Harrison - Little Blessed-Eyes; or The Fairy's Birthday Gift -- Keeping the Public in Public Domain

My husband and I have decided our birthdays no longer should have any present other than a dinner out. That being the case, since I believe a birthday should really be enjoyed for a WEEK!, I decided to find a story that celebrated a Birthday . . . since there is no limit to stories. 

It wasn't easy, but I found something reminding me of the fairies who came to Sleeping Beauty to give a present. Of course not all those fairy presents were happy. The story I found reminded me of those fairies, but is very different. I'm not sure we would like the present, but as I manage to enjoy the last of a truly beautiful autumn, I, too, feel like "Little Blessed-Eyes." 

The story comes from a book I doubt you have discovered, In Story-Land by Elizabeth Harrison. All we know about her is she was the Principal of the Chicago Kindergarten College at a time in the 19th century when the Kindergarten movement was new in the United States. This story, however, is not intended for that age child. Harrison says in her Preface:

It is not expected that the stories in this book will be told in their present form to Kindergarten children, as experience has shown that each Kindergartner must modify her story to suit the needs and capacities of her children, and must learn to take from any story just so much as may be helpful to her in creating a fresh story for the occasion. It is hoped, however, that they may serve the mother in her home reading with her group of children, and also that my colaborers in primary and second grade schools may sometimes use them for Friday afternoon readings.

Whether told at home, school, or wherever this story appears, I hope it helps you and your audience have "Blessed-Eyes" whether on a birthday or beyond!

The book has no illustrations, but I asked AI to make a "Picture of a fairy and a birthday cupcake" and think it does a fine job of being an enjoyable Birthday Gift.

 

LITTLE BLESSED-EYES; OR, THE FAIRY'S BIRTHDAY GIFT.

In the olden times when fairies could be seen by mortals, they often took upon themselves the office of sponsors, god-fathers and god-mothers, to new-born children. In such cases, the child adopted was sure, sooner or later, to receive some wonderful gift from his fairy god-mother.

One bright, Spring morning, a sweet boy baby came into a humble home, made ready for him by love. As his mother looked fondly upon the wee form at her side she thought, naturally enough, of his future, and wondered what kind of a man he would become. "How I wish," said she softly, "that I could give to you, my darling child, the richest gift on earth, so that Kings and Emperors might be proud to call you their companion." "So you can," said a gentle voice beside her. The mother was startled by the words, for she thought herself alone when she uttered the wish. She looked to the right, then to the left,—nobody had entered the room. "Ah, silly woman that I am," sighed she. "I have let my own thoughts answer me." Again she looked down at her babe.

"I can give him the greatest and most wonderful gift on earth," said the same gentle voice. This time the mother was quite sure that some one had spoken, though the voice was unlike any human voice she had ever heard. It was so soft and musical that it sounded like the tinkling of silver bells. The poor woman was quite frightened and drew her babe closer to her side as she peered into the shadowy corners of the room.

"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed the silvery voice, "Are you afraid of me!" Following the sound this time, the mother's eyes fell upon a tiny creature no larger than your thumb who sat perched upon a post of the bed. The body of this strange, little being was as perfect as that of any child. From its two shoulders extended two wings as thin as gauze, but gleaming with every tint of the rainbow. Upon its head was a slender gold crown, and its small face just at this moment was bright with a merry smile.

The mother knew instantly that it was one of the good fairies who were reported to be present at the birth of every babe, and who, if seen and recognized, were sure to bring some good fortune to the child, but if unnoticed, went away sorrowing, because they were then powerless to help the infant.

"What will you do for my child?" cried the mother. "Will you give him comfort and ease and fill his days with pleasure?"

"Ah no," replied the fairy, "I will give him something far better than pleasant food and a soft bed and fine clothes!"

"Will you make him great and powerful so that men may bow down before him?" said the mother eagerly.

"No! no!" again replied the fairy shaking her head. "I will give him something of far more worth than fame and power!"

"You will make him rich, so rich that he will never have to work?" exclaimed the mother.

"Nay, good woman," said the fairy seriously. "These are but foolish things for which you ask. My gift is greater than all of these put together. Pleasure and influence and wealth a man may earn for himself—and he may be very miserable after he gets them, too," added she, with a shrug of the shoulders. "The gift that I would bestow upon your son will make him the happiest of mortals and will give him the power of making many, many others happy!"

"Tell me," cried the mother, "how will you make him so happy? No human being is ever sure of happiness."

"Let me kiss him upon his two eyelids as he lies there asleep," replied the fairy, "and do you the same each returning birthday and all will be well."

