The Lion and the Mouse

Once when a Lion was asleep a little Mouse began running up and down upon him; this soon wakened the Lion, who placed his huge paw upon him, and opened his big jaws to swallow him. ‘Pardon, my King,’ cried the little Mouse: ‘forgive me this time, I shall never forget it: who knows but what I may be able to do you a turn some of these days?’ The Lion was so tickled at the idea of the Mouse being able to help him, that he lifted up his paw and let him go.

Some time after the Lion was caught in a trap, and the hunters who desired to carry him alive to the King, tied him to a tree while they went in search of a wagon to carry him on. Just then the little Mouse happened to pass by, and seeing the sad plight in which the Lion was, went up to him and soon gnawed away the ropes that bound the King of the Beasts. ‘Was I not right?’ said the little Mouse.

Johnny Reed’s Cat

“Yes, cats are strange. There’s that cat there, you’ve been looking at. He’s a London cat, and he’s clever. Who knows, he may be a relative of Johnny Reed’s own cat.”

“And who was Johnny Reed?”

“Have you never heard of Johnny Reed’s cat? It’s an old tale. I’ve heard my father often tell the story, and he came from Newcastle way. That is where Johnny Reed used to live, being a grave digger in a village not far away.

“Well, Johnny Reed was the grave digger in a church, as I’ve already said. He and his wife kept a cat. It was all black except one white paw. The good cat it was. The cat had been with him some years when a strange thing happened.

“One night Johnny was digging a grave for a person who had died suddenly. He finished his work and he began to walk home. It was a bit cold. Suddenly he saw a strange shadow about it, in which Johnny saw, as it might be, a lot of little gleaming fires dancing about, while some stood steady, just like flashes of light from little windows in buildings all on fire inside. Johnny was not a man to be easily frightened, so he said

“‘Hallo! What’s here? Here’s a thing I never saw before,’ and with that he walks straight up to the gate, while the shadow got deeper and the fires brighter the nearer he came to it. The shadow was just none at all, but nine black cats. Some cats were sitting and some cats were dancing about, and the lights were the flashes from their eyes. When he came nearer he thought to scare them off, and he calls out—

“‘Sh—sh—sh,’ but the cats were still.

“‘I’ll find a stone,’ said Johnny, looking for a stone, which was not to be found. Just then he heard a voice calling—

“‘Johnny Reed!’

“‘Hallo!’ said he, ‘who’s that wants me?’

“‘Johnny Reed,’ said the voice again.

“‘Well,’ says Johnny, ‘I’m here,’ and looking round and seeing no one. ‘Was it one of you,’ says he, joking to the cats, ‘calling me?’

“‘Yes, of course,’ answers one of them. ‘It’s me, I’ve called you these three times.’

“Johnny begins to feel curious. It was the first time he had ever spoken to a cat. So he takes off his hat to the cat to show it respect.

“‘Well, sir,’ said he, ‘what can I do for you?’

“‘It’s not much as I want with you,’ said the cat, ‘but do what I tell you. Tell Dan Ratcliffe that Peggy Poyson’s dead.’

“‘I will, sir,’ said Johnny, wondering at the same time how he was to do it. He didn’t know who Dan Ratcliffe was. Well, all the cats disappeared, and Johnny rushed into his house.

“‘Nan,’ said he to his wife, the first words he spoke, ‘who’s Dan Ratcliffe?’

“‘Dan Ratcliffe,’ said she. ‘I never heard of him.’

“‘Me too,’ said he, ‘but I must find him wherever he is.’

“Then he told his wife all about how he had met the cats, and how they had stopped him and given him the message. Well, his cat was sitting in front of the fire looking comfortable as a cat could be, and nearly half-asleep. But when Johnny came to telling his wife the message the cats had given him, then it jumped up on its feet, and looked at Johnny, and said—

“‘What! Is Peggy Poyson dead? Then it’s no time for me to be here;’ and with that it jumped through the door and disappeared.”

“And did Johnny ever find Dan Ratcliffe?” I asked.

“Never. No one could tell him where he was, and Johnny looked for him long enough, because he wanted to please the cats. At last, however, he gave the matter up. That’s the end of the story.”

“Then, what was the meaning of the cat’s message?”

