Project Gutenberg's Child Stories from the Masters, by Maud Menefee

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org


Title: Child Stories from the Masters
       Being a Few Modest Interpretations of Some Phases of the
       Master Works Done in a Child Way

Author: Maud Menefee

Release Date: June 8, 2007 [EBook #21764]

Language: English

Character set encoding: UTF-8

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHILD STORIES FROM THE MASTERS ***




Produced by Mark C. Orton, Thomas Strong, Linda McKeown
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net









           CHILD STORIES
         FROM THE MASTERS


               BY

           MAUD MENEFEE


BEING A FEW MODEST INTERPRETATIONS
  OF SOME PHASES OF THE MASTER
   WORKS DONE IN A CHILD WAY


        _ILLUSTRATED_




[Illustration]




     RAND, McNALLY & COMPANY
_CHICAGO_    _NEW YORK_    _LONDON_




[Illustration: _By Jean François Millet_

THE SPINNER]




     COPYRIGHT, 1899, 1901
        By MAUD MENEFEE




              TO
         ANDREA HOFER




FOREWORD.

In writing these stories, no attempt has been made to follow the plot or
problem of the poems, which in almost every case lies beyond the child's
reach. The simple purpose as found in the whole, or the suggestion of
only a stanza or scene, has been used as opportunity for picturing and
reflecting something of the poetry and intention of the originals.

As story-teller to the same circle of children for several years, it
became necessary to draw upon the great literary fount for suggestion,
and it was found that "Pippa," the art child of industry, could add a
poetic impulse toward the handwork of spinning, thread-winding, weaving,
the making of spinning wheels, winders, and looms, without too great
violence to the original poem itself.

"Mignon," as the creature of an art that exists for art's sake, was set
to contrast with Pippa, who through service finds a song to heal and to
inspire.

"Siegfried" and "Parsifal," as knight stories, were given with their
musical _motifs_.

The writer hopes for "Child Stories" that it may serve to suggest to
teachers how they may utilize the great store of poetry and art at hand.
To do this they are themselves under the joyful necessity of keeping
close to the great sources. On this last point Mr. Wm. T. Harris says:
"A view of the world is a perpetual stimulant to thought, always
prompting one to reflect on the immediate fact or event before him, and
to discover its relation to the ultimate principle of the universe. It
is the only antidote for the constant tendency of the teacher to sink
into a dead formalism, the effect of too much iteration and of the
practice of adjusting knowledge to the needs of the feeble-minded by
perpetual explanation of what is already simple _ad nauseam_ for the
mature intelligence of the teacher. It produces a sort of pedagogical
cramp in the soul, for which there is no remedy like a philosophical
view of the world, unless, perhaps, it be the study of the greatest
poets, Shakespere, Dante, and Homer."

MAUD MENEFEE.

Chicago, August, 1901.




THE TABLE OF CONTENTS.


                                                                  PAGE

  PIPPA                        _Robert Browning_                     9
           From "Pippa Passes."

  MIGNON                       _Johann Wolfgang von Goethe_         17
           From "Wilhelm Meister."

  SIEGFRIED                    _Richard Wagner_                     27
           From "Niebelungen Ring."

  A FISH AND A BUTTERFLY
                             _Robert Browning_                      39
           From "Amphibian."

  HOW MARGARET LED FAUST THROUGH THE PERFECT WORLD
                             _Johann Wolfgang von Goethe_           45
           From "Faust."

  BEATRICE                     _Dante Alighieri_                    55
           From "The Inferno."

  PARSIFAL                     _Richard Wagner_                     61
           From "Parsifal."

  THE ANGELUS                                                       67
           About the painting by Jean François Millet.

  FRIEDRICH AND HIS CHILD-GARDEN                                    73

  THE HOLY NIGHT                                                    79
          About the painting by Antonio Allegri da Correggio.

  SAUL AND DAVID               _Robert Browning_                    95
      From "Saul."

  A GUIDE TO PRONUNCIATION                                         103

  A WORD LIST                                                      103




A LIST OF THE ILLUSTRATIONS.


                                                                  PAGE

  THE SPINNER               _Jean François Millet_      _Frontispiece_

  INNOCENCE                 _Jean Baptiste Greuze_                  10

  MIGNON                    _Paul Kiessling_                        18

  SIEGFRIED                 _F. Leeke_                              28

  "AT THE FARTHEST END
    OF THE MEADOW"        _Yeend King_                              40

  LISEUSE                   _Jules Le Febvre_                       46

  THE BEATA BEATRICE        _Dante Gabriel Rossetti_                56

  ASPIRATION                _George Frederick Watts_                62

  THE ANGELUS               _Jean François Millet_                  68

  THE HOLY NIGHT            _Antonio Allegri da Correggio_          80

  THE DIVINE SHEPHERD       _Bartolomé Estéban Murillo_             96




[Illustration: _By Jean Baptiste Greuze_

INNOCENCE]


A SONG.

  The year's at the spring
  The day's at the morn;
  Morning's at seven;
  The hill-side's dew-pearled;
  The lark's on the wing;
  The snail's on the thorn:
  God's in his heaven--
  All's right with the world!

     --_From Browning's "Pippa Passes."_


PIPPA.


All the year in the little village of Asola the great wheels of the
mills went round and round. It seemed to the very little children that
they never, never stopped, but went on turning and singing, turning and
singing. No matter where you went in the village, the hum of the wheels
could always be heard; and though no one could really say what the
wheels sang, everyone turned gladly to his work or went swiftly on his
errand when he heard the busy song.

Everyone was proud of the mills in Asola, and the children most of all.
The very little ones would go to the lowest windows and look into the
great dim room where the wheels were, and they wondered, as they looked,
if ever they would grow wise enough to help make silk.

Those children who were older wound thread on the bobbins, or helped at
the looms. And whenever they saw the bright stuff in shop windows, or a
beautiful woman passed in silken robes, they looked with shining eyes.
"See how beautiful!" they would say. "We helped. She needs us; the world
needs us!" and their hearts were so full of gladness at the thought.

The poet tells us there was a child there whose name was Pippa, and she
worked all day in this mill, winding silk on the little whirling,
whirling spools.

Now in the year there was one day they gave her for her own--one perfect
day when she could walk in the sweet, sweet meadows, or wander toward
the far, strange hills. And this one precious day was so shining and
full of joy to Pippa that its light shone all about her until the next,
making itself into dreams and little songs that she sang to her whirring
spools.

One night, when the blessed time would be next morning, she said to the
day:

"Sweet Day, I am Pippa, and have only you for the joy of my whole long
year; come to me gentle and shining, and I will do whatever loving deed
you bring me."

And the blessed day broke golden and perfect!

She sprang up singing; she sang to the sunbeams, and to her lily, and to
the joy in the world; she ran out, and leaped as she went; the grass
blew in the wind, and the long yellow road rolled away like unwound
silk.

She sang on and on, hardly knowing. And it was a sweet song no one had
ever heard. It was what birds sing, only this had words; and this song
was so full of joy that when a sad poet heard it he stopped the lonely
tune he piped, and listened till his heart thrilled. And when he could
no longer hear, he took up the sweet strain and played it so strong and
clear that it set the whole air a-singing. The children in the street
began dancing and laughing as he played; the old looked up; a lame man
felt that he might leap, and the blind who begged at corners forgot they
did not see, the song was so full of the morning wonder.

But little Pippa did not know this; she had passed on singing.