The mother hesitated; a step was heard approaching the door.

"Quick, quick!" exclaimed the fairy. "I must be off before that door opens, as it is forbidden us ever to be seen by more than one mortal at a time. Shall I give him the magic kiss or not?"

"Yes!" cried the excited mother, "I trust you will do no harm to my precious child."

Instantly the fairy fluttered down from the post of the bed, and impressing a kiss upon each of the closed eyelids of the child, she said, softly, "He shall be called 'Blessed-Eyes.'"

The door of the room swung back upon its hinges, the father of the child entered with a cheery "Good morning" to wife and babe, the fairy was gone.—The mother silently pondered over what had happened and when the christening day came, she said his name was to be "Blessed-Eyes."

Most of her friends and relatives thought this was a very queer name indeed to give to a child, and even went so far as to argue with the father that the little one ought to be named "John" or "James" after one or the other of his two grandfathers. But as the boy grew into a sweet, healthy childhood, loving and kind to everyone, they were gradually reconciled to the name, and little Blessed-Eyes became a general favorite. He was always sunshiny, always happy. His mother never failed on each new birthday to rise early, even before the day dawned, and to go to his bedside, and, bending over him, kiss his two eyelids as the fairy had bidden. At such times she imagined that she heard a faint sound as of a far-away chorus of strange, silvery voices, singing:

"Love well, love well, love well, That the heart within may swell, Love well, love well, love well!"

Still, she was never quite sure but that it was merely the first mellow tones of the church bell in a distant village.

Long before her child could talk the mother noticed how closely he observed everything about him, and how quickly he responded to the faintest smile upon her face. As he grew older it was a delight to take him out for a walk. He was constantly discovering some new beauty in the landscape. He saw the first red glow of the evening sunset. His eyes were the first to spy out the early spring flower, even before the snow was off the ground. In the late autumn when the wind was sharp and cold and the woods were bare, he was sure to bring home some red mountain berries, or some withered leaf into a corner of which a cunning little caterpillar had wrapped himself, sewing it over and over as one would sew a bag. Then he would tell gleefully how the frost had touched the ponds and changed them into smooth glass. Often on a cold winter morning he would waken his mother by clapping his hands with joy over the frost-pictures on the window pane. Sometimes in the evening twilight he would ask his mother if the stars were pinholes in the floor of heaven through which the glory shone. No stone nor cloud nor stream nor tree but gave him pleasure.

"Ah," thought the mother, "this is the fairy's birthday gift. She has made his eyes to see the beautiful everywhere." "More than that, far more than that! Kings and princes shall yet call him great!" was whispered gently in her ear. The mother was amazed. Who could have heard her unuttered thoughts? She looked up, but she only saw a robin hopping about in a branch of the tree overhead. Still she seemed to hear again the soft but distant singing of the words,

"Love well, love well, love well, That the heart within may swell, Love well, love well, love well."

"Surely," said she, half aloud, "who could help loving the child. He has indeed, blessed eyes."

As the boy grew older he seemed somehow to know the people about him as nobody else knew them. He was always finding out the best that was in each of them. Somehow he had a way of helping all the other lads out of their difficulties. For instance, early one morning when he chanced to be passing the old basket maker's, he heard the shop boy speaking in loud, angry tones to the baskets, abusing them for being so contrary and ill-shaped. Blessed-Eyes paused, and looking through the open door he saw the poor apprentice struggling to fit a round cover on to a square basket and a square cover on to a round basket.

"Let me help you," said Blessed-Eyes cheerily, "I think you have made a mistake, that's all. This cover was intended for that basket, and that cover for this basket." With these words he put the round cover on to the round basket, and the square cover on to the square basket, and each fitted snugly into its place.

"How clever you are, Blessed-Eyes," said the apprentice, "I have been working over these baskets for the last half hour." Without more ado he put them upon his shoulder, and started on his errand, which was to deliver them to the gardener at the King's palace.

Years passed by, changing little Blessed-Eyes into a tall young man, and each succeeding year added to the wonderful power which his eyes possessed, of seeing the best that was in everything and everybody. He was the friend of rich and poor. All sought his companionship, for he was constantly pointing out to them so many beautiful things in the world about them which they would never have seen but for him. All loved him dearly, for he was just as constantly finding the best that their inner world contained, and encouraging them to live according to their noblest ideals of how true men and women should live. So, you see, the fairy's Birthday Gift was indeed a great, and wonderful Gift.