“It’s hard to tell. But many people thought that Dan Ratcliffe was Johnny’s own cat. Looking at the way he acted. Who Peggy Poyson was no one could tell. But it could be some relative of the cat, or may be someone it was interested in. It’s little we know about our pets and their ways, and with whom and what they’re mixed up.”

The Small Red Feather

There once lived a man with his wife. They were very poor and always hungry. The man often went to the forest, but he was a bad hunter and sometimes brought home only a small bird.

One day he went to the forest again. But it was a very bad day for him: he did not find even a small bird. He was tired and sad. He sat down to rest under a tree. Then he heard a sweet song of a bird.

He looked up and saw a very small bird whose feathers were red. The bird said, ‘I see that you are poor and hungry. I want to help you. I’ll give you one of my feathers. Take it home and cook it. You will have a good dinner. Come back tomorrow, and I’ll give you another feather.’

He thanked the bird and went home. He put the feather into a pot and told everything to his wife.

‘Silly, how can the feather become food?’ You must catch the bird and kill it. Then we can cook the bird and eat it.’

He did not answer, but looked into the pot and saw there a good dinner.

Every day he went to the forest, and every day the small bird gave him a red feather that made a dinner for the man and his wife.

But his wife was very greedy. Every day she said to the man, ‘We must not have only the little red feather. We must have the bird. Then we can cook two, three or four feathers every day and we shall have as much food as we like.’

‘But the little bird is my friend. I shall not kill it.’ One day the woman followed her husband into the forest, but he did not see her. The woman heard the sweet song of the little red bird. She took a stone and killed it. The bird fell down off the tree. The man was very sad, but the wife said, ‘Now we shall have much food every day.’

They went home. At home the woman pulled one red feather off the bird and put it into the hot water. She cooked and cooked it, but the feather was just a feather. And from that day on they were again always hungry.

The Baker’s Daughter

A very long time ago, I cannot tell you when, it is so long since, there lived in a town in Herefordshire a baker who used to sell bread to all the people around. He was a mean, greedy man, who wanted in every way to put money by, and who cheated people when they came to his shop.

He had a daughter who helped him in his business. She wasn’t married and lived with him, and seeing how her father treated the people, and how he succeeded in getting money by his bad practices, she came to do the like.

One day when her father was away, and the girl remained alone in the shop, an old woman came in—

“My pretty girl,” said she, “give me a bit of dough, I am old and hungry.”

The girl at first told her to be off, but as the old woman would not go. She begged harder than before for a piece of dough. At last the baker’s daughter took up a piece of dough, and giving it to her, said—

“There now, be off, and do not trouble me any more.”

“My dear,” said the woman, “you have given me a piece of bread, let me bake it in your oven, for I have no place of my own to bake it in.”

“Very well,” replied the girl, and took the dough, she placed it in the oven, while the old woman sat down to wait till it was baked.

When the girl thought the bread should be ready she looked in the oven expecting to find there a small cake, and was very much amazed to find instead a very large loaf of bread. She pretended to look about the oven as if in search of something.

“I cannot find the cake,” said she. “It must have rolled into the fire and got burnt.”

“Very well,” said the old woman, “give me another piece of dough instead and I will wait while it bakes.”

So the girl took another piece of dough, smaller than the first piece, and having put it in the oven, shut to the door. At the end of a few minutes or so she looked in again, and found there another loaf, larger than the last.

“Dear me,” said she, pretending to look about her, “I have surely lost the dough again. There’s no cake here.”

“It’s a pity,” said the old woman, “but never mind. I will wait while you bake me another piece.”

So the baker’s daughter took a piece of dough as small as one of her fingers and put it in the oven, while the old woman sat near. When she thought it was to be baked, she looked into the oven and there saw a loaf, larger than either of the others.

“That is mine,” said the old woman.

“No,” replied the girl. “How could such a large loaf have grown out of a little piece of dough?”

“It is mine, it is sure,” said the woman.

“It is not,” said the girl, “and you shall not have it.”

Well, the old woman saw that the girl would not give her the loaf, and saw how she had tried to cheat her. She was a fairy, and knew all the tricks that the baker’s daughter had put upon her. She draws out from under her cloak a stick, and just touches the girl with it. Then a wonderful thing happened, she changed the girl into an owl. She flew and flew about the room, at last, made for the door, and, finding it open, she flew out and was never seen again.