Out beyond the village there were men who worked, building a lordly
castle. And there was a youth among them who was a stair-builder, and he
had a deep sorrow. The dream of the perfect and beautiful work was in
his life, but it was given to him to build only the stairs men trod on.
And as he knelt working wearily at his task, from somewhere beyond the
thicket there came a strange, sweet song, and these were the words:

  "All service ranks the same with God:
   ... there is no last nor first."

The youth sprang up; the wind lifted his hair, the light leaped into
his eyes, and he began to do the smallest thing perfectly.

Farther down the road there was a ruined house; a man leaned his head on
his hand and looked from the window. A great deed that the world needed
must be done; and the man loved the great deed, but his heart had grown
faint, and he waited.

And it chanced that Pippa passed, singing, and her song reached the man;
and it was to him as if God called. He rose up strong and brave, and
leaping to his horse he rode away to give the great deed to the world.

At night when the tired Pippa lay upon her little bed, she said to the
day, "Sweet Day, you brought me no loving deed to give in payment for
the joy you gave."

But the day knew.

And on the morrow, the child Pippa went back to the mill and wound the
silk bobbins, and she was so full of gladness, she hummed with them all
day.




  Know'st thou the land where citrons are in bloom,
  The orange glows amidst a leafy gloom,
  A gentle breeze from cloudless heaven blows
  The myrtle still, and high the laurel grows?
            Know'st thou it well?
  Ah! there--Ah, there would I fare!

                  --_From Goethe's "Wilhelm Meister."_


[Illustration: _By Paul Kiessling_

MIGNON]


MIGNON.


Once there was a band of people who did nothing but wander about from
village to village, giving shows in the marketplaces. They had no homes
or gardens or fields, but the fathers earned the living by doing
remarkable things.

The little children played in the wagons, and the mothers cooked the
meals over the camp-fire when they stopped outside the village, and they
were quite happy after their own fashion. But often, when they passed
down the streets between the rows of thatched houses with children
playing in the yards, it all seemed to them something very beautiful
indeed, and they looked at it as long as it was possible.

The little girl of the strong man, and the little boy whose father
walked on his hands, often stood a long, long time looking through the
fence at children who had real hollyhocks in their yards, besides a
little green tree growing right out of the thatch on the top of the
roof; and in some of the houses, where the doors stood open, they could
see the most shining pans and kettles ranged about the chimney.

But whenever they made a beautiful playhouse, with all the leaves
brushed away and the rooms marked out with little sticks, they had to
leave it next day. This was very discouraging, of course. Even the
fathers and mothers grew discouraged sometimes, when they rode through
the beautiful country. It was so sweet and so fair, and somehow it
really seemed calling to them in a loving voice. But they always went on
and on, from place to place, and no one ever knew what the real message
was. But sometimes, deep in the strong man's heart there grew the
strangest longing to go into the fields and reap and bind with the
reapers, so that he too might see the yellow sheaves standing together
when work was over.

In this circus, where he lifted the heaviest weights, and held the
little boy and his own little girl straight out with his hands quite a
long time, it was very wonderful indeed. But there was never anything
after, to show it had been done, except a great deal of clapping and
calling from the people. And this was partly for the children, who had
such round, pleasant faces, and ran away just as soon as the father put
them down. The strong man was always thinking of this when he walked
beside the wagon and looked off over the fields where the men were
working. And it was so with all of them; but as no one spoke of it they
were thought to be a very gay company, for they laughed quite often. And
after all, it did seem to them a very grand thing when they entered the
village. The people ran to the doors and windows, and streamed out of
the inn; and the children ran after the wagon, looking at them with the
greatest wonder.

Whatever sadness they may have felt about their life, they forgot it
entirely when they stood before the people in their spangled suits. Then
it seemed to them quite the greatest thing to make a whole village
stare. They walked about very proudly, and talked in very deep tones.
Sometimes they allowed one or two of the largest boys to help make ready
for the show. In one of the villages, the shoemaker's lame Charlie had
helped lay the carpet on which the strong man stood when he did his
part.

Among these people who went about there was a child. Her name was
Mignon; and when the tumblers had leaped over the high rods and stood
upon each other's shoulders for the last time, and the strong man had
bowed and gone away amid the greatest applause, this Mignon danced for
the people. When it was very still, and the strange, beautiful music
had sounded, she would come slowly forward, and placing her hands on her
breast she would bow very low, and begin to stir and sway in time. How
beautiful it was! It was like a flower in the wind, and all the people
stood still and looked with wonder.

Sometimes she sang; it was the strangest song that ever was sung by a
child. It was always about far-off lands, where it seemed to her the
real joy was. Tears shone in the eyes of all the people as they
listened, and when it was over and they were again at their work, a deep
sadness seemed in everything. They too had begun to think that the real
joy might be a long, long way off from them.

And Mignon went on from village to village, singing and dancing and
seeking. Always she was thinking, "Who knows but tomorrow, in the next
village or the next, I will find the real joy? it will come to me as I
sing or stir with the beautiful music!"

But, children, Mignon never found it.

The feet that were meant to fly on loving errands only danced, and
though it was so beautiful it was really nothing, and the real joy was
not in it.

Do you not know that every little child that comes into the world has a
blessed deed in its life? But with Mignon it only lay heavy on her
heart, and she was more weary than any child who serves all day. And
after awhile this weariness grew as deep as her life, and the poet tells
us that she died. We read in his strange book that they bore her to the
dim hall of the Past, and that she lay there white and beautiful. Four
boys clothed in blue with silver stood beside her, slowly waving white
plumes. And when the people had come in and stood together very
silently, the most beautiful singing voices began--

"'Whom bring ye us to the still dwelling?'"

The four boys answered:

"''Tis a tired playmate whom we bring you. Let her rest in your still
dwelling. Let us weep. Let us remain with her!'"

But the sweet voices rang out,

"'Children, turn back into life! Your tears let the fresh air dry. Haste
back into life! Let the day give you _labor_ and _joy_, till evening
bring you rest.'"

And the listening children understood.




SIEGFRIED'S SILVER HORN.

[Music:]

  _Richard Wagner._


[Illustration:

_By F. Leeke_

SIEGFRIED]


THE STORY OF SIEGFRIED.


Long, long ago, before the sun learned to shine so brightly, people
believed very strange things. Why, even the wisest thought storm clouds
were war-maidens riding, and that a wonderful shining youth brought the
springtime; and whenever sunlight streamed into the water they said to
one another, "See, it is some of the shining gold, some of the magic
Rhine-gold. Ah, if we should find the Rhine-gold we would be masters of
the world--the whole world;" and they would stretch out their arms and
look away on every side. Even little children began looking for the
hidden gold as they played, and they say that Odin, a god who lived in
the very deepest blue of the sky, came down and lay in the grass to
watch the place where he thought it was.

Now this gold was hidden in the very deepest rocky gorge, and a dragon
that everyone feared lay upon it night and day. Almost all the people in
the world were wanting and seeking this gold; it really seemed sometimes
that they were forgetting everything else, even the sweet message and
the deed they had brought the world. Some of them went about dreaming
and thinking of all the ways there were of finding it. But they seldom
did anything of all they thought, so they were called the Mist-men. And
there were others, who worked always, digging in the darkest caverns of
the mountains, and lived underground and almost forgot the real light,
watching for the glow of the gold. These were called the Earth-dwarfs,
for they grew very small and black living away from the light. But there
were a great many blessed ones who lived quite free and glad in the
world, loving and serving one another and not thinking very much of the
gold.

There was a boy whose name was Siegfried, and though he lived with an
Earth-dwarf in the deep forest, he knew nothing of the magic gold or the
world. He had never seen a man, and he had not known his mother, even,
though he often thought of her when he stood still at evening and the
birds came home. There was one thing she had left him, and that was a
broken sword. Mimi, the Earth-dwarf, strove night and day to mend it,
thinking he might slay the dragon. But though he worked always, it was
never done, for no one who feared anything in the world could weld it,
because it was an immortal blade. It had a name and a soul.