*****

The Second Edition of In Story-Land adds this comment, "A friendly critic has suggested that I add 'One story a day is enough for a child.' This is certainly the case if the story is to make any deep or lasting impression."

I'm not sure I agree, but may this story be a birthday gift for you.

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This is part of a series of postings of stories under the category, “Keeping the Public in Public Domain.” The idea behind Public Domain was to preserve our cultural heritage after the authors and their immediate heirs were compensated. I feel strongly current copyright law delays this intent on works of the 20^th century. My own library of folklore includes so many books within the Public Domain I decided to share stories from them. I hope you enjoy discovering them.

At the same time, my own involvement in storytelling regularly creates projects requiring research as part of my sharing stories with an audience.  Whenever that research needs to be shown here, the publishing of Public Domain stories will not occur that week.  This is a return to my regular posting of a research project here.  (Don't worry, this isn't dry research, my research is always geared towards future storytelling to an audience.)  Response has convinced me that "Keeping the Public in Public Domain" should continue along with my other postings as often as I can manage it.

See the sidebar for other Public Domain story resources I recommend on the page “Public Domain Story Resources."

 

Martens - The Night on the Battlefield - Keeping the Public in Public Domain

Last week I posted a slightly spooky story from Frederick H. Martens Ghost Stories section of The Chinese Fairy Book, a book worth prowling for more than just that section. As today is Halloween I've chosen a Chinese tale that seems to fit battlefields all over the world.

While the book has some illustrations, there are none for the Ghost Stories. This is an AI created illustration showing the frightened merchant peeking through the door at the mysterious soldiers gathered in the inn, as the imposing general arrives during the storm.

 

 

I'm told there are many battlefield ghost stories. Perhaps this will either be told or re-told as if it happened in a different setting. 

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This is part of a series of postings of stories under the category, “Keeping the Public in Public Domain.” The idea behind Public Domain was to preserve our cultural heritage after the authors and their immediate heirs were compensated. I feel strongly current copyright law delays this intent on works of the 20^th century. My own library of folklore includes so many books within the Public Domain I decided to share stories from them. I hope you enjoy discovering them.

At the same time, my own involvement in storytelling regularly creates projects requiring research as part of my sharing stories with an audience.  Whenever that research needs to be shown here, the publishing of Public Domain stories will not occur that week.  This is a return to my regular posting of a research project here.  (Don't worry, this isn't dry research, my research is always geared towards future storytelling to an audience.)  Response has convinced me that "Keeping the Public in Public Domain" should continue along with my other postings as often as I can manage it.

See the sidebar for other Public Domain story resources I recommend on the page “Public Domain Story Resources."

 

Martens - The Maiden Who Was Stolen Away - Keeping the Public in Public Domain

October should be filled with spooky stories. Somehow this month my searching for something "new" led me to Frederick H. Martens, The Chinese Fairy Book, which has a section of Ghost Stories. Several of the stories are actually about ogres, but they certainly can be spooky enough. Many years ago Dover Publications created Children's Thrift Classics, which is where I first came across a few of the stories from The Chinese Fairy Book. It was worth going to the full volume only hinted at in the little Dover book. The cover of that little "Thrift Classic" has an illustration that might fit today's story.

 

Hope the enchantment of that story lasts long enough to enjoy it! For the rest of the month, avoid ogres and pagodas unless they are in stories!

 

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This is part of a series of postings of stories under the category, “Keeping the Public in Public Domain.” The idea behind Public Domain was to preserve our cultural heritage after the authors and their immediate heirs were compensated. I feel strongly current copyright law delays this intent on works of the 20^th century. My own library of folklore includes so many books within the Public Domain I decided to share stories from them. I hope you enjoy discovering them.

At the same time, my own involvement in storytelling regularly creates projects requiring research as part of my sharing stories with an audience.  Whenever that research needs to be shown here, the publishing of Public Domain stories will not occur that week.  This is a return to my regular posting of a research project here.  (Don't worry, this isn't dry research, my research is always geared towards future storytelling to an audience.)  Response has convinced me that "Keeping the Public in Public Domain" should continue along with my other postings as often as I can manage it.

See the sidebar for other Public Domain story resources I recommend on the page “Public Domain Story Resources."

Thorne-Thomsen - Bruin and Reynard Partners - Keeping the Public in Public Domain

I've been telling a lot lately about Harvest time. (It's popular with groups wanting to avoid Halloween.) That earlier post about Harvest includes some of the stories told. There's a story I call "Tops and Bottoms" but pioneer storyteller, Gudrun Thorne-Thomsen links to that traditional trickster, Reynard, the fox.  There are many versions of this story, but she boils down to its essential elements in her wonderful little book, East o' the Sun and West o' the Moon . While she was born in Norway and takes their traditional stories and presents them, as her Foreword says to "retain the conversational style of the teller of tales. .  . translated into the atmosphere of the old-time story-hour." That's spoken as the storytelling pioneer and Chicago librarian she definitely was. 

