Short Stories for High Schools. Various
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Bernhard, on Irma’s knee, folded by her soft arm, grew restless as the story lengthened, and began to prattle softly at his mother’s ear.
“Mother,” whispered the child, “why did you cry out so loud, when the priest was going to send me to Valhalla?”
“Oh, hush, my child,” answered the mother, and pressed him closer to her side.
“Mother,” whispered the boy again, laying his finger on the stains upon her breast, “see, your dress is red! What are these stains? Did some one hurt you?”
The mother closed his mouth with a kiss. “Dear, be still, and listen!”
The boy obeyed. His eyes were heavy with sleep. But he heard the last words of Winfried as he spoke of the angelic messengers, flying over the hills of Judea and singing as they flew. The child wondered and dreamed and listened. Suddenly his face grew bright. He put his lips close to Irma’s cheek again.
“Oh, mother!” he whispered very low, “do not speak. Do you hear them? Those angels have come back again. They are singing now behind the tree.”
And some say that it was true; but others say that it was only Gregor and his companions at the lower end of the hall, chanting their Christmas hymn:
“ ‘All glory be to God on high,
And to the earth be peace!
Good-will, henceforth, from heaven to men
Begin, and never cease.’ ”
A FRENCH TAR-BABY
BY
Joel Chandler Harris
The fable was one of the first tributaries to the stream of story-telling. Primitive man with a kind of fine democracy claimed kinship with the animals about him. So Hiawatha learned the language and the secrets of birds and beasts,
“Talked with them whene’er he met them,
Called them Hiawatha’s Brothers.”
Out of this intimacy and understanding grew the fable, wherein animals thought, acted, and talked in the terms of human life. This kind of story is illustrated by the “Fables” of Æsop, the animal stories of Ernest Thompson-Seton, the “Jungle Books” of Rudyard Kipling, and the “Uncle Remus” stories of Joel Chandler Harris. The fable is a tale rather than a true short-story.
A FRENCH TAR-BABY[4]
In the time when there were hobgoblins and fairies, Brother Goat and Brother Rabbit lived in the same neighborhood, not far from each other.
Proud of his long beard and sharp horns, Brother Goat looked on Brother Rabbit with disdain. He would hardly speak to Brother Rabbit when he met him, and his greatest pleasure was to make his little neighbor the victim of his tricks and practical jokes. For instance, he would say:
“Brother Rabbit, here is Mr. Fox,” and this would cause Brother Rabbit to run away as hard as he could. Again he would say:
“Brother Rabbit, here is Mr. Wolf,” and poor Brother Rabbit would shake and tremble with fear. Sometimes he would cry out:
“Brother Rabbit, here is Mr. Tiger,” and then Brother Rabbit would shudder and think that his last hour had come.
Tired of this miserable existence, Brother Rabbit tried to think of some means by which he could change his powerful and terrible neighbor into a friend. After a time he thought he had discovered a way to make Brother Goat his friend, and so he invited him to dinner.
Brother Goat was quick to accept the invitation. The dinner was a fine affair, and there was an abundance of good eating. A great many different dishes were served. Brother Goat licked his mouth and shook his long beard with satisfaction. He had never before been present at such a feast.
“Well, my friend,” exclaimed Brother Rabbit, when the dessert was brought in, “how do you like your dinner?”
“I could certainly wish for nothing better,” replied Brother Goat, rubbing the tips of his horns against the back of his chair; “but my throat is very dry and a little water would hurt neither the dinner nor me.”
“Gracious!” said Brother Rabbit, “I have neither wine-cellar nor water. I am not in the habit of drinking while I am eating.”
“Neither have I any water, Brother Rabbit,” said Brother Goat. “But I have an idea! If you will go with me over yonder by the big poplar, we will dig a well.”
“No, Brother Goat,” said Brother Rabbit, who hoped to revenge himself—“no, I do not care to dig a well. At daybreak I drink the dew from the cups of the flowers, and in the heat of the day I milk the cows and drink the cream.”
“Well and good,” said Brother Goat. “Alone I will dig the well, and alone I will drink out of it.”
“Success to you, Brother Goat,” said Brother Rabbit.
“Thank you kindly, Brother Rabbit.”
Brother Goat then went to the foot of the big poplar and began to dig his well. He dug with his forefeet and with his horns, and the well got deeper and deeper. Soon the water began to bubble up and the well was finished, and then Brother Goat made haste to quench his thirst. He was in such a hurry that his beard got in the water, but he drank and drank until he had his fill.
Brother Rabbit, who had followed him at a little distance, hid himself behind a bush and laughed heartily. He said to himself: “What an innocent creature you are!”
The next day, when Brother Goat, with his big beard and sharp horns, returned to his well to get some water, he saw the tracks of Brother Rabbit in the soft earth. This put him to thinking. He sat down, pulled his beard, scratched his head, and tapped himself on the forehead.
“My friend,” he exclaimed after a while, “I will catch you yet.”
Then he ran and got his tools (for Brother Goat was something of a carpenter in those days) and made a large doll out of laurel wood. When the doll was finished, he spread tar on it here and there, on the right and on the left, and up and down. He smeared it all over with the sticky stuff, until it was as black as a Guinea negro.
This finished, Brother Goat waited quietly until evening. At sunset he placed the tarred doll near the well, and ran and hid himself behind the trees and bushes. The moon had just risen, and the heavens twinkled with millions of little star-torches.
Brother Rabbit, who was waiting in his house, believed that the time had come for him to get some water, so he took his bucket and went to Brother Goat’s well. On the way he was very much afraid that something would catch him. He trembled when the wind shook the leaves of the trees. He would go a little distance and then stop and listen; he hid here behind a stone, and there behind a tuft of grass.
At last he arrived at the well, and there he saw the little negro. He stopped and looked at it with astonishment. Then he drew back a little way, advanced again, drew back, advanced a little, and stopped once more.
“What can that be?” he said to himself. He listened, with his long ears pointed forward, but the trees could not talk, and the bushes were dumb. He winked his eyes and lowered his head:
“Hey, friend! who are you?” he asked.
The tar-doll didn’t move. Brother Rabbit went up a little closer, and asked again:
“Who are you?”
The tar-doll said nothing. Brother Rabbit breathed more at ease. Then he went to the brink of the well, but when he looked in the water the tar-doll seemed to look in too. He could see her reflection in the water. This made Brother Rabbit so mad that he grew red in the face.
“See here!” he exclaimed,