Each evening when Siegfried thought of his sword he would come bounding
down the mountains, blowing great horn-blasts. One night he came
laughing and shouting, and leaped into the cave, driving a bear he had
bridled, straight on the poor frightened Mimi. He ran round and round,
and darted here and there, until Siegfried could go no more for
laughing, and the bear broke from the rope and ran into the woods. When
Siegfried turned he saw that the poor little dwarf was crouched
trembling behind the anvil, and he stopped laughing, and looked at him.

"Why do you shake and cry and run?" he asked. The dwarf said nothing,
but the fire began to glow strangely, and the sword shone.

"Do you not know what fear is?" cried the dwarf at last.

"No," said the boy, and he went over and took up the sword; and lo! the
blade fell apart in his hand. They stood still and looked at each other.
"Can a man fear and make swords?" asked the boy. The dwarf said nothing,
but the forge fire flashed and sparkled, and the broken sword gleamed,
in the strangest way.

The boy smiled, and gathering up the pieces he ground them to fine
powder; and when he had done, he placed the precious dust in the forge
and pulled at the great bellows, so that the fire glowed into such a
shining that the whole cave was light.

But the dwarf grew blacker and smaller as he watched the boy. When he
saw him pour the melted steel in the mold and lay it on the fire, and
heard him singing at his work, he began to rage and cry; but Siegfried
only laughed and went on singing. When he took out the bar and struck it
into the water there was a great hissing, and the Mist-men stood there
with Mimi, and they raged and cried together. But still Siegfried only
laughed and sang as he pulled at his bellows or swung his hammers. At
every blow he grew stronger and greater, and the sword bent and quivered
like a living flame, until at last, with a joyful cry, he lifted it
above his head with both his hands; it fell with a great blow, and
behold! the anvil was severed, and lay apart before him.

The joy in Siegfried's heart grew into the most wonderful peace, and
the forge light seemed to grow into full day. The immortal sword was
again in the world. But Mimi and the Mist-men were gone.

And the musician shows in wonderful music-pictures how Siegfried went
out into the early morning, and how the light glittered on the trembling
leaves and sifted through in little splashes. He stood still, listening
to the stir of the leaves and the hum of the bees and the chirp of the
birds. Two birds were singing as they built a nest, and he wondered what
they said to one another. He cut a reed and tried to mock their words,
but it was like nothing. He began to wish that he might speak to some
one like himself, and he wondered about his mother; why had she left
him? It seemed to him he was the one lone thing in the world. He lifted
his silver horn and blew a sweet blast, but no friend came. He blew
again and again, louder and clearer, until suddenly the leaves stirred
to a great rustling; and the very earth seemed to tremble. He looked,
and behold! he had waked the dragon that all men feared; and it was
coming toward him, breathing fire and smoke. But Siegfried did not know
what fear was; he only laughed and leaped over it, as he plunged; and
when it reared to spring upon him, he drove the immortal blade straight
into its heart.

Now when Siegfried plucked out his sword he smeared his finger with the
blood, and it burned like fire, so that he put it in his mouth to ease
the pain. Then suddenly the most strange thing happened: he understood
all the hum and murmur of the woods; and lo! the bird on the very branch
above was singing of his mother and of him, and of the gold that was his
if he would give up his sword and would love and serve none in the
world. And more, she sang on of one who slept upon a lonely mountain: a
wall of fire burned around, that none could pass but he who knew no
fear.

Siegfried listened to hear more, but the bird fluttered away before
him. He saw it going, and he forgot the gold and the whole world, and
followed it. It led him on and on, to a lonely mountain, where he saw
light burning; and he climbed up and up, and always the light grew
brighter. But when he was nearly at the top, and would have bounded on,
he could not, for Odin stood there with his spear across the way. The
fire glowed and flashed around them, but the sword gleamed brighter than
anything that ever shone, as Siegfried cleft the mighty spear and leaped
into the flame. And there at last, in the great shining, this Siegfried
beheld a mortal like himself. He stood still in wonder. He saw the light
glinting on armor, and he thought, "I have found a knight, a friend!"
And he went over and took the helmet from the head. Long ruddy hair,
like flame, fell down. Then he raised the shield, and behold! in white
glistening robes he saw the maid Brunhilde. And she was so beautiful!
The light glowed into a great shining as he looked, and, hardly
knowing, he leaned and kissed her, and she awoke.

And it seemed to Siegfried that he had found his mother and the whole
world.




  Yes! there came floating by
    Me, who lay floating too.
  Such a strange butterfly!
    Creature as dear as new:

         *       *       *       *       *

  I never shall join its flight,
    For, naught buoys flesh in air.
  If it touch the sea--good night!
    Death sure and swift waits there.

              --_From Browning's "Amphibian."_


[Illustration:

By Yeend King

"AT THE FARTHEST END OF THE MEADOW"]


A FISH AND A BUTTERFLY.


At the very farthest end of the meadow there is water, blue with sky. It
flows on and on, growing broad and strong farther down, to turn the mill
wheel. But here in the meadow, you can see far off on the other side,
and hear the cows ripping off the tender grass, and smell the perfume of
wild plums.

Boy Blue lay in the long cool grass watching the water. How sleepily it
moved, and what a pretty song it sang! How clear! he could count the
pebbles at the bottom; and there, swimming straight toward him, came a
tiny fish, making little darts from one side to another, and snapping at
the tadpoles on the way. Then he stopped just in front of him.

"Oh, dear!" said a voice; and the little boy could not tell whether it
was the fish, or the tomtit scolding on the elder bush. "Dear me!" came
the voice again; and the little fish sighed, making a bubble on the top
of the water, and rings that grew and grew till they reached the other
bank.

"What's the matter?" asked Boy Blue.

"I'd like a new play and new playmates," sighed the fish. "I'm so tired
of the old ones!"

"Oh," said the boy, and was just about to ask, "Would I do?" when there
came floating along in the air a beautiful butterfly, floating, floating
like a ship in full sail.

"Oh!" cried the fish, "how beautiful! how beautiful! Come let us play
together--let us play."

The butterfly rested on a thistle bloom and stirred her pale wings
thoughtfully. "Play?" she said.

"Yes, let us play. How beautiful thou art!"

"And thou!" said the butterfly; "all the shine of the sun and sea gleams
in thy armor. Let us play together."

"Let us play."

"Come then," said the butterfly; "come up into the fresh morning air and
the sunlight, where everything smiles this sweet May day."

"There?" cried the fish; "I would die there; I would die! There is no
life for me in your sunshine world. But come with me into this
glittering stream; here swimming against the swift current is strong
life. Come, let us play here."

But the butterfly trembled. "There?" she cried; "if I touched one single
little wave I should be swept out and away forever. There is no life for
me in the glittering stream."

They looked across at each other.

"But see," said the butterfly, "I will come as near as I dare to your
water world;" and she spread her beautiful wings and floated down to the
edge of the water. The fish with a great stroke swam toward her. But
they could only touch the same bit of earth, and the waves always bore
him back.

"Ah," he cried at last, "it is useless! we cannot play together."

"Ah," wept the butterfly, "we cannot play together."

"Boy Blue," said the farmer, brushing aside the long grass, "you were
asleep."

"Asleep!" said the little boy, jumping up; "I couldn't have been. I
heard every word the fish and the butterfly said."




  The indescribable--
  Here it is done;
  The woman soul
  Leadeth us upward and on.