 

(No illustrations were found, so this is AI)

Bruin and Reynard Partners

Once on a time Bruin and Reynard owned a field in common. They had a little clearing up in the wood, and the first year they sowed rye.

"Now we must share the crop as is fair and right," said Reynard. "If you like to have the root, I'll take the top."

Yes, Bruin was ready to do that; but when they had threshed out the crop, Reynard got all the corn, but Bruin got nothing but roots and rubbish. He did not like that at all; but Reynard said that was how they had agreed to share it.

"This year I have the gain," said Reynard, "next year it will be your turn. Then you shall have the top, and I shall have to put up with the root."

But when spring came, and it was time to sow, Reynard asked Bruin what he thought of turnips.

"Aye, aye!" said Bruin, "that's better food than rye," and so Reynard thought also. But when harvest time came Reynard got the roots, while Bruin got the turnip-tops. And then Bruin was so angry with Reynard that he put an end at once to his partnership with him. 

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Be sure to look at that other Harvest post here. 

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This is part of a series of postings of stories under the category, “Keeping the Public in Public Domain.” The idea behind Public Domain was to preserve our cultural heritage after the authors and their immediate heirs were compensated. I feel strongly current copyright law delays this intent on works of the 20^th century. My own library of folklore includes so many books within the Public Domain I decided to share stories from them. I hope you enjoy discovering them.

At the same time, my own involvement in storytelling regularly creates projects requiring research as part of my sharing stories with an audience.  Whenever that research needs to be shown here, the publishing of Public Domain stories will not occur that week.  This is a return to my regular posting of a research project here.  (Don't worry, this isn't dry research, my research is always geared towards future storytelling to an audience.)  Response has convinced me that "Keeping the Public in Public Domain" should continue along with my other postings as often as I can manage it.

See the sidebar for other Public Domain story resources I recommend on the page “Public Domain Story Resources."

 

Schoolcraft - Strong Desire and the Red Sorcerer - Keeping the Public in Public Domain

This coming Monday is a holiday with two names: Columbus Day celebrating the discovery of America by Christopher Columbus or Indigenous Peoples' Day as an alternative in many states including here in Michigan. At the same time Halloween is starting to appear everywhere! Surely a combination of both the spooky and Native American folklore should be found.

Under the name of Henry Rowe Schoolcraft comes a story that is both spooky and, in his 1856 The Myth of Hiawatha, and Other Oral Legends, Mythologic and Allegoric, of the North American Indians, he attributes to the "Dacotah."

(Storyteller's note, this was an oral story and re-telling as needed is assumed.)

Image created using Artificial Intelligence from story details

 

PAH-HAH-UNDOOTAH,

THE RED HEAD.

A DACOTAH LEGEND.

As spring approaches, the Indians return from their wintering grounds to their villages, engage in feasting, soon exhaust their stock of provisions, and begin to suffer for the want of food. Such of the hunters as are of an active and enterprising cast of character, take the occasion to separate from the mass of the population, and remove to some neighboring locality in the forest, which promises the means of subsistence during this season of general lassitude and enjoyment.

Among the families who thus separated themselves, on a certain occasion, there was a man called Odshedoph Waucheentongah, or the Child of Strong Desires, who had a wife and one son. After a day's travel he reached an ample wood with his family, which was thought to be a suitable place to encamp. The wife fixed the lodge, while the husband went out to hunt. Early in the evening he returned with a deer. Being tired and thirsty he asked his son to go to the river for some water. The son replied that it was dark and he was afraid. He urged him to go, saying that his mother, as well as himself, was tired, and the distance to the water was very short. But no persuasion was of any avail. He refused to go. "Ah, my son," said the father, at last, "if you are afraid to go to the river, you will never kill the Red Head."

The boy was deeply mortified by this observation. It seemed to call up all his latent energies. He mused in silence. He refused to eat, and made no reply when spoken to.

