we ran away."
"What do you mean?" roared the Lion. "There's no other lion in this jungle, and you know it!"
"Indeed, indeed, Father Lion," said the little Jackal, "I know that is what everybody thinks;
"Jump on my tail, and I will take you across," said the fox.
So the little Gingerbread Boy jumped on the fox's tail, and the fox swam into the river. When he was a little way from shore he turned his head, and said, "You are too heavy on my tail, little Gingerbread Boy, I fear I shall let you get wet; jump on my back."
The little Gingerbread Boy jumped on his back.
A little farther out, the fox said, "I am afraid the water will cover you, there; jump on my shoulder."
The little Gingerbread Boy jumped on his shoulder.
In the middle of the stream the fox said, "Oh, dear! little Gingerbread Boy, my shoulder is sinking; jump on my nose, and I can hold you out of water."
So the little Gingerbread Boy jumped on his nose.
The minute the fox got on shore he threw back his head, and gave a snap!
"Dear me!" said the little Gingerbread Boy, "I am a quarter gone!" The next minute he said, "Why, I am half gone!" The next minute he said, "My goodness gracious, I am three quarters gone!"
And after that, the little Gingerbread Boy never said anything more at all.
THE LITTLE JACKALS AND THE LION[1]
[1] The four stories of the little Jackal, in this book, are adapted from stories in Old Deccan Days, a collection of orally transmitted Hindu folk tales, which every teacher would gain by knowing. In the Hindu animal legends the Jackal seems to play the role assigned in Germanic lore to Reynard the Fox, and to "Bre'r Rabbit" in the stories of our Southern negroes: he is the clever and humorous trickster who comes out of every encounter with a whole skin, and turns the laugh on every enemy, however mighty.
Once there was a great big jungle; and in the jungle there was a great big Lion; and the Lion was king of the jungle. Whenever he wanted anything to eat, all he had to do was to come up out of his cave in the stones and earth and ROAR. When he had roared a few times all the little people of the jungle were so frightened that they came out of their holes and hiding-places and ran, this way and that, to get away. Then, of course, the Lion could see where they were. And he pounced on them, killed them, and gobbled them up.
He did this so often that at last there was not a single thing left alive in the jungle besides the Lion, except two little Jackals, --a little father Jackal and a little mother Jackal.
They had run away so many times that they were quite thin and very tired, and they could not run so fast any more. And one day the Lion was so near that the little mother Jackal grew frightened; she said,--
"Oh, Father Jackal, Father Jackal! I b'lieve our time has come! the Lion will surely catch us this time!"
"Pooh! nonsense, mother!" said the little father Jackal. "Come, we'll run on a bit!"
And they ran, ran, ran very fast, and the Lion did not catch them that time.
But at last a day came when the Lion was nearer still and the little mother Jackal was frightened about to death.
"Oh, Father Jackal, Father Jackal!" she cried; "I'm sure our time has come! The Lion's going to eat us this time!"
"Now, mother, don't you fret," said the little father Jackal; "you do just as I tell you, and it will be all right."
Then what did those cunning little Jackals do but take hold of hands and run up towards the Lion, as if they had meant to come all the time. When he saw them coming he stood up, and roared in a terrible voice,--
"You miserable little wretches, come here and be eaten, at once! Why didn't you come before?"
The father Jackal bowed very low.
"Indeed, Father Lion," he said, "we meant to come before; we knew we ought to come before; and we wanted to come before; but every time we started to come, a dreadful great lion came out of the woods and roared at us, and frightened us so that we ran away."
"What do you mean?" roared the Lion. "There's no other lion in this jungle, and you know it!"
"Indeed, indeed, Father Lion," said the little Jackal, "I know that is what everybody thinks;