             --_From Goethe's "Faust."_


[Illustration:

_By Jules Le Febvre_

LISEUSE]


HOW MARGARET LED FAUST THROUGH THE PERFECT WORLD.


There was once a very great man who understood all of the most
mysterious things in the world. He knew quite perfectly how spiders spun
and how the firefly kept his lantern burning. All of these marvelous
things were plain to him, for he had read everything that had been
written in books, and he had spent his whole life searching and peering
through a strange glass at the most wonderful small things. Always and
always he was thinking in his heart, "When I know _everything_ then I
shall be content, surely!"

So he went on searching and looking and reading, night and day, in his
dim room. Always he was growing older and wearier, but he did not think
of that; he only knew that the strange longing was growing in his
heart, and that he was never any happier than before. But he would say
to himself, "It is because there is something I have not learned. When I
know everything, then surely the joy will come to me."

One night he shut his book and laid aside the strange glass, and sat
quite still in the dim room. He had found that there was nothing more to
be learned; there was nothing of all the mysteries that he did not know
perfectly.

And behold, the longing was still in his heart, and no gladness came. He
only felt how weary and old he was. He thought: "There _is_ no joy in
the world; there is nothing good and perfect in the whole world!" He
closed his tired eyes and leaned his head back. The lamp burned low, and
the place was very still for a long time. And then there suddenly broke
the most beautiful music right under his window; children were singing,
and men and women, and above it all bells were ringing--wonderful,
joyous bells.

"Can it be," said the old man--"can it be that anyone is really joyful
in the world?" He rose up and went to the window, and thrust back the
great curtain.

And lo! it was morning!

The most beautiful, shining morning; people were pouring out of all the
houses, smiling and singing, and bowing to one another; little children
were going together with flowers in their hands, singing, and answering
the tones of the great bells; and one little child, as it passed, looked
right up at the great Doctor Faust, and held out its white lily. The
bells chimed, and the singing grew sweeter and clearer.

"If there is something joyful in the world, surely some one will tell
me," said the man; and he went out into the morning.

It had rained in the night; there were pools in the street, and the
leaves glistened. "How bright the light is!" he thought, and "how
strange the flowers look blooming in the sun!" But the birds flew away
when he came, and this made the strange longing in the lonely man's
heart grow into pain. So he stepped back in the shadow and looked into
all the happy faces as they passed, and listened to the singing.

But no one stopped to tell him anything. They were so full of joy that
they did not feel his touch, and his words when he spoke were swept
right up into the song and the pealing of the joy-bells.

Girls in white veils, with stalks of the most beautiful lilies in their
hands, passed him in a long line, and the boys came after, in new
clothes, and shoes that squeaked. But he only saw their shining,
upturned faces. They were so beautiful as they sang, that tears stood in
the smiling eyes of all the fathers and mothers and neighbors who
followed after. Little children holding each other's hands went
together, and one little one had a queer woolly lamb on wheels trundling
behind him.

"Can it be," said the old man, "that there is a deep joy in the world?
will no one tell me?" And he turned and went with the people; and after
awhile he met a young girl.

She was not singing, but the most beautiful light shone from her face;
so he knew she was thinking of the deep joy, and he asked her what it
was, and why the people were glad.

She looked at him with loving wonder, and then she told him it was
Easter morning, when everything in the wide world remembers fully that
the joy can never die. "It is here always," she told him.

"Always?" said the old man; and he shook his head sadly.

"Always," she said; and she took his hand and led him out of the throng
into the most beautiful ways. He did not know that in the whole world
there were such wonderful grassy lanes. Why, there were hedges with
star-flowers here and there; apple trees were blooming, and between the
cottages there were gardens where seed had sprung up in rows.

In some of the houses people were going about their homely tasks, and
they were singing softly, or saying the most gentle words to one another
as they worked. And before a very humble door, where only one tall lily
bloomed, there sat a beautiful mother with a baby on her knee and a
little one beside her; and they were looking straight into her eyes,
listening to the wonderful story of the Easter morning. The father
stopped to listen too, and in every single face shone the same holy
light.

It shone even in the face of the Faust as he passed.

And behold, when Margaret looked at him he had grown young. His hair
glinted in the sun and the wonder had come back to his eyes. Butterflies
circled above them, and they went on and on, free and glad together, and
the holy light was over everything.

But the poet tells us that afterwards Faust traveled into a very
strange, far world, where there was never any silence or living flowers.
Nothing was perfect or holy there, and Margaret could not go. But they
tell us that whenever he looked away from this strange world, he heard
again the singing, and smelled the faint fragrance of lilies, and it
seemed to him that he was there again in the light, with the blessed
Margaret leading him on forever.




      Oh, eternal light!
  For I therein, methought, in its own hue,
  Beheld our image painted.

              --_From Dante's "Paradise."_


[Illustration:

_By Dante Gabriel Rossetti_

THE BEATA BEATRICE]


BEATRICE.


Dear children, there is a great story of Heaven told by a poet called
Dante, who dreamed that he was led through Heaven by the beautiful
Beatrice.

And this is how it was. Dante had come to think so many unloving
thoughts of all the people, that whenever he went about the streets of
Florence where he lived, he thought he saw evil marks on all the faces.
And it seemed to him that everyone in the world was lost from God. And
the angry sorrow in his heart grew so great that there was not a single
loving, hopeful thought in it. Then there came to him a wonderful
vision. It seemed to him that Beatrice, whom he loved, came down from
God and spoke to him and led him up, and showed him Heaven.

But his eyes were so dim at first, it seemed only the shining of a few
small stars. But as they journeyed, Beatrice spoke to him of many things
he had not understood, and while she talked, Heaven grew plainer and he
saw that the stars were all shining together in a soft radiance, like
the halos of many saints. And the wisdom of the world began to slip from
Dante, and he stood there in Heaven as a little child.

Beatrice led him on and on, and whenever she wished him to see Heaven
more plainly she talked of the world he lived in and the men he hated.
Now when one who lives with God speaks of hate, it is nothing. And as he
listened, Dante began to see that Man was in Heaven. When he had learned
this, they went with a great flight up to God. And behold! it seemed to
Dante that the higher he went in Heaven the nearer home he came, for all
around him there were faces that he knew.

And they went on and on to the very highest Heaven, where God and man
live together, and the angels cannot tell God from man or man from God.
And Beatrice showed Dante this great mystery. And he stood still,
looking, with the great light shining into his eyes.

Although he does not tell us what he saw, we know it was Florence, where
he lived, and that he was looking at all the people with loving eyes,
and seeing them just as those who live with God see men.

Heaven is here, little children. Let us love one another.




FROM "PARSIFAL."

[Music: By pity 'lightened, the guileless Fool;]

  --_Richard Wagner._


[Illustration: _By George Frederick Watts_

ASPIRATION]


PARSIFAL.


Long, long ago, when the old nations were child-nations, they had the
most wonderful dreams and stories in their hearts; and they told them
over so many, many times, with love and wonder, that they grew into
Art,--poems and songs and pictures. And there is one beautiful story
which you will find in many songs and poems, for almost every nation has
told it in its own way. And this is it:

Long, long ago--so long that no one can tell whether it really happened
or whether the old German folk only dreamed it--there was a band of
knights who went away and lived together on a beautiful high mountain,
far above the world, where no evil might ever come to them; and there
they thought of nothing but pure and holy things. The purest knight was
chosen king among them, and led them in all high things; and they lived
so for many years, keeping themselves from wrong and beholding blessed
wonders that the world had never seen,--miracles of light that sometimes
passed above them.