The next day he asked his mother to dress the skin of the deer, and make it into moccasins for him, while he busied himself in preparing a bow and arrows. As soon as these things were done, he left the lodge one morning at sunrise, without saying a word to his father or mother. He fired one of his arrows into the air, which fell westward. He took that course, and at night coming to the spot where the arrow had fallen, was rejoiced to find it piercing the heart of a deer. He refreshed himself with a meal of the venison, and the next morning fired another arrow. After travelling all day, he found it also in another deer. In this manner he fired four arrows, and every evening found that he had killed a deer. What was very singular, however, was, that he left the arrows sticking in the carcasses, and passed on without withdrawing them. In consequence of this, he had no arrow for the fifth day, and was in great distress at night for the want of food. At last he threw himself upon the ground in despair, concluding that he might as well perish there as go further. But he had not lain long before he heard a hollow, rumbling noise, in the ground beneath him. He sprang up, and discovered at a distance the figure of a human being, walking with a stick. He looked attentively and saw that the figure was walking in a wide beaten path, in a prairie, leading from a lodge to a lake. To his surprise, this lodge was at no great distance. He approached a little nearer and concealed himself. He soon discovered that the figure was no other than that of the terrible witch, Wok-on-kahtohn-zooeyah-pee-kah-haitchee, or the little old woman who makes war. Her path to the lake was perfectly smooth and solid, and the noise our adventurer had heard, was caused by the striking of her walking staff upon the ground. The top of this staff was decorated with a string of the toes and bills of birds of every kind, who at every stroke of the stick, fluttered and sung their various notes in concert.

She entered her lodge and laid off her mantle, which was entirely composed of the scalps of women. Before folding it, she shook it several times, and at every shake the scalps uttered loud shouts of laughter, in which the old hag joined. Nothing could have frightened him more than this horrific exhibition. After laying by the cloak she came directly to him. She informed him that she had known him from the time he left his father's lodge, and watched his movements. She told him not to fear or despair, for she would be his friend and protector. She invited him into her lodge, and gave him a supper. During the repast, she inquired of him his motives for visiting her. He related his history, stated the manner in which he had been disgraced, and the difficulties he labored under. She cheered him with the assurance of her friendship, and told him he would be a brave man yet.

She then commenced the exercise of her power upon him. His hair being very short, she took a large leaden comb, and after drawing it through his hair several times, it became of a handsome feminine length. She then proceeded to dress him as a female, furnishing him with the necessary garments, and decorated his face with paints of the most beautiful dye. She gave him a bowl of shining metal. She directed him to put in his girdle a blade of scented sword-grass, and to proceed the next morning to the banks of the lake, which was no other than that over which the Red Head reigned. Now Pah-hah-undootah, or the Red Head, was a most powerful sorcerer and the terror of all the country, living upon an island in the centre of the lake.

She informed him that there would be many Indians on the island, who, as soon as they saw him use the shining bowl to drink with, would come and solicit him to be their wife, and to take him over to the island. These offers he was to refuse, and say that he had come a great distance to be the wife of the Red Head, and that if the chief could not come for her in his own canoe, she should return to her village. She said that as soon as the Red Head heard of this, he would come for her in his own canoe, in which she must embark. On reaching the island he must consent to be his wife, and in the evening induce him to take a walk out of the village, when he was to take the first opportunity to cut off his head with the blade of grass. She also gave him general advice how he was to conduct himself to sustain his assumed character of a woman. His fear would scarcely permit him to accede to this plan, but the recollection of his father's words and looks decided him.

Early in the morning, he left the witch's lodge, and took the hard beaten path to the banks of the lake. He reached the water at a point directly opposite the Red Head's village. It was a beautiful day. The heavens were clear, and the sun shone out in the greatest effulgence. He had not been long there, having sauntered along the beach, when he displayed the glittering bowl, by dipping water from the lake. Very soon a number of canoes came off from the island. The men admired his dress, and were charmed with his beauty, and a great number made proposals of marriage. These he promptly declined, agreeably to the concerted plan. When the facts were reported to the Red Head, he ordered his canoe to be put in the water by his chosen men, and crossed over to see this wonderful girl. As he came near the shore, he saw that the ribs of the sorcerer's canoe were formed of living rattlesnakes, whose heads pointed outward to guard him from enemies. Our adventurer had no sooner stepped into the canoe than they began to hiss and rattle, which put him in a great fright. But the magician spoke to them, after which they became pacified and quiet, and all at once they were at the landing upon the island. The marriage immediately took place, and the bride made presents of various valuables which had been furnished by the old witch.

As they were sitting in the lodge surrounded by friends and relatives, the mother of the Red Head regarded the face of her new daughter-in-law for a long time with fixed attention. From this scrutiny she was convinced that this singular and hasty marriage augured no good to her son. She drew her husband aside and disclosed to him her suspicions: "This can be no female," said she; "the figure and manners, the countenance, and more especially the expression of the eyes, are, beyond a doubt, those of a man." Her husband immediately rejected her suspicions, and rebuked her severely for the indignity offered to her daughter-in-law. He became so angry, that seizing the first thing that came to hand, which happened to be his pipe stem, he beat her unmercifully. This act requiring to be explained to the spectators, the mock bride immediately rose up, and assuming an air of offended dignity, told the Red Head that after receiving so gross an insult from his relatives he could not think of remaining with him as his wife, but should forthwith return to his village and friends. He left the lodge followed by the Red Head, and walked until he came upon the beach of the island, near the spot where they had first landed. Red Head entreated him to remain. He pressed him by every motive which he thought might have weight, but they were all rejected. During this conference they had seated themselves upon the ground, and Red Head, in great affliction, reclined his head upon his fancied wife's lap. This was the opportunity ardently sought for, and it was improved to the best advantage. Every means was taken to lull him to sleep, and partly by a soothing manner, and partly by a seeming compliance with his request, the object was at last attained. Red Head fell into a sound sleep. Our aspirant for the glory of a brave man then drew his blade of grass, and drawing it once across the neck of the Red Head completely severed the head from the body.

He immediately stripped off his dress, seized the bleeding head, and plunging into the lake, swam safely over to the main shore. He had scarcely reached it, when, looking back, he saw amid the darkness the torches of persons come out in search of the new-married couple. He listened till they had found the headless body, and he heard their piercing shrieks of sorrow, as he took his way to the lodge of his kind adviser.

She received him with rejoicing. She admired his prudence, and told him his bravery could never be questioned again. Lifting up the head, she said he need only have brought the scalp. She cut off a small piece for herself, and told him he might now return with the head, which would be evidence of an achievement that would cause the Indians to respect him. In your way home, she said, you will meet with but one difficulty. Maunkah Keesh Woccaung, or the spirit of the Earth, requires an offering from those who perform extraordinary achievements. As you walk along in a prairie, there will be an earthquake. The earth will open and divide the prairie in the middle. Take this partridge and throw it into the opening, and instantly spring over it. All this happened precisely as it had been foretold. He cast the partridge into the crevice and leapt over it. He then proceeded without obstruction to a place near his village, where he secreted his trophy. On entering the village he found his parents had returned from the place of their spring encampment, and were in great sorrow for their son, whom they supposed to be lost. One and another of the young men had presented themselves to the disconsolate parents, and said, "Look up, I am your son." Having been often deceived in this manner, when their own son actually presented himself, they sat with their heads down, and with their eyes nearly blinded with weeping. It was some time before they could be prevailed upon to bestow a glance upon him. It was still longer before they recognized him for their son; when he recounted his adventures they believed him mad. The young men laughed at him. He left the lodge and soon returned with his trophy. It was soon recognized. All doubts of the reality of his adventures now vanished. He was greeted with joy and placed among the first warriors of the nation. He finally became a chief, and his family were ever after respected and esteemed.

Schoolcraft repeated the story in his 1916 The Indian Fairy Book.

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This is part of a series of postings of stories under the category, “Keeping the Public in Public Domain.” The idea behind Public Domain was to preserve our cultural heritage after the authors and their immediate heirs were compensated. I feel strongly current copyright law delays this intent on works of the 20^th century. My own library of folklore includes so many books within the Public Domain I decided to share stories from them. I hope you enjoy discovering them.

At the same time, my own involvement in storytelling regularly creates projects requiring research as part of my sharing stories with an audience.  Whenever that research needs to be shown here, the publishing of Public Domain stories will not occur that week.  This is a return to my regular posting of a research project here.  (Don't worry, this isn't dry research, my research is always geared towards future storytelling to an audience.)  Response has convinced me that "Keeping the Public in Public Domain" should continue along with my other postings as often as I can manage it.

See the sidebar for other Public Domain story resources I recommend on the page “Public Domain Story Resources."

 

Skinner - True Friendship - Keeping the Public in Public Domain

Insects know winter is coming and are hunting for homes to survive it. Probably you hope your own home isn't chosen. While coping with them, here's a story that looks into the kingdom of the ants, but includes the spider, bee, grasshopper, and cricket. The idea of friendship among insects comes from those storytelling sisters, Eleanor  and Ada Skinner in their book aptly named Merry Tales.

The tale takes place on a threshing floor (here called a "thrashing" floor), but telling the story you could easily move it. Feel free also to create your own bit of melody to bring the story to a conclusion.