But once there came an evil thought to the very king; nothing could put
it away, and it was like a spear-wound in his side that nothing could
heal. It was the greatest suffering; it even touched the joy of the
knights, for they began to think only of what would heal the king. Many
went far and wide, seeking a cure, while others dropped back to the
world again; for the pattern of purity was not perfect any longer, and
they seemed to forget what it had been. All the miracles stopped, and
the sick king and the knights waited and waited for one who was pure
enough to show them the perfect pattern again.

And one day a youth passed by who was so innocent that he did not know
what wrong was. When the knights beheld him they looked in wonder, and
said: "Is it not he, the innocent one, who will save us?" and they led
him up to the temple. And behold, it was the time of the holy feast,
when long ago the light had passed above them. And the youth stood there
with great wonder and trouble in his heart, for he saw the suffering of
the king, and how the knights longed and waited; he heard their voices
in solemn tones, and the mourning voice of the king. And lo, while he
looked, a wonderful glowing light passed above them. The knights all
rose up with great joy in their hearts and looked at the boy, for the
blessed miracle had come again, and it was a sign.

But Parsifal stood still with wonder and trouble in his heart; and when
they asked if he knew what his eyes had seen, he only shook his head.

So the hope and joy went from the knights, and they led him out and sent
him on his way.

And the boy Parsifal traveled down into the world. And as he went he met
many wrongs, and he began to know what evils there were.

Now whenever one crossed his way, he went to it and handled it. But
behold his mind was so pure and godlike that whenever he touched evil to
learn what it was, it grew into some gentle thing in his hand. He went
throughout the whole world seeking to know what evil was, but he was so
mild and beautiful that wrongs fell away before him, or were healed as
he passed. And he went on and on to the very kingdom of Evil, at last,
and when its king saw him, he cried out with a great cry, and hurled his
spear; but it only floated above the head of Parsifal, and when he
seized it in his hand the whole kingdom melted away. And Parsifal found
he was standing in a sunny meadow not far from the holy mountain; and he
went up to the knights and stood with them in the temple, and his face
was like the face of an angel. They say the king was healed as he
looked, and that the wonderful light shone above them and was with them
always,--forever.




  Where the quiet colored end of evening smiles,
      Miles and miles.

            --_Robert Browning._


[Illustration: _By Jean François Millet_

THE ANGELUS]


THE ANGELUS.


Every evening after sunset, when the most wonderful soft light is in the
sky and it is very still everywhere, the old bell in the steeple chimes
out over the village and the fields around. No one quite knows what the
evening bell sings, but the tone is so beautiful that everyone stands
still and listens.

Ever since the oldest grandfather can remember, the dear bell has sung
at evening and everyone has listened, and listened, for the message.

A great many people said there was really no message at all, and one
very learned man wrote a whole book to show that the song of the evening
bell was nothing but the clanging of brass and iron; and almost everyone
who read it believed it. But there were many who were not wise enough to
read, so they listened to the sweet tone just as lovingly as they had
listened when they were little children.

Sometimes when the sweet song pealed out, the old shoemaker would forget
and leave his thread half drawn, and while he listened a wonderful
smiling light shone in his face. But whenever the little grandson asked
him what the bell said to him, the old man only shook his head and
pulled the stitch through and sewed on and on, until there was not any
more light; and for this reason the little boy began to think that the
bell was singing something about work. He thought of it very often when
he sat on his grandfather's step listening to the song and watching the
people. Sometimes those who had read the learned book spoke together and
laughed quite loudly, to show that they were not paying any attention to
the bell; and there were others who seemed not to hear it at all. But
there were some who listened just as the old grandfather had listened,
and many who stopped and bowed their heads and stood quite still for a
long, long while. But the strangest was, that no one ever could tell the
other what the bell had sung to him. It was really a very deep mystery.

Now there was a painter who had such loving eyes that even when he
looked on homely, lowly things, he saw wonder that no one else could
see. He loved all the sweet mysteries that are in the world, and he
loved the bell's song; he wondered about it just as the little boy had
done.

One evening, I think, he went alone beyond the village and through the
wide brown fields; he saw the light in the sky, and the birds going
home, and the steeple far off. It was all very still and wonderful, and
as he looked away on every side, thinking many holy thoughts, he saw a
man and a woman working together in the dim light. They were digging
potatoes; there was a wheelbarrow beside them, and a basket. Sometimes
they moved about slowly, or stooped with their hands in the brown earth.
And while they worked, the sound of the evening bell came faintly to
them. When they heard it they rose up. The mother folded her hands on
her breast and said the words of a prayer, and thought of her little
ones. The father just held his hat in his hand and looked down at their
work. And the painter forgot all the wonder of the sky and the wide
field as he looked at them, for there was a deeper mystery. And it was
plain to him.

But the man and the woman stood there listening; they did not know that
the bell was singing to them of their very own work, of every loving
service and lowly task of the day.

The bell sang on and on, and the peace of the song seemed to fill the
whole day.




  Come, let us with the children live.

                   --_Friedrich Froebel_


FRIEDRICH AND HIS CHILD-GARDEN.


Friedrich Froebel--"Little Friedrich," they called him long ago. Is it
not strange to think that the great men who bring the beautiful deeds to
the world were once little children? Do you know how these children grow
so great and strong that they can do a loving deed for the whole world
at last? They do little loving deeds every day.

This gentle Friedrich loved more and more things every day that he
lived. But when he was a little boy he was very lonely sometimes,
because he had no playmates except the flowers in the old garden. It
seemed to him these flowers were always playing plays together. The
little pink and white ones on the border of the beds seemed always
circling round the sweet tall rose, and laughing and swaying in the
wind. It was so gay sometimes that he laughed aloud to see them all
nodding and bowing, and the rose bowing too.

Friedrich was so gentle that his doves would flutter around his head and
settle on his outstretched arms, and even the little mother bird, with
her nest in the hedge, would let him stand near when she told little
stories to her babies. Friedrich had no dear mother, but he had a tall,
strong brother who would sometimes take him to the sweet wide meadows
and tell him beautiful stories about the strange little bugs and busy
bees, and stones and flowers.

But after awhile Friedrich's father thought he was growing too old to
play all day long. So he said to him one day, "Friedrich, you must begin
to learn." When Friedrich heard this he was glad, because he wanted to
know about all the wonderful things in the world. But when he had to
sit still for long hours and learn out of large books that hadn't a
single picture, it was very hard. "But there is no other way, little
Friedrich," his teachers told him.

As the time went on he grew as tall and strong as his brother. And then
what do you think happened? Just the same thing that happened to our
America when George Washington led out all the brave men. Friedrich's
dear Germany was in great trouble, and she called to all her brave men
to come and save her. And Friedrich marched away with all the
others--marching, marching, with the drums beating and the flags flying.

Then after a long while, when peace had come back and all was quiet and
joyful again, there came to Friedrich a sweet thought that grew and
grew. Can you think what it was? It was half about his old garden and
the playing flowers, and half about little children. Whenever he saw a
child tear a flower or stone a bird he felt sad, and this thought would
grow stronger in his heart.

Sometimes he would gather up all the children and take them to the
meadow, and teach them about the leaves and stones, the flowers and
birds and ants, as his brother used to teach him, and then they would
play the very plays the wind and flowers and birds had played. So he
called it his kindergarten,--his child-garden,--and he began to show to
the whole world that little children must learn and grow in the same
sweet way that flowers do.

And he worked years and years, teaching and working out this wonderful
message that had come to him. He loved God and children and this shining
thought better than himself, and he wore poor clothes and gave up
things, that the beautiful deed might live in the world.




The true light, which lighteth every man that cometh
  into the world.
       --_St. John._


[Illustration: _By Antonio Allegri da Correggio_

THE HOLY NIGHT]


THE HOLY NIGHT.


In the far-off places of the world where men do not pass often, it is
nothing to be poor. Little Hansei and his mother were poor, but that was
nothing to him. They lived on the side of a great hill, where, save
their small black hut with its little gauzy curl of smoke, there was no
sign of life as far as eye could reach. And it seemed to Hansei that the
whole world was theirs, and they were the whole world. Yet on fair days,
far below, the misty towers and steeples of a city showed. But this was
as unreal and unreachable as dreams and clouds to Hansei; the only
difference was, a yellow road wound down to it, and if one went far
enough he might some day reach that strange, misty place. But
dreams--they always went at morning; and clouds--if he climbed to the
highest point of the hill he could never reach them!

Sometimes people had passed that way. Once a man had gone bearing a
burden. Another time, as Hansei and his mother gathered up their fagots
at evening, a man and woman passed together; the sunset light was on the
woman, and she sang as she went. Again, men in dark robes and hoods
passed by; some had ridden on mules, some were grave and walked, reading
from small books, others laughed. And these were all (except a peddler
who had lost his way) that Hansei had ever seen go by.

People seldom went that way; the road was steep, and there was an easier
way down at the other side, his mother said.

Once Hansei asked her if those who had passed were all the people there
were besides themselves. His mother said, "There are others off there,"
pointing to the city.

Every morning before it was light Hansei's mother went away to the other
side of the hills somewhere.

The first time he awoke and found the black loaf and water waiting and
his mother gone, he had cried and searched and called her over and over.
"Mother! Mother!" he had cried as loud as he could call down the yellow
road.

"Mother! Mother!" had come a strange voice from beyond the hills; and
Hansei's heart had leaped with a new joy. He cried back wildly, "Where
are you?"

"Where are you?" cried the voice again.

"I am here!"

"I am here!"

"Come to me!"

"Come to me!"

All day Hansei and the strange voice from beyond the hills called and
cried to each other. Hansei thought: "It is true there are others off
there, and some one is calling to me."

At night the mother came back. Hansei asked: "Where have you been?" and
put up his arms. His mother said: "At the other side of the hill," and
touched his head gently.

"What did you do so long?"

"I made lace."

"What is lace?"

"It is like that a little," and she pointed to a cobweb stretching from
a dead twig to a weed. Hansei looked and slowly put his foot through it.

"Must you go tomorrow and next day?" he asked.

"Next day and always," said the mother, looking off down the yellow
road.

Hansei cried: "Let me go too; let me go!"

"Hush, no; it is dark where I go."

"Is there no sun at the other side of the hill?"

"Yes, yes; but we who make lace sit in darkness."

Hansei asked: "Why must there be lace?"

The mother stared into the dusk. "Because," she said slowly, "there are
princesses and great ladies down there who must be beautiful."

"What is beautiful?"

"I don't know."

Always through the dusky summer evenings they sat together on the
doorstep, the mother with her bent head resting on her hand, and Hansei
staring up at the great sky and clouds and stars above him. Sometimes
the mother told strange stories, but oftener they sat silent.

When winter came it seemed to Hansei that half of all the joy and light
and life went out of the world. There were no birds nor bugs nor bees
left; the flowers were gone, and the days were short and gray. It was
cold, and he could only stay in the dim little house, playing with small
sticks and stones, or tracing the frostwork on the one little window.
Frost was like lace, his mother had told him.

Sometimes, too, he would try to sing as the woman had sung who passed
that summer time.

One evening in the middle of winter Hansei and his mother started out to
a bit of woods skirting the other side of the yellow road. Hansei sang
as they went; it was half what the woman had sung and half like nothing
that was ever heard. Sometimes this tune made his mother smile a little,
but oftener she did not hear it.

As they crossed the yellow road his mother stopped and looked, as she
always did.

"Hark!" she said, hushing the singing with her hand. Hansei stood still
and listened. Yes, yes, they were coming--"the others." It sounded again
as it had the day the men had ridden by, only more--more; and they were
coming nearer. There were voices and the beat of footsteps, and
sometimes Hansei heard a strange sound that might be singing or wind
moaning.

Hansei said: "I am so afraid." But his mother did not hear him. He hid
his face in her gown and waited. They were coming on and on; and they
were saying something together,--strange words that Hansei had never
heard. Nearer and nearer! He felt them passing close where he and his
mother stood; he raised his head and looked.

He saw a long dark line of men, some riding and some walking. Their
heads were bent, and they said the strange words together. Sometimes
there was a burst like song, then the words again. There was one torch.

Slowly they made their way down the yellow road. Hansei and his mother
watched them as they went.

He whispered, "Where are they going?"

"Down there," said the mother softly. "It is the Christ-child's night."

"Why do they go?"

"To pray."

"What will they ask?"

"Light! light!"

"Can all go?"

"Yes, all."

"Let us go, Mother; let us go! There is a voice down there that calls me
often."

The mother looked back at the little dark house, then down the road
where the one point of light moved on.

"Come, let us go; let us follow it," she said, taking his hand and
hurrying down the steep way in the darkness.

Through the long, wild night they toiled on and on. Always the little
light went before, and always Hansei and his mother followed where it
led.

Once Hansei cried out: "See, Mother, the torch is the star, and we are
the shepherds seeking the little Christ-child!" And he laughed.

In the gray dawn they came to the misty city. "How strange! how
strange!" thought Hansei, as they went down the narrow streets. "How
many houses, and lights, and people! But the real light, the little
star, we must not lose it."

Just before them went the dark line of men and the torch. People who met
them stepped aside and always made strange signs on their breasts.
Suddenly the light went out, and the men disappeared into what seemed a
great shadow.

Hansei asked: "What is it?"

His mother said: "A church."

"Let us go in, too; the star went;" and Hansei, with all his strength,
pushed back the great door.

"People! people!" little Hansei had not dreamed there were so many of
"the others." There in the dim light they were kneeling, praying for
"light, light," his mother had told him.

Far beyond there were small lights, like stars shining, and a man in a
white robe, who said the strange words he had heard on the yellow road.
Then the kneeling people all said something together. Hansei thought,
"They are trying to tell him they want the light, and he does not
understand." Hansei's mother knelt where she stood, and he crept down
beside her. He heard her saying the words he did not know. He only said
softly: "Light, light for them all!"

An old woman knelt near him; not far off a lame boy and a mother with a
sleeping child in her arms knelt also, and there beyond, a woman. Ah, he
knew what "beautiful" was now! He looked to see if she wore lace like
cobwebs and frost. She did not pray; she only knelt there. Tears were in
her eyes. "Light for her and all," whispered Hansei over and over.

Then it was as if a dream came true. Some one that had stood near
stepped back, and there, there beyond, appeared the little Christ-child,
just as his mother had told him. There was the beautiful mother, the
wise men and angels, the youth, the maiden, and the light shining from
the child and touching them all, all, even the poor little beasts off
there!

Hansei cried: "Look, look, Mother! the Christ-child!"

His mother said, "Hush-hsh! It is not the real Christ-child, but a
picture."

Hansei looked back. "Not the real Christ-child? But, Mother, the star
stopped here! Then the real Christ-child is here somewhere, I know."

He looked about, but he saw only the old woman, the lame boy, the mother
with her child, and the beautiful woman who could not pray. He turned
back to the painted child and the light, and looked, and looked; he
stared his eyes blind; at last he could not see; all seemed to fade, to
go. The tired eyelids fell; his head drooped down on his mother's arm,
and he slept.

But his eyes still held the light, and he dreamed.