The book's Foreword also gives an excellent reason for telling such Merry Tales.

From a knowledge and love of children both extending through many years, I wish to speak of the pleasure and profit they will derive from reading and possessing Merry Tales.

To keep children sane and sweet they must be given bright and cheery stories to read. They will find them in Merry Tales. Early in life they should learn something of myths and folklore. These tales are founded on these old treasures, but are charmingly adapted to the understanding of present-day children. I have read few books for children possessing such literary value and yet using words that children can master without difficulty, thereby being able to enjoy their own reading.

I hope that Merry Tales will find a place not only in the schoolroom for that time of delight in a well-taught school,—“the period for supplementary reading,”—but that parents may find the book out to place it in the child’s own library, a thing that a child must have if it is ever to have in later life the joys of a genuine booklover.

MARGARET W. SUTHERLAND,

Principal of the Columbus Normal School.

 

 

https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Red_Ant_-_March_2025.jpg
 

TRUE FRIENDSHIP

Down yonder by the thrashing floors, where the husbandmen thrash out their corn, some large black ants once established themselves and built their nests. They settled themselves in that place in order to be near good and wholesome food, such as wheat, barley, and maize, which they carried off whether the farmers liked it or not.

These ants prospered and became so numerous that they formed themselves into a kingdom, and had their own king.

The king, who was an old ant, was very wise and courageous. As he was a real king, he wore a golden crown upon his head and held a golden scepter in his hand.

His crown was a small piece of round gold wire, which fitted his head splendidly. His soldiers in one of their raids had found it in a country maiden’s casket. They took possession of it, and presented it to their sovereign. In the same way they had come across the scepter, which they saw one day on the thrashing floor, and appropriated in like manner. It was nothing more than a little gold watch key which had dropped off the chain of the village steward, but that was of no consequence, because as soon as the royal hand grasped it, it derived value from that circumstance alone.

The king had his own carriage. It was made out of a nutshell, and was drawn by two swift and well-harnessed beetles, who, like all royal horses, were well trained. The king generally drove out, because his majesty was now so aged that he had become quite white and feeble.

So you see that he had every blessing, and his people loved him very much. But he was not happy for he was weary and no longer found pleasure in anything. Perhaps this was because he had so much.

One day there was a great tumult in the ant kingdom. A regiment of soldiers, which had gone out upon an excursion, returned after a brilliant victory, and brought back great spoils, and also four prisoners.

The king, from the balcony of his palace, with his crown on his head and his scepter in his hand, greeted his army as it marched before him in great order, saluting him with, “Long live the King!” Then he ordered that the four prisoners should be brought before him, that he might try them.

The first captive was a spider.

“What is your name?” asked the king.

“Spider,” she answered humbly, and did homage with her two forelegs.

“Where were you born?” said the king.

“I was born in the mill’s dark cellar.”

After many other questions the king again said, “What art do you know?”

“I know how to weave,” said the spider. “No one can surpass me in weaving. I am the very, very best weaver in the whole wide world.”

“Good!” said the king. “You shall weave some cloth for my palace, and if your work is satisfactory, I will set you free; if not, I shall hand you over to my soldiers to be cut to pieces. Shut her up in prison and let her begin at once.”

As the king decreed this, he lowered his scepter and struck it on the ground, when immediately soldiers dragged off the spider by her feet, and put her in a cell.

The second prisoner, which was a bee, was then brought forward. The king in like manner questioned her. She said her name was “Bee,” and did him obeisance. Upon his inquiring where she was born, she replied, “In a hive, which was a house built for a number of bees to live in.”

“Do you know any trade or profession?” inquired the king.

“Certainly, your majesty, I know how to make a most delicious food. No one can excel me.”

“Good!” said the king. “You shall make all the sweetmeats that are required at the forthcoming festival, when the peasants spread their thrashing floors. If I am pleased with them, I shall release you; but if not, I shall order my soldiers to cut off your head. Shut her up in prison, and let her begin at once.”

Again he knocked with his scepter, and the detachment of soldiers led the bee off to prison. Then the king said: “Bring in the two other prisoners together, that we may finish with them; for I have other business of the kingdom on hand.”

The third and fourth captives were brought in together. One was a grasshopper, and the other a cricket.

When they were asked the customary questions as to their places of birth, the first replied, “At the roots of a bush of thyme.” And the other, “In the air!”

Then the king proceeded with: “And what arts do you know?”

“I know how to sing,” cried the cricket.

“And I, how to dance,” said the grasshopper.