It seemed to him that the beautiful pictured light grew and broadened
into a great shining. "Surely," thought the little boy, "the real
Christ-child is near! but where? not here; here is only the old woman
and the lame boy and the others praying. But the great light--shining
over all, above every head, in shining rings! how beautiful!"

And he thought he cried out, "See, you have the light, all of you! Do
not pray, but be glad!" They did not hear, and prayed on.

"But the Christ-child--where is the real Christ-child?" he wondered. He
thought he stood up and strained his eyes over the bent heads of the
praying people, and while he looked he saw myriad circles of light begin
to glow; and lo! there, near--so near--was the real Christ-child,--only
it was the old woman. Dreams are strange!

Her bent, trembling body seemed going, fading, and there knelt a shining
being,--the real Christ-child; yet it was the old woman. And the lame
boy, the hurt creature, as he looked, melted into the shadow of his
radiant, perfect self, and shined too. The mother with her child grew
bright, bright; and each of the kneeling, praying ones was a perfect
shining child! The light grew into glory; the fullness of joy broke into
singing; angels, heavenly hosts, singing, "The Christ is here,--here in
the world!"

But what--? Who--? Why, his mother, to be sure, leaning above him.

"Wake, Hansei; hear the music! See the choir boys in white, like
angels."

Hansei opened his eyes wide. The glorious Christmas morning was beaming
full upon him through the great window, and he saw the light of the new
day touching the bent old woman, the lame boy, the mother with her
child, the beautiful woman beyond, and the pictured Christ.

He heard clear voices, "Peace on earth!"

But the dream--the dream!

"I have found the real Christ-child," he whispered.




  Ay, to save and redeem and restore him, ... snatch Saul the mistake,
  Saul the failure, the ruin he seems now,--and bid him awake
  From the dream, the probation, the prelude, to find himself set
  Clear and safe in new light and new life,--a new harmony, yet
  To be run, and continued, and ended--who knows?--or endure!

                                  --_From Browning's "Saul."_


[Illustration: _By Bartolomé Estéban Murillo_

THE DIVINE SHEPHERD]


SAUL AND DAVID.


The great King Saul of Israel was sad, and the sorrow grew and grew
until it spread abroad through the whole nation. Even it came to the
simple folk who minded sheep and lived in the far hills.

"The mighty king is sad," said one who had come from a journey. And the
people gathered about him and marveled that a king should sorrow.

"The king is sad," said the one. "He has traveled into the great desert,
where nothing blooms and there are no rivers."

The people stood still and looked off over their stretching pastures,
and heard the gush of water brooks.

"He sits alone in a dim tent, with his head in his hands," said the one.
"His sword rests at his feet. The army goes no more to battle. The
servants weep and pray, and strain their eyes over the burning sand,
waiting."

"Waiting?" said the men.

"For one to come," said the other.

"Who shall come?" they asked together.

"The joy-bringer," said the man.

The shepherds looked at one another, and then away; and when they had
stood awhile in silence, they moved off after their sheep.

The boy David went swiftly. His feet pressed springing grass, he smelt
the odor of new-turned earth, and the sound of water was in his ears. He
could not think that there were really deserts. But he thought of the
sad, lonely king, and wished that he might go to him. He came to where
his sheep were feeding, and stood among them and heard their bleating;
but he did not think of them. He was looking into the wide sky, and
wondering if God would not send his angel to save the king; but there
was no sign save the peace and wonder that had always shone there. He
turned and led his flock to the fold, and when he had done so he sat
down on the hillside and played upon his harp; and the music was as
beautiful as silence, so that shy creatures did not fear, but crept
around to listen. The pale moon rose up, and the stars shone down like
loving, glistening eyes.

Sometimes there had come to David strange longings for far-off things,
and he too had grown sad like the king. But then would he take his harp
to the hill and sing of the sweet promise of the perfect gift that was
to come from God to the world,--to shepherds and kings and all. And when
he had sung so, behold! the peace was again in his heart, and he wished
no longer to go seeking, for he knew the gift would surely come.

He thought of the king as he sang. "He has forgot the promise; I must go
to him and sing," he said.

So he rose up in the night, and woke his brother to give him charge over
his flock. And when he had plucked long-stemmed, dripping lilies to wind
through his harp strings, he went away by the same road all other
travelers had gone.

Day after day he journeyed, passing through sweet fields and pastures.
He saw men sowing, and others tending their flocks; and there were
mothers with babes in their arms and children about them. "The gift will
come to you, and you, and all," he thought, as he passed.

He went through the wilderness, and even through the dry desert; but his
heart was singing and the thought of the promise was there like living
water.

Now the king's servants saw him afar off, and they ran out to meet him
and knelt at his feet; for when they saw the light on his shining hair,
and the harp with living lilies, they thought, "It is God's angel!"

But he said to them, "I am only a loving boy; I am David, a shepherd,
and I have come to King Saul." He smiled into the wondering faces, and
passing among them he came to where the king was, and stood in his very
presence; and he was not afraid. They say a beautiful light shone from
his face.

The tent was dim, and the weary king did not stir.

The boy knelt down, and stripping off the lilies, he tuned his harp and
began to sing. The poet tells how he played for the mighty king; and
what do you think it was? Just the tune all his sheep knew; always it
brought them, one after one, to the pen door at evening. It was so
strange and sweet a tune that quail on the corn lands would each leave
its mate to fly after the player; and crickets--it made them so wild
with delight they would fight one another. Then he played what sets the
field mouse musing, and the cattle to deeper dreaming in the sunny
meadows.

He sang of green pastures and water brooks, and the morning joy of
shepherds bounding over wide pastures. The light shines in streams, the
hungry, happy sheep break out, and the long golden day is to be lived!

Then he sang of the peace that comes to shepherds at evening, when the
gentle sheep and sleepy, bleating lambs go home across the sweet wide
meadow, and the stars come out in the serene heavens. Then it is to the
shepherd as if nature and man and God are all one, and love is all there
is in the whole world.

At last the boy David sang of the perfect gift that will surely come;
and he sang until the evil sorrow itself grew into peace.

The king stirred and raised his head. It was to him as if it had rained,
and flowers had sprung up in the desert.




A GUIDE TO PRONUNCIATION


The diacritical markings in this list agree with the latest edition of
Webster's International Dictionary, and are as follows:

  ā--_as in_ fāte.
  ă--_as in_ ădd.
  [+a]--_as in_ pref´ [+a]ce.
  ä--_as in_ fär.
  ȧ--_as in_ grȧss.
  a̤--_as in_ a̤ll.
  ē--_as in_ ēve.
  [+e]--_as in_ [+e]-vent´.
  ĕ--_as in_ ĕnd.
  ẽ--_as in_ hẽr.
  ī--_as in_ īce.
  ĭ--_as in_ pĭn.
  ō--_as in_ rōw.
  [+o]--_as in_ [+o]-bey´.
  ô--_as in_ lôrd.
  ŏ--_as in_ nŏt.
  ö--_similar to_ u _in_ fur.
  o̅o̅--_as in_ so̅o̅n.
  ŭ--_as in_ ŭs.
  [+u]--_as in_ [+u]-nite´.
  ụ--_as in_ fụll.
  U--_similar to_ u _in_ fur.
  y̆--_as in_ pit´ y̆.
  eû--_as in_ ûs.
    (_prolonged_).
  oi--_as in_ oil.
  ou--_as in_ out.

  K a guttural sound, similar to aspirated _h_.

  N represents the nasal sound in French, as in _ensemble_
    (äN´ säN´ b'l).

  w̆ similar to _v_.