“Splendid arts, truly, both the one and the other,” called out the king in a rage, and he knocked with his scepter so loudly that all his courtiers and soldiers, as well as the two prisoners, were frightened. “Since you know nothing, you are plainly of no use. I shall have you cut up, the pair of you.”

“Please, your majesty,” said the cricket boldly, while the grasshopper trembled with fear, “can we do nothing? Do we know nothing? Because this lady and myself cannot weave like the spider or make sweetmeats like the bee? We are worthy people, and the whole world loves us. We amuse all the insects on both hill and plain; we make life in the long summer days when the sun is hot a little less wearisome; then I sing, and she dances, and for those who see and hear us time soon passes. Allow us the same privilege before your majesty, and you can then judge if we be deserving of freedom or death.”

The king was not hard-hearted, and after hearing this plea of the cricket, he said, “I grant your request. I have a little time in which to divert myself, and if you can succeed in giving me pleasure in a short space of time, I will give you both your liberty, and grant you each any favor that you may ask.”

He gave orders to release them. The cricket then began to sing with all the skill that she possessed, and the grasshopper danced at the same time. Neither the king nor any of his courtiers or soldiers had ever heard so sweet a voice, or seen so artistic a dance. His majesty was delighted; his old face beamed all over, and he struck merrily with his scepter, and shouted: “Well done! Bravo! I’ll free you—I’ll free you. I only request that whenever you have the time or the inclination, you will come and amuse me and my subjects a little. Labor is good, but life wants some few pleasures also. I told you that I would grant you any favor that you asked for. Ask now what you will.” Then the cricket said pleadingly, “Your majesty, I ask this favor—that the poor spider may be released.”

“You have a good heart,” answered the king; “be it so.” And he turned to the grasshopper. “And what favor do you ask, madam dancer?”

“May it please your majesty to release the bee?”

“And you, too, have a good heart; your wish is granted.” And the king ordered the release of the prisoners.

They were immediately set free, and all the ants conducted them out of the ant hills, while the cricket, full of joy, sang along the road:

“Zi zi zi and zi zi zi,

May our lord the king live joyfully,

And all his people as well as he.”

Merry have we met,

And merry have we been;

Merry let us part,

And merry meet again.

Old Rime.

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This is part of a series of postings of stories under the category, “Keeping the Public in Public Domain.” The idea behind Public Domain was to preserve our cultural heritage after the authors and their immediate heirs were compensated. I feel strongly current copyright law delays this intent on works of the 20^th century. My own library of folklore includes so many books within the Public Domain I decided to share stories from them. I hope you enjoy discovering them.

At the same time, my own involvement in storytelling regularly creates projects requiring research as part of my sharing stories with an audience.  Whenever that research needs to be shown here, the publishing of Public Domain stories will not occur that week.  This is a return to my regular posting of a research project here.  (Don't worry, this isn't dry research, my research is always geared towards future storytelling to an audience.)  Response has convinced me that "Keeping the Public in Public Domain" should continue along with my other postings as often as I can manage it.

See the sidebar for other Public Domain story resources I recommend on the page “Public Domain Story Resources."

 

Skinner - The Alligator Tree - Keeping the Public in Public Domain

Wikipedia tells us Juniperus deppeana (alligator juniper or checkerbark juniper) is a small to medium-sized tree reaching 10–15 metres (33–49 feet) in height. It is native to central and northern Mexico and the southwestern United States.

That's the factual information, but Myths and Legends Beyond Our Borders By Charles M. Skinner gives a delightful Mexican "Pourquois" tale of misbehaving alligators.

 

That light-hearted bit for Hispanic Heritage Month is probably more popular in our southwestern states where that tree can be found. Here in Michigan it would be mainly useful if a story about alligators is needed.

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This is part of a series of postings of stories under the category, “Keeping the Public in Public Domain.” The idea behind Public Domain was to preserve our cultural heritage after the authors and their immediate heirs were compensated. I feel strongly current copyright law delays this intent on works of the 20^th century. My own library of folklore includes so many books within the Public Domain I decided to share stories from them. I hope you enjoy discovering them.

At the same time, my own involvement in storytelling regularly creates projects requiring research as part of my sharing stories with an audience.  Whenever that research needs to be shown here, the publishing of Public Domain stories will not occur that week.  This is a return to my regular posting of a research project here.  (Don't worry, this isn't dry research, my research is always geared towards future storytelling to an audience.)  Response has convinced me that "Keeping the Public in Public Domain" should continue along with my other postings as often as I can manage it.

See the sidebar for other Public Domain story resources I recommend on the page “Public Domain Story Resources."