  Silent letters are italicized. Certain vowels, as _a_ and _e_, when
  obscured, are also italicized.



A WORD LIST

  Amphibian (ăm fĭb´ ĭ _a_n)
  Angelus (ăn´ g[+e] lŭs)
  Antonio Allegri da Corregio (ăn tō´ nĭ [+o] ăllē´ grĭ
    dä kŏr ĕd´ jō)
  applause (ăp pla̤z´)
  Asola (ä sō´ lä)
  ăs´ pĭ rā´ tion (shŭn)
  Bartolomé Estéban Murillo (bär tŏl mā´ ĕstā´ bän
    mo̅o̅ rē´ lyō)
  Beatrice (bē´ [+a] trĭs)
  Brunhilde (bro̅o̅n´ hĭl´ d_e_)
  buoys (boiz)
  castle (kăs´ 'l)
  caverns (kăv´ ẽrnz)
  citrons (sĭt´ rŭnz)
  crouched (kroucht)
  Dante Gabriel Rossetti (dăn´ tĕ gā´ brĭ ĕl rŏssĕt´ tē)
  Earth-dwarfs (ẽrth´-dwa̤rfs´)
  fagots (făg´ ŭtz)
  Faust (foust)
  Friedrich Frö_e_´ b_e_l (frē´ dr[+e]K)
  ga̤_u_z´ y̆
  glē_a_m_e_d
  glĭn´ tẽr ĭng
  Goethe (gö´ t_e_h)
  Hansei (hȧns´ ē)
  hedge (hĕj)
  hŏl´ ly̆ hŏ_c_ks
  indescribable (ĭn´ d[+e] skrīb´ ȧ b'l)
  Innocence (ĭn´ n[+o] s_e_ns)
  Israel (ĭz´ r[+a] ĕl)
  Jean Baptiste Greuze (zhäN bȧ' t[+e]st´ gruz)
  Jean François Millet (zhäN frŏN´ swä´ m[+e]´ y[+a]´)
  Jules le Febvre (zho̅o̅l l_e_h f[+a]vr´)
  kĭn´ dẽr gär´ tĕn
  knight (nīt)
  la̤_u_´ rĕl
  Liseuse (lĭ´ zeûz´)
  Mignon (m[+e]´ nyôN´)
  Mimi (mē´ m[+e])
  miracles (mĭr´ ȧ k'lz)
  mō_a_n´ ĭng
  musician (m[+u] zĭsh´ _a_n)
  myriad (mĭr´ ĭ _a_d)
  mysterious (mĭs tē´ rĭ ŭs)
  naught (na̤t)
  Niebelungen (nē´ bĕ lụng´ _e_n)
  Odin (ō´ dĭn)
  Păr´ ȧ dīs_e_
  Pär´ sĭ fȧl
  pē_a_l´ ĭng
  Pĭp´ pȧ
  prē´ lūd_e_
  probation (pr[+o] bā´ shŭn)
  quail (kwāl)
  quivered (kwĭv´ ẽrd)
  radiance (rā´ dĭ _a_ns)
  Rĭch´ _a_rd Wăg´ nẽr
  Saul (sa̤l)
  sẽ_a_rch´ ĭng
  s[+e] rēn_e_´
  sĕv´ ẽr_e_d
  sheaves (shēvz)
  Siegfried (sēg´ frĭd)
  smē_a_r_e_d
  tadpoles (tăd´ pōlz)
  thatched (thătcht)
  trŭn´ d'lĭng
  vision (vĭzh´ ŭn)
  Watts (wŏtz)
  wearily (wē´ rĭ ly̆)
  weights (wāts)
  wĕld
  Wilhelm Meister (w̆ĭl´ hĕlm mīs´ tẽr)



+---------------------------------------------------------------------+
| Transcriber's Note:                                                 |
|                                                                     |
| The following symbols are used as indicated:                        |
|                                                                     |
| [+a], [+e], [+o], [+u] = a, e, o, and u with 'inverted tack' above. |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------+





End of Project Gutenberg's Child Stories from the Masters, by Maud Menefee

*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHILD STORIES FROM THE MASTERS ***

***** This file should be named 21764-0.txt or 21764-0.zip *****
This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
        http://www.gutenberg.org/2/1/7/6/21764/

Produced by Mark C. Orton, Thomas Strong, Linda McKeown
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net


Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions
will be renamed.

Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no
one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation
(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without
permission and without paying copyright royalties.  Special rules,
set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.  Project
Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.  If you
do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
rules is very easy.  You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
research.  They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is
subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
redistribution.



*** START: FULL LICENSE ***

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK

To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
http://gutenberg.org/license).


Section 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic works

1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
(trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by all
the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.

1.B.  "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark.  It may only be
used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.  There are a few
things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
even without complying with the full terms of this agreement.  See
paragraph 1.C below.  There are a lot of things you can do with Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
works.  See paragraph 1.E below.

1.C.  The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"
or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic works.  Nearly all the individual works in the
collection are in the public domain in the United States.  If an
individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
are removed.  Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
the work.  You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.

1.D.  The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
what you can do with this work.  Copyright laws in most countries are in
a constant state of change.  If you are outside the United States, check
the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
Gutenberg-tm work.  The Foundation makes no representations concerning
the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
States.

1.E.  Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:

1.E.1.  The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project
Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
copied or distributed:

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org

1.E.2.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
or charges.  If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
1.E.9.

1.E.3.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
terms imposed by the copyright holder.  Additional terms will be linked
to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.

1.E.4.  Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.

1.E.5.  Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
Gutenberg-tm License.

1.E.6.  You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
word processing or hypertext form.  However, if you provide access to or
distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version
posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
form.  Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.

1.E.7.  Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.8.  You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
that

- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
     the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
     you already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  The fee is
     owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
     has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
     Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  Royalty payments
     must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
     prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
     returns.  Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
     sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
     address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
     the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."

- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
     you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
     does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
     License.  You must require such a user to return or
     destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
     and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
     Project Gutenberg-tm works.

- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
     money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
     electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
     of receipt of the work.

- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
     distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.

1.E.9.  If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark.  Contact the
Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.

1.F.

1.F.1.  Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
collection.  Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
your equipment.

1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
fees.  YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3.  YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
DAMAGE.

1.F.3.  LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
written explanation to the person you received the work from.  If you
received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
your written explanation.  The person or entity that provided you with
the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
refund.  If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.  If the second copy
is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
opportunities to fix the problem.

1.F.4.  Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER
WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.

1.F.5.  Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
the applicable state law.  The invalidity or unenforceability of any
provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.

1.F.6.  INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.


Section  2.  Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm

Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.  It exists
because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
people in all walks of life.

Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
remain freely available for generations to come.  In 2001, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org.


Section 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
Foundation

The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
Revenue Service.  The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
number is 64-6221541.  Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at
http://pglaf.org/fundraising.  Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.

The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
throughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at
809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
business@pglaf.org.  Email contact links and up to date contact
information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
page at http://pglaf.org

For additional contact information:
     Dr. Gregory B. Newby
     Chief Executive and Director
     gbnewby@pglaf.org


Section 4.  Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation

Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
array of equipment including outdated equipment.  Many small donations
($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
status with the IRS.

The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
States.  Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
with these requirements.  We do not solicit donations in locations
where we have not received written confirmation of compliance.  To
SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
particular state visit http://pglaf.org

While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
approach us with offers to donate.

International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
outside the United States.  U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.

Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
methods and addresses.  Donations are accepted in a number of other
ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations.
To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate


Section 5.  General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
works.

Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
with anyone.  For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.


Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we do not necessarily
keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.


Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:

     http://www.gutenberg.org